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There was an immediate protest. Not necessary.

“Then we’ll need a motion to take it as accepted.”

It was motioned, seconded, voted on, and unanimously passed.

There was a tap on the door, and two waiters brought in more refreshments including fresh fruit, croissants, cheeses, and smoked salmon.

If the other board members noticed the slightly stained file in front of the board chair, they didn’t mention it.

She’d opened it briefly, but hadn’t studied it. Hadn’t needed to. Girard’s murmured “It’s all here” was enough.

The servers left, but the door to the suite remained open.

One of the board members turned and asked politely that it be closed. When there was no response, no soft click of the door closing, first one, then others looked over.

“I believe,” said a young man, stepping into the room, “that you’re in my seat.”

He was talking to Alain Pinot. The other board members turned to the head of AFP, as Pinot’s eyes widened.

“Who are you?” the chair demanded.

“My name’s Daniel Gamache, and I’m the new member of your board.”

“The hell you are,” said Madame Roquebrune. “Call security. Get the police if necessary.”

“Already here,” said Claude Dussault, stepping into the room. He stared at Pinot, who looked like he was having a stroke. While Eugénie Roquebrune, at the head of the table, had turned as gray as her hair.

Then the Prefect surveyed the room.

Not with any triumph, not even with disgust.

With resignation.

This was what modern devils looked like. Not the writhing creatures captured by Rodin, but good, decent, silent people.

Walking over to the CEO, he placed the pages, retrieved from beneath an Aubusson carpet in the Musée des archives, in the dossier.

“Now it’s all here,” he said.

Her father kissed Annie lightly on the forehead, so as not to wake her up.

But still, she stirred.

“Dad? Have you seen her?”

“She’s beautiful, Annie.”

As soon as Girard and Pinot had left the apartment, Loiselle had shifted his rifle.

“What the fuck are you doing?” demanded the other SecurForte guard.

“Drop it,” said Loiselle.

“What?”

“Now.”

Claude Dussault got up. “Fire your weapon,” he ordered Loiselle. “They need to hear it.”