“Okay, thank you.”
Antonia Hawtrey-Moore takes the place her daughter had vacated. André, at her side, looks livid, as if he had seen a ghost, even though he had known Antonia was alive beforehand.
She was our last witness. I stay focused on my documents, not wanting to check Vera’s reaction, not wanting to know if she thinks I’m insane, or an idiot, or both things. That is, if she didn’t already think so. After a moment, the judge stands up.
“Arguments?” he says, looking first at the opposing lawyer and then at me.
We have reached the end of the trial. I know we are goingto win. On the other hand, Enzo has no witnesses of his own. He trusts that Garros’ statement will be enough to keep him from being put behind bars until his bones rot.
Who am I kidding? This has always been a suicide mission.
What was the end purpose of this twisted game? I am still not sure. I do not know if I will ever be.
Excerpt from the police statement of Enzo Woods
Taken on November 4
Police station number 313. Cutnam. Wednesday, November 4th. 8:00 a.m.
(…)
EW: I gave my mother a way to contact the Counterfeiter because there were rumours that a very important woman from a very important French family required our kind of service. I didn’t know if it was her or not. I also didn’t know what Antonia Hawtrey-Moore could want from us. But look, at that time, we had so much work that we divided the hours of attending to new requests. I gave my mother Garros’ working hours. If by any chance she ended up calling him, I didn’t want to know anything about it. And I didn’t want to know why, either.
JA: Didn’t Garros tell you?
EW: He never talked to me about his customers.
JA: Come on… He knew Antonia Hawtrey-Moore was your mother.
EW: He knew, but he didn’t tell me that she had hired him. Company policy. Garros, Smith-Jorison, and I… we take on jobs under the same name, we do favours for each other, but we never give out details. We never reveal who our client is, not even to one of us. That’s how it worked out. That’s how we stayed friends. Work is work. Business is business.
JA: How did you find out your mother had hired you?
EW: I think what you really want to ask me is how I knew she was alive, officer.
(The officer checks his notes.)
JA: Just answer, please.
EW: Good.
(He smiles.)
EW: I was never sure. It was a hunch.
JA: And…?
EW: I thought she had hired Garros, faked her death, and fled the country.
JA: All… on a hunch?
EW: Word has gotten around that my mother left me nothing as an inheritance. It’s a lie.
JA: We know, she left you a ring. You can’t disinherit a firstborn, according to French law.
EW: No, I’m not talking about the ring. She left me a note.
JA: We have no record of such a thing, Mr. Dubois.
