Read Chapter 31: Henri's Redemption

Camille moved through the crowded salon, the gala lanyard swinging against her collarbone like a brand. She had seen Lidia slip through a service door near the back of the terrace, and every instinct told her this was the moment.

The room was a fever dream of champagne towers and murmured French, the kind of wealth that didn't announce itself but simply existed in the weight of cut crystal and the cut of a jacket. Camille's eyes scanned for the pendant in every flash of collar and cuff. Nothing.

She pushed through the door and found herself in a narrow hallway lined with velvet drapes. A cloakroom. Coats hung in shadowed rows, and the air smelled of cedar and expensive perfume. At the far end, Lidia stood with her back to Camille, speaking in a low, hurried voice into a phone.

"—the buyer is here. He wants to see it in hand before he commits. No, I don't care what Falk says, this is the moment we—"

Camille stepped forward. The floorboard creaked.

Lidia spun around, and her face flatlined into something hard and practiced. She pocketed the phone with a slow, deliberate grace. "Camille. I was wondering when you'd stop hiding behind the furniture."

"Where is it, Lidia?"

"The pendant?" Lidia smiled, and it didn't reach her eyes. "Somewhere you'll never find it. You've done very well for yourself, honestly. The vault, the auction house, the ridiculous heroics. But this was never your game to win."

Camille's hand tightened on the ledger she'd brought in her bag. "It was never yours either. You're a pawn. Falk is using you."

"Falk is a means to an end. And I've been very careful not to be the one holding the smoking gun." Lidia took a step closer. "You, on the other hand, are wanted by the police in two jurisdictions. That little stunt at the auction house? Marcel will have already folded. You think he won't sing your name to save himself?"

"Maybe." Camille held her ground. "But Marcel also gave me your schedule. And it says you're supposed to be in the main salon right now, with the collector."

Lidia's smile flickered. "I'm attending to quality control. He'll wait."

"Will he?" Camille pressed. "Because I walked through that room. I saw the empty space on the wall where the pendant is supposed to go on display. And I saw the look on your collector's face when he realized the centerpiece of the evening wasn't there. He's not waiting, Lidia. He's leaving."

For a moment—just a moment—Lidia's mask cracked. A flicker of calculation, of fear. Then her hand moved to her clutch, and Camille knew what was coming.

"I'm sorry, Camille. You were always too clever for your own good—"

The cloakroom door swung open behind them. Camille tensed, ready to lunge, to scream, to do anything.

Henri stepped through.

Camille's breath caught. Henri Lemaire. The missing guard. The man everyone assumed had been bribed or murdered, the gaping hole in the security detail that had allowed the pendant to vanish from the convoy in the first place. He looked different—sharper, cleaner, a coiled tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there when he'd poured her coffee at the auction house every morning.

He was holding a pair of handcuffs.

"Lidia Marchand." His voice was flat, official. "You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, theft of cultural property, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent."

Lidia laughed—a brittle, gilded sound. "Henri? You imbecile. You were supposed to be in Marseille by now."

"That was the story." Henri stepped closer, and Camille saw a small earpiece in his left ear, the kind she'd seen worn by plainclothes officers in films. "But I was never going to Marseille. I was going to be exactly here, waiting for you to slip up."

"You work for Falk."

"I work for Interpol." Henri said it like a quiet door shutting. "The whole operation was designed to expose his network. The theft, the insurance claim, the private collector—all of it. You thought you were running the strings, Lidia. But you were dancing on our stage."

Lidia's hand was still on her clutch, but Henri moved with a speed that belied his gentle frame. He had her wrist twisted behind her back and the cuffs clicked shut in seconds. She let out a sharp hiss of air, her composure shattering into something ugly.

"You have no idea what you've done," she spat. "Falk will—"

"Falk will be contacted within the hour. Along with everyone he's ever done business with." Henri pulled her toward the door, then paused, looking at Camille with an expression that was impossible to read. "You did well, Mademoiselle Laurent. Better than we expected. The ledger, the auction house, the way you kept Lidia's attention occupied while we tracked the shipment. You've been very useful."

Camille's mouth was dry. "Useful."

"I'll be taking that now." Henri nodded toward her bag. "Evidence."

Camille's hand went to the bag, her fingers curling around the ledger's edge. "This is my only leverage. I need it."

"You need that, or you need the police to stop looking at you for crimes you didn't commit?" Henri's voice softened, almost kind. "I can make the warrant disappear. The warrant for the auction house. But you'll have to give me the ledger."

It was a trade. A fair one, maybe. But Camille had been burned by fair trades before.

"Victor," she said. "He was watching the building. Is he—"

Henri's face flickered. Something guarded. "Your friend Victor is a complicated man."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I can give you." Henri held out his open palm. "The ledger, Mademoiselle. Now."

Camille looked at Lidia, handcuffed and furious, her expensive dress suddenly ridiculous against the dull steel of the restraints. She looked at Henri, calm and patient, his badge hidden somewhere beneath his jacket. And she thought about Victor, bleeding in a safehouse, telling her he'd been planted by Monaco's financial crime unit.

Interpol. Financial crime. It was possible they were the same game, or different games with the same board.

She reached into her bag and placed the ledger in Henri's palm.

"Thank you." He tucked it away and pulled Lidia toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, his voice dropping low enough that only Camille could hear.

"One more thing. You should be careful with the man you trust."

Camille's heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

"Victor knows more about this operation than he's told you. And what he hasn't told you might be exactly what gets you killed." Henri stepped through the door. "Merci for your cooperation, Mademoiselle Laurent. Interpol will be in touch."

The door swung shut behind them.

Camille stood alone in the cloakroom, surrounded by the faint scent of cedar and secrets, the sound of Lidia's muffled protests fading into the noise of the gala beyond.

Victor knows more than he's told you.

She pulled out her phone. The open channel was still live. She could hear him breathing on the other end, ragged and shallow from his wound.

And for the first time since she'd climbed out of that vault, Camille didn't press the talk button.