EW: It was his idea. There was no reason for all three of us to get uncovered.
AM: And when he got uncovered, as you say… Were you the one who recommended he hire Saidi? Did you know your client would be there?
EW: Yes. —Pause—. I knew. Those two shouldn’t have found out. That wasn’t the plan.
AM: What was the plan?
(The witness checks the clock.)
EW: It’s almost eight. You’ll see now.
Chapter 31
I remain silent. I’m sure that anything I say now will only make things worse, and I don’t think I could find the words, anyway.
Eloïse was right.
Enzo. It had been him from the start. Enzo was the one who had sent the money to my house because he was the only one who knew my secret. I close my fists, trying to keep the shock, the rage, from showing on my face. I had no idea he was the Counterfeiter. If I had known earlier… If Julian had revealed his name sooner… None of this would have happened.
Officer Morrison evades my stare, while the police chief’s eyes seem to drill straight through me, her anger palpable. Her voice is sharp as she says, “You’ve maintained all along that you didn’t know why you were given the money.”
I remain silent. André, sensing my hesitation, steps forward and begins to speak on my behalf.
“Technically…” he starts, but he sounds tired. “The fact that Vera was a client of the Counterfeiter doesn’t mean she knew anything more about him. Or them, I should say.”
It’s true; I still don’t know why Enzo bothered to leave me the money. That’s something I can hold on to.
“When I began working with the Counterfeiter,” I say, measuring my words, trying to fit with what Enzo has already told the police, “I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know it was Garros… or Enzo Woods.”
The woman looks at the documents.
“According to what you yourself said, you went to speak with Garros when you received the letter with the supposed forgery of your academic record, correct?”
I clench my jaw.
“Yes.”
“And, if I’m not mistaken, what you showed Garros wasn’t the letter you received the morning of Friday, October 30th. Am I wrong?”
“No,” I admit in a low voice, “you’re not wrong.”
André lets out a heavy sigh, clutching his head as if it’s about to burst. I can’t blame him; I feel the same way. Meanwhile, the police chief wears a triumphant smile, as if she’s finally caught her big fish. I return her smile, defiance tugging in the corner of my lips.
She should brace herself; there’s more to this story than she realises.
What I took to Garros was the falsified document they gave me back then, the one that allowed me to get the Chance scholarship, to start my internship at Saidi.
“Wait, wait a moment,” André interjects, waving his hands for emphasis. “Is there any proof that what Enzo Woods stated is true? Because if not, I’d like to continue with the matter at hand.” He turns to me. “We don’t have time for this, Vera.”
“What time is it?” I ask.
Officer Horseface glances at her wristwatch and responds, “09:23.”
Almost an hour and a half has passed since the deadline to use the money ended.
The department chief realises it at the same time as I do.
“Check your email,” the Officer snaps at André. “The proof should be there.”
