by Avril Rose
“It’s too late, Zoe. Leave. Now."
When she realizes she won't change my mind, she hides her face in her hands and leaves. Hear cries echo in the stairwell, drowning out the sound of her quick footsteps, stomping on my heart.
I have to fight not to run after her.
Her words echo through my mind. She just admitted the depth of her feelings for me. It should have been magical. But instead, it was the worst moment of my life. I will never forget the awful pain my reaction has caused her. I hate myself for doing this to her. She deserves to be happy, to be loved.
But I can't have her in my life.
I mustn't.
While I fight with myself in my head, I stand there rooted to the spot, my forehead against the door that I just slammed, convincing myself it was the right thing to do.
If I get back with Zoe, I risk ruining the scheme I'm actively involved with to reveal the truth about Anderson. It would put her life in danger.
***
It took me a few days to figure out how to use Anderson’s trust to my – and especially Zoe’s – advantage.
I started by contacting an old college friend, Julia Lenoire.
We’ve always kept in touch over the Internet. I knew Julia was working at the Ministry of the Interior, but I had no idea what her actual position was.
After a few instant messages, where I got straight to the point about what I was trying to do – figure out if she knew someone who could help me with a complicated matter – she gave me her number and we planned a lunch date.
I think she appreciated my honesty and the fact that I didn’t waste any of her time before asking for help.
So here we are, sharing a drink and discussing our careers and personal lives. It’s not long before she comes right down to brass tacks. She’s always been this way, and it’s nice to see she hasn't changed.
“So, what’s up? How can I help?”
“I started working for a very high-profile businessman a few weeks ago. Domenic Anderson. An American.”
I see her jaw tighten up and her eyes go wide, revealing her surprise when she hears this man’s name come out of my mouth.
“You know him?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.
“Oh yes, I know him. But the real question is how you know him.”
“He was looking for a law firm to represent him in France. I thought it would be an amazing opportunity for us. Until...”
I search for the right words. How do I explain what I’ve learned about this man and his dealings, just how far he’s willing to go, when I don’t have an ounce of proof to give her?
“Until what?” she asks impatiently.
“Someone got in his way and he didn’t like it,” I say.
"Who?"
“A friend. A close friend.”
Given my reply, Julia doesn't press me.
“What’s their name?”
“Zoe Pasquier.”
“The owner of Temple Coffee?”
“How’d you know?” I ask, shocked.
She doesn’t answer.
“Do you have proof of what you’re telling me?”
I continue, my brow wrinkled with concern. I hoped to get some support through my connections with Julia, but I never imagined she already knew the people involved.
“No, none, except for his way of talking about things. But unfortunately, nothing concrete.”
“Does Anderson know you know Zoe Pasquier?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. I don't think he would keep me on as counsel if he did,” I say, trying to convince myself at the same time.
“Wait, you’re still working for him?" she says looking pleased, a smile spreading across her face.
“Yeah, for the time being. I’m trying to find a solution to stop all this, but one that will limit the damage. For the firm. And especially for Zoe,” I explain truthfully.
“If Anderson trusts you, he won’t appreciate being dropped. You’re right about that.”
“Your turn,” I say, encouraging her to go on.
“I'm bound by confidentiality, Liam. I have to make a phone call before I can talk to you any further. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She gets up and holds her phone to her ear, walking away. I watch her as she crosses the dining room of the Parisian brasserie and I try to read her lips to figure out what she’s saying, standing outside on the sidewalk, to the mystery contact on the other end of the line.
The conversation lasts almost a half hour.
“I’m sorry,” she says when she returns to her seat. “Here’s what I propose we do,” she whispers. “We go to the judicial police after lunch and explain what we know about Anderson.”
“We?”
“My team.”
“You’re working on Anderson?” I say quietly, in shock.
“Not here, Liam,” she warns.
***
An hour later, I’m standing in the judicial police office, being introduced to the members of the anti-corruption unit, led by Pierre Chesnier, a very charismatic fellow. After a brief introduction to each member of the team, he explains what his unit does.
“We are all judiciary police officers. Our unit is attached to the NFTID.”
“The NFTID?”
"Sorry. The National Financial and Tax Investigations Division, which is in turn tied to the subdivision for the fight against organized crime and financial fraud.”
I’m already lost as he spouts off these abstract terms. All I know is that if this unit knows Anderson, things are worse than I thought.
“I know, this all seems very complicated, but put simply, we’re in charge of preventing and cracking down on organized crime. Intelligence and strategic analysis, that’s our day-to-day. We work closely with the FFETF – the Financial Fraud Enforcement Task Force.”
“What does all this have to do with Domenic Anderson?”
“Organized crime, corruption, insider trading, tax fraud. Domenic Anderson has all the characteristics of public enemy numero uno. We’ve been investigating him for a long time.”
