The Man in the Black Suit

by Sylvain Reynard

  “Luