“You could say that,” Enzo muttered. “Vera won the Chance Program scholarship. She works at Saidi now.”
There it was. Recognition spread across Laurent Dubois’ features like fog settling over the night. Then, caution.
“I see.”
Enzo filled the awkward silence.
“How about I leave you two to talk?” He first addressed his father. “I’ll take care of the party.” Then he turned to me. “See you… later.”
And with that, he left me alone with Laurent Dubois.
Chapter 21
How are you supposed to start a conversation like the one I needed to have with Dubois? “Hello, Mr Dubois… I was wondering if you’ve missed half a million pounds lately. Hello, Mr Dubois, do you know anything you haven’t told the police about your dead wife? Excuse my manners, Mr Dubois… do you know any con artists? Are you aware of any illegal activities taking place in your family’s club?”
Every word that came to mind seemed like a worse option than the last. And Laurent Dubois must have sensed my discomfort because he gestured toward the sofas with onehand and said, “Why don’t we sit down?”
So, there I was, face to face with Laurent Dubois, Enzo’s father, the billionaire owner of the club where all my money had come from, the ex-husband of the woman my boss’s client had allegedly murdered. My thighs stuck to the fabric of the sofa. Bile rose up my throat.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I blurted out.
Laurent Dubois dismissed my words with a wave of his hand.
“If Laurie… Enzo, as he prefers to be called, forgive me. If Enzo thinks we should talk, then we should talk,” he concluded solemnly. “And, Vera, please, just call me Laurent.”
I cleared my throat. “Alright.”
“Tell me, did Saidi send you?”
I shook my head. The money. I had come here to get answers for myself. I hadn’t even made the connection between the Dubois and the Julian Garros case…
Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. I wasn’t here to help André or Bastian either. I was here for myself. Although…
“Didn’t my boss speak with you… With you at the beginning of the investigation into Antonia’s death?”
The man’s face soured. “He did not, no.”
I should have dropped the subject. But my mother raised a nosy child, what can I say? I tested the waters. There was nothing wrong with it.
“Should he have?”
He smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Why?”
“Antonia and I stopped speaking many years ago. I didn’t exchange a single word with her after that. I understand that my opinion isn’t relevant to the case…”
And I wasn’t the only one testing the waters. Laurent Dubois had something to say, and for some reason, he seemed to have decided that I was the one who should hear it.
“But?”
“But just because I didn’t speak to her doesn’t mean I didn’t receive news about her from… other sources. Would you like a drink?”
He got up, turning on his heel to approach a stand with open bottles of champagne. I declined. I still felt dazed. He poured himself a drink and resumed his seat.
“What sources were those?” I asked.
Laurent Dubois locked his gaze on mine again. Perhaps, by the smile, one could guess that he was related to Enzo. But you could also guess his connection to Eloïse from that look. Not a blood relation, but a different kind of bond: while Enzo had distanced himself from his biological family, Eloïse had forged a strong connection with her parents and everyone around them. And that bond between Laurent Dubois and Eloïse Hawtrey-Moore was evident in the gestures they shared. One look from him was enough to put anyone in their place.