“And have you collected much evidence?”
“Not enough. Right now, all we can hope for is a fine or a suspended prison sentence. It’s not enough. Our goal is to get him thrown out of the country for good.”
I like the sound of that. If Anderson can’t set foot in France, Zoe will be out of harm’s way.
“Is that possible?”
“Yes, but to get there, we need solid evidence. The problem with Anderson is that he doesn’t act alone. He pays his lackeys to do the dirty work. If we could catch him in the act, it would be a major boon to our case against him.”
“And that’s where you come in,” Julia says suddenly, having remained quiet up until now.
“Me?!” I say, surprised.
“Liam,” Pierre Chesnier continues, “your privileged relationship with Anderson is more than we’d ever hoped for. He trusts you. He trusts you so much, we suspected you were part of his criminal organization.”
My face goes pale when I hear Chesnier explain that they doubted my integrity.
“Don’t hold it against us, Liam. It’s our job to investigate all this gangster's associates.”
“Yes, I understand. You were only doing your job,” I concede. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he says, encouraging me to go on.
“What do you know about Zoe’s business partner? I was led to believe he could be an accomplice of Anderson’s as well.”
“Victor Blondel is indeed part of Anderson’s entourage. He was corrupted after Jean Pasquier, Zoe’s father, died. He seemed so loyal, we were all very surprised.”
“How did they approach him?”
“During the evening hours at Temple Coffee. Zoe is never there. Victor alone is in charge. Lecomte went there on several occasions.
And the money did the rest.”
“And what’s the price of betrayal?”
“According to our info, if he convinces Zoe to sell the location, he’ll get a one-hundred-thousand-euro bonus. In addition to his forty-percent share of the sale.”
“And Zoe has no idea... She trusts him blindly.”
“He was her father’s best friend, it’s no surprise,” he explains.
“How can I help you?” I say, ready to get to work.
Pierre Chesnier looks me in the eyes. He seems relieved and triumphant at the same time. He probably thought he was going to have to pull out the big guns to convince me.
“When are you set to meet with Anderson?”
“When he comes back to France, in two weeks. He’s scheduled a working meeting with his partners in Paris and myself.”
“Do you know the purpose of this meeting?”
"Yes, of course. It’s about his hotel project.”
“And more specifically?”
“He wants us to present the solutions we’ve found to defeat the last person standing in the way.”
“Miss Pasquier?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“And do you have any solutions for him? Legal ones, I mean.”
“No, none. Zoe has the right to refuse the sale.”
“He’s not going to like that!” Eric pipes up, one of the other members of the unit.
"Alright. This is what I suggest you do,” Chesnier continues. “We’ll wire you with a mic on the day of the meeting and you’ll get Anderson to blow his top.”
“How?”
“By telling him what he hates to hear. Julia?”
“Anderson cannot tolerate it when he is advised to give up on a project,” Julia picks up where he left off. “Suggest he move his hotel complex to a different location. If he reacts true to form, you’ll quickly discover a new side of him.”
“I’ve already had a glimpse of that side, and I didn't enjoy the show.”
“Well then, gird your loins,” she warns.
***
It’s been two weeks since I saw Zoe, since I smelled her vanilla-scented perfume or heard her crystal-clear laughter. Two weeks of missing her. And worrying, wondering how she’s doing, if she's moved on from our breakup and is back to smiling that sparkling smile of hers.
And two weeks that I’ve officially infiltrated Anderson’s team with the anti-corruption unit.
The big day is finally here. I walk into the unit headquarters with determination in my step and a bit of anxiety in my stomach.
“Give me your shirt,” Cecile orders.
I obey without complaint. Standing there shirtless, I watch as Cecile, the surveillance equipment expert, installs a tiny camera behind one of my shirt buttons.
The tension in the room is thick. Julia seems worried about me, and Chesnier keeps listing his recommendations and warnings on repeat.
“Act natural.”
“If you make any mistakes, your life may be in danger.”
“If you think they’re onto you, give us a sign.”
“Do you best not to appear stressed.”
Easier said than done.
In just a few minutes, Cecile has finished. While I get dressed, she says we need to test the equipment. I do what she says.
I walk downstairs to the second floor, as requested. I go to a certain Charles Preston’s office, knock, and when I’m standing there facing him, I inform him calmly:
“Elvis has left the building.”
He looks me over, bored, and speaking to my chest, replies:
“Don’t you have anything better to do, guys? I can tell you’re working as hard as ever up there...”
When I get back to the team, I’m met by uproarious laughter.
“We always need a bit of comic relief before a mission,” Julia explains between two fits of laughter.
“In any case, it’s working perfectly,” Cecile assures me. “We can almost hear your heartbeat!”
I remain silent, already focused on what lies ahead.
“Everything is going to be fine, Liam. I have faith in you,” Chesnier says encouragingly.
When I walk out, I focus on a single thing: Zoe. My Zoe. The success of this mission is essential if I want her to finally be safe. And if everything goes as planned, I might finally be able to see her again. If she’ll still have me. I know I hurt her by rejecting her like that. But it was for her own good. She’ll understand when I explain everything.
If she lets me.
My mind wanders to the pain I’ve caused her. And to think, she has no idea her life is in danger.
Concentrate, Liam. Now is not the time.
I wipe my clammy hands on my pants before I walk into the meeting room. The director of the French branch is already there, as is Richard Lecomte. Anderson comes in shortly after, along with Bertrand. I don’t know his last name or his official position. His build has always made me think he’s a bodyguard. As has his position: standing in the corner of the room, ready to protect Anderson in case of intrusion. At this precise moment, I wonder if he’s a henchman.
I'm sitting facing Anderson. Chesnier must be thrilled.
“Richard, I hope you have good news for me,” Anderson says, faking a smile.
I watch Richard go pale, even whiter than he already was. I already know his answer. Zoe won’t give up. That’s what I love about her: her perseverance.
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
Anderson takes a few seconds to let it sink in. I can’t stop staring at his jugular, pulsating nervously in his neck. His jaw is tight, indicating just how tense he is.
“How high did you go?”
“Fifty thousand more, sir.”
“Fifty thousand??? And she said no???” he says, growing angry.
He’s raised his voice now. Everyone in the room is silent.
“Mister Desages, what solutions can you suggest to get us that building?”
“I’m afraid there is no legal way to do so, Mister Anderson,” I confirm as calmly as possible.
“I'm afraid, as you say, that I do not approve of your response. Do I need to remind you, sir, that given the fees I pay you, you need to meet my expectations?” he retorts, disdain in his voice.
“My fees are for what is legally possible,” I explain, hoping he’ll slip into the territory of illegal solutions.
He smiles at my audacity.
“I like your directness, sir. Let’s forget the law for a moment. What do you think my options are?”
Here we go. This is how I get him to blow a gasket.
“Have you thought about building your hotel complex in another location?” I say, provoking him.
"Excuse me?”
Nervous throat-clearing breaks through the heavy silence around me. The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating. I try to remain calm, pretending I want what’s best for Anderson.
“It's out of the question that I change anything about this project we’ve been working on for fifteen long months now! Especially for an insignificant little barista. Do you hear me?!”
“It was just an idea,” I reply simply.
“Well you can rule it out. She has to sell, end of story!” he insists, almost screaming. “If there is no legal recourse, we’ll find another,” he states.
“You understand, Mister Anderson, that for ethical reasons it would be more prudent for you if I were not present should you choose to discuss solutions beyond what is strictly legal.”
“Aren’t you bound by confidentiality?” he says, surprised.
“To a certain extent,” I inform him.
“And who could force you to break it?”
“The district attorney, for example.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I have a good relationship with the assistant DA,” he explains. “I pay him enough to take care
of things for me.”
That’s one. Inside, I jump for joy.
“As you wish,” I say, my smile implying I’m on his side.
“Let’s recap. The project is almost off the ground. The only person left to convince is this little bitch.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from strangling him. I can't stand listening to him talk about Zoe like that.
“You’re forgetting the authorization from the city,” I pipe up.
“That’s taken care of!” he rejoices.
“How did you manage that so quickly?” I ask, feigning admiration.
Flattery always works on these guys.
“Signed authorization direct from the head of Paris's Department of Urban Planning.”
I give him a questioning look to figure out how he got his way.
“He lives beyond his means,” he explains, as if telling me a secret. “You see Richard, everything can be bought!”
And that’s two! I didn’t come in here today for nothing.
Richard goes deathly pale for the second time today.
“I tried to convince her, sir, I promise. The price we’re offering is almost double the market value. But she just said again that she’ll never sell and that...”
“And what?” Anderson pushes.
“That you don’t scare her,” he finally says, hesitant.
This time, Anderson loses it.
“I don’t scare her? Who does that whore think she is?”
I bite down harder to remain calm.
“Let me make one thing clear: nothing has ever stopped me, and that little shit is not going to be the first! She’s not scared? Apparently destroying her shop wasn’t enough, then.”
Bingo!
“If we need to bring out the heavy artillery, so be it. We’ll see if she’s still so brave once she’s been knocked around a bit, the little tramp. Bertrand, you’ll teach her a lesson. Construction begins next month. Are you all with me? I don’t want to hear another word about this Zoe Pasquier.”
This time it’s too much. Hearing him spout off such horrors about the woman I love is more than I can stand. To hear him threaten her is unbearable. Anger, indignation, my need to protect her – all of it is coursing through my veins until it reaches my brain.
I stand and look Anderson straight in the eyes.
