Read Chapter 32: The Traitor's Game

The boiler room stank of oil and sweat. Karine sat against the far wall, wrists bound with the same rope Luc had used on Henri. Patrice stood over her, rifle cradled loosely, his face a mask of grim satisfaction.

Luc pulled Ali aside into the narrow corridor. The sauna heat still clung to Ali’s clothes, and his skin gleamed. He looked like a man who’d just won something.

“You’re Belmont,” Luc said.

“Special Inspector Ali Belmont, financial crimes unit, Lyon.” Ali spread his hands. “Three years I’ve been chasing Gaspard’s money. You think I wanted to be here, freezing my ass off with a bunch of trust-fund climbers?”

“You sabotaged the phones.”

Ali’s smile flickered. “I disabled the satellite uplink, yes.”

“The weather station too?”

“No.” Ali shook his head. “That was Henri. I just used what he did. Covered my tracks in his shadow.”

Luc stepped closer. The corridor was barely wide enough for one man, and Ali’s back hit the wall. “People died, Ali. Pierre. Gaspard. You knew a killer was in this group, and you still cut off our only way to call for help.”

“I knew something was wrong.” Ali’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know who. I needed to keep everyone here. If Gaspard or his partner got word out, the money would vanish offshore before I could trace it. I needed a confession. On tape.”

“On tape.” Luc stared at him. “You wanted Karine to kill someone so you could record her admitting it?”

“I wanted her to slip.” Ali’s jaw tightened. “She did. You heard her. She’s the one who killed Gaspard. She’s the one who killed Pierre. I got what I came for.”

“And the others?” Luc’s voice rose. “Camille? Henri? The staff upstairs? They’re collateral in your investigation?”

Ali’s eyes went hard. “I’ve been in this game eleven years. You know how many criminals I’ve put away? Dozens. You know how many still walk because some well-meaning idiot tipped them off too early?”

“This isn’t a sting operation in a boardroom. This is an avalanche zone.”

“And it’s about to get a lot more dangerous.” Ali reached into his parka. Luc tensed, but Ali produced a small sat phone, wrapped in a plastic bag. “This is the one device I kept. I hid it in the sauna’s heating duct. But the battery’s nearly dead, and the storm’s interference is brutal. I need power to boost the signal. The generators are in the east wing.”

Luc’s mind raced. “The east ridge. Karine said the slope above is peeling.”

“Karine also said she’s a murderer. Forgive me if I don’t take her meteorological advice at face value.”

From the boiler room, Patrice called out, “Luc! She’s talking.”

Luc and Ali returned. Karine sat forward, her eyes bright. She was smiling like a chess player who’d just seen her opponent’s blunder.

“The phones aren’t dead because of the storm,” she said sweetly. “They’re dead because the inspector here disabled them. You know that now. And yet—” she nodded toward Luc “—you’re still standing here, pretending he’s on your side.”

“Shut up,” Patrice snapped.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” Karine’s gaze fixed on Luc. “He wanted Gaspard caught. Gaspard is dead. He wanted the money traced. The money’s gone. Now you’re all stuck in a valley that’s about to be buried, and the only person who knows how to get you out is a man who already chose to risk your lives once.”

Ali’s jaw worked. “I didn’t choose to risk anyone. I chose to stop a criminal enterprise.”

“And how many did you lose in the process?” Karine’s voice was soft. “Pierre had a family. Gaspard was a crook, sure, but he was still a man. You watched it happen. You could have stopped it.”

“I didn’t know who was killing until tonight.”

“You knew someone was. And you kept the exits sealed anyway.” Karine turned to Luc. “You were a guide. You’ve been in danger before. Tell me—would you cut the radio lines in a whiteout because you suspected one of your party was guilty?”

Luc felt the old weight settle in his chest. The rescue that failed. The calls he didn’t make in time. He looked at Ali.

“You have a recording?” Luc asked. “Of Karine’s confession? The moment she revealed herself?”

Ali hesitated. “I left the phone in the sauna to record. It was running.”

Luc went back to the sauna. The heat hit him like a wall. The small device lay between the wooden benches, blinking red. He picked it up, thumbed the screen. The audio file was there, forty minutes long. He clicked play.

Static. Then voices. Karine’s low, steady tone. Ali’s. The scrape of the sauna door. Then Karine’s voice, clear as glass: “You didn’t know, did you? That Gaspard was skimming. That Marie-Claire was downstream. Nothing but a cleanup job for me.”

Luc listened to another minute. Then he frowned.

The recording had gaps. Clean cuts. Segments missing—just seconds each, but enough to notice if you knew what you were listening for. He scrolled back. The timestamp jumped. Twenty-three seconds missing. Again. Forty-one seconds missing.

Luc stepped out of the sauna. Ali was waiting in the corridor.

“What did you record?” Luc asked.

“The truth.”

“The edited truth.” Luc held up the phone. “These gaps. You cut something out.”

Ali’s face tightened. “I cut out parts where I threatened her. Interview techniques aren’t always clean. I didn’t want the defense to use it against me.”

“Defense?” Luc stepped forward. “You’re not interrogating her. You’re framing a confession to survive a courtroom you may never see.”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Your job cost Pierre his life.” Luc set the phone on the sauna bench. “Karine killed him because he saw her. But you—you killed the chances anyone could have called for help. You made this valley a trap. And now you expect me to trust you with the only working phone left?”

Ali’s silence was longer than Luc wanted.

“The east wing generators,” Ali finally said. “Help me get power. We can call out before the slope lets go.”

“And if that slope lets go before we get there?”

Ali’s eyes flicked sideways. Luc followed his gaze. Through the small window in the corridor, the eastern ridge gleamed under a slab of white. It had moved. He was sure of it—a hairline crack splitting the snowfield’s face.

Luc turned back toward the boiler room. Camille was still in the main hall with Henri. Unaware. Waiting.

He started walking.

“Where are you going?” Ali called.

“To tell Camille the truth.” Luc didn’t look back. “The whole truth. Even the parts that make you look bad.”

Behind him, he heard Ali’s footsteps in the snow. He didn’t stop.