Page 85 of Dagger’s Shield

“There is no wedding, Papa. No engagement. It’s all fake.”

“But, why?”

“We were sent here to investigate Aristide Géraud,” I said. “It is in your best interest to tell us everything you know about him, all of your business dealings, everything, Bertrand. It’s your only chance at not spending the rest of your life in prison.”

His mouth fell open, and I’d swear he aged twenty years in front of my eyes.

“Where is Rémy?” His lip quivered as he spoke.

“He’s dead, Papa. Aristide Géraud shot him.”

He shook his head and lowered his gaze. “I don’t understand. What about Aristide?”

“He’s dead too. There was no choice.”

Bertrand raised his head, and when he did, his eyes filled with tears. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“First, you need to understand that in the morning, Chantal and Marthe will be informed that Rémy died in an accident in the vat house. As for Géraud, he was never here. He didn’t show, and you haven’t heard from him since.”

“I don’t understand,” he repeated for the third time.

I pulled out a chair and motioned for Maëlle to take a seat. She hesitated momentarily, then sat down. I sat in the one beside her.

“Géraud was an international criminal. He arrived here tonight without being seen. He waited for Rémy in the vat house, where they arranged to meet. When your daughter went with her cousin. Géraud drew a gun on the pair of them and tried to put them both in a fermentation room. Rémy went for the gun. Géraud fired once. I fired next. Both men died. Now, tell us about Géraud again—from the beginning, all of it.”

He told the story in pieces. Rémy’s internship at Fontenay, ten years ago. Rémy coming home with talk of Géraud wanting Burgundy in his catalog. Rémy arranging the first meeting in Geneva. “I negotiated that contract myself.” Even tonight, there was pride in it. He talked about making deals on behalf of the other wineries and how he earned commissions on each sale.

It matched everything Maëlle had found in the financials before Rémy scrubbed them.

“What you’ve been doing, Papa, is laundering money. The minimum sentence you would receive if convicted is ten years, and the fine associated with it is seven hundred fifty thousand euros or half of everything that was washed, whichever the court prefers. And then, seizure of whatever served the crime.” She let him do the arithmetic. “The thing that served the crime is Valais.”

Bertrand looked as though he was going to be ill. “Do you need to take a break?” I asked.

“No,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And the others?”

“If you mean the other wineries, they would face the same consequences,” Maëlle told him. I didn’t add that it would depend on who handled their books and how much they truly knew. My guess was Géraud or Rémy had arranged for accountants who worked for Maison Fontenay or one of Géraud’s other businesses.

“What about the bank account in Geneva?” I asked.

“It was for the commissions. I never touched it.”

“Why not?” Maëlle asked.

“It was for you and your mother. After I was gone.”

She scoffed and looked down at her hands.

“What I’m going to tell you next is the only thing that will save your arse, Bertrand. Do you understand?”

His eyes met mine, and I hated what I saw in them. The powerful, arrogant businessman was gone, and in his place was an old man scared out of his wits. God help me, I pitied him.

“Nothing changes,” I began. “The contracts, the shipments, the books—nothing. You tell no one, and you let us follow his money to whoever is above him. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I need to make it clear that if you do not do as we say, you will go to prison and you will lose Valais. The same will be true for anyone else in the valley who did business with Maison Fontenay.”

When he said, “I understand,” he raised his chin the same way his daughter so often did.