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And while Jean-Guy Beauvoir had left, he hadn’t actually escaped. The sludge had followed him. Found him. In Paris. He was in it again, this time up to his neck, it seemed.
Beauvoir considered. Was Séverine Arbour that ambitious? That sick?
The former homicide investigator knew that the desire for power and money could infect. Could fester. Could hollow out a person.
How many bright young executives, fresh off an MBA, or a P.Eng., dreamed of mass murder? None. No, that sort of sickness took time and a certain environment.
Was GHS just such an environment?
Is that why Stephen had placed him there? He knew Jean-Guy Beauvoir could not read an engineering schematic, but he could read people.
Was GHS corrupt?
He’d have to admit, he didn’t think so. But he also knew his energies had been put into getting up to speed with the job. And in thinking about the imminent arrival of their daughter.
And, yes, maybe he’d been dazzled by the private jets, the luxury hotels, the exotic locations. Blinded to what was really going on.
“You say the new design is going into elevators around the world,” Gamache broke into his thoughts. “Office buildings, apartments?”
“Everything, yes.”
“When?”
“Next week.” Beauvoir blanched. “Oh, God, it is possible, isn’t it? It could be GHS’s finances, but it could also be the design. Oh, merde.”
They looked at each other.
Elevators. They were where both men’s fears intersected.
Heights for Gamache. Tight spaces for Beauvoir.
The thought of being stuck in a malfunctioning elevator, many stories up, made them both light-headed. The thought of it, of hundreds, thousands, plummeting, made them sick.
Gamache took a long, slow, deep breath. “We need those plans.”
“I’ll get them. You think maybe what Stephen found wasn’t a financial swindle, but some engineering flaw?”
“Maybe. But if he did, I doubt he’d bring it up at the board.”
“Why not?”
“If he somehow came across a serious flaw in a design, he’d go straight to the head of the company. He’d want to tell someone who could stop the projects and have the flaw fixed. Who’s the head of GHS?”
“Eugénie Roquebrune. Should I try to get a meeting?”
“Non, not yet. We need more information. If she’s behind the cover-up, she’ll deny it, and without hard evidence we’re just exposing ourselves.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what Stephen did,” said Jean-Guy. “And maybe that’s what triggered the attacks.”
“Do you know if GHS is owned by anyone else? Whether it’s a subsidiary of another corporation?”
“Not that I know of. GHS is massive. That would make the parent company the equivalent of ”—he hesitated—“something really big.”
“You were going to say the Death Star, weren’t you.”
“Well, yes. If you can quote poetry, I can reference Star Wars. But it’s not a bad analogy.”
No, thought Gamache. It wasn’t.
