THE LAST HONEST TRY
Read Chapter 20: Sanctions
The federation's interim decision arrived on a Tuesday morning.
Lucas Vernet: provisionally suspended from all rugby activity pending disciplinary proceedings.
Rémi Vidal: suspension extended.
Rugby Club Aurélois: formal investigation opened into integrity failures; no immediate exclusion from competition due to evidence that club officials had initiated cooperation and no proof yet that management directed manipulation.
Jean read the letter three times.
“We can play the playoff.”
“For now,” Marc said.
Jean sat down heavily.
“For now is beautiful.”
The club issued a public statement acknowledging “serious individual breaches” and committing to independent governance reforms. Marc insisted the language not describe the players only as victims.
“They were victims and participants,” he said. “Both can be true.”
That sentence angered almost everyone for different reasons.
Lucas's wife stopped speaking to Marc for two weeks. Rémi's mother thanked him. Supporters argued online. Claire wrote an editorial about the danger of needing simple heroes.
The playoff semifinal was against Gruissan, the league leaders who had beaten Saint-Aurèle in January.
This time the match was at Stade des Micocouliers.
The town council, under newly elected Hélène Vidal, released the frozen municipal grant after an emergency audit found no legal basis to withhold it. She also announced that future club funding would require published accounts and conflict-of-interest rules.
Jean complained for twelve hours.
Then he admitted it was sensible.
Three days before the semifinal, Maret requested a meeting with Marc.
They met in Café du Pont before opening.
The odds screens were dark.
“You've made me a villain,” Maret said.
“I didn't need to.”
“You think I fixed matches?”
“I think companies around you benefited.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Did you?”
Maret poured himself water.
“No.”
Marc watched him.
“Kovač worked for Meridian,” Maret continued. “He also did security and collections for businesses here. I knew he gathered information. I did not authorize blackmail.”
“You lent Lucas money.”
“His company applied. We lent.”
“Then your people used the debt.”
“If they did, they betrayed me too.”
Marc almost smiled.
“You expect sympathy?”
“I expect intelligence.”
Maret leaned forward.
“You're going to discover that clean money does not rush into poor towns. It waits for tax credits, guaranteed returns, prestige. Dirty money arrives first because desperation pays better.”
“And your defense is realism.”
“My defense is that I kept businesses open.”
“So did Vautrin.”
“Yes. And now he's gone, and everyone feels righteous. Wait six months.”
Marc stood.
Maret said, “One more thing. The investigation will find people you like.”
Marc stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask Jean about 2022.”
Marc turned slowly.
Maret smiled without warmth.
“You thought the president sold his mother's apartment and saved the club alone?”
Marc left without answering.
Jean was waiting at the stadium.
Marc put Maret's words between them.
Jean looked toward the pitch.
“In 2022, we needed forty thousand by Friday,” he said.
“And?”
“Maret advanced it.”
“On what terms?”
“No contract.”
“Then what?”
Jean's face crumpled with shame.
“He asked me to let Orbe Loisirs handle sponsorship introductions. Exclusive. I agreed.”
“You gave them access.”
“I gave them sales rights.”
“You opened the door.”
Jean looked at him.
“Yes.”
Marc wanted to be angry.
Instead he felt tired.
“How many compromises before a man stops being able to count them?”
Jean whispered, “Usually one more than he admits.”
Maret's warning about Jean unsettled Marc because it appealed to his favorite weakness: the desire for a clean line between compromised people and himself.
That night he returned to the accounts from 2022. The emergency payment from Maret did not appear as a loan. It appeared as three sponsorship advances from companies linked to Orbe Loisirs.
Jean had signed all three.
Marc found him alone in the clubhouse bar cleaning glasses after a youth event.
“You falsified the source.”
Jean did not pretend not to understand.
“I described it the way the sponsor requested.”
“That's a beautiful sentence.”
“I know.”
“Did my father ever do this?”
Jean laughed sadly. “Still trying to rescue Henri from being human?”
“Answer.”
“He once recorded a donor's cash as gate receipts because the donor was getting divorced and didn't want his wife to know.”
Marc closed his eyes.
“Fantastic.”
“Your father regretted it for ten years.”
“Did regret fix the accounts?”
“No.”
Jean placed a glass upside down.
“Marc, institutions don't become corrupt only because bad people enter them. Sometimes good people teach the institution that rules are optional for noble reasons. Then less noble people inherit the habit.”
Marc leaned on the bar.
“That sounds like an excuse.”
“It is an explanation. We have spent too long confusing the two.”
For several minutes they worked in silence, drying glasses.
Finally Marc said, “After the season, you need to step down as president.”
Jean stopped.
Marc continued before fear could soften him.
“Not because you're Maret. Because governance can't change if the person who normalized these arrangements remains the final authority.”
Jean's face tightened.
“I sold my mother's apartment for this club.”
“I know.”
“I have given thirty years.”
“I know.”
“And this is thanks?”
“No. This is succession.”
Jean looked away.
The word hurt differently.
After a long time, he nodded.
“End of season.”
“Yes.”
“Not before final.”
“No.”
“And I choose who gets my parking space.”
Marc smiled. “Absolutely not.”
Jean threw a towel at him.
The conversation was painful because neither man could hide behind villainy.
Sometimes reform meant asking the people who had saved a place to stop owning the right to save it.
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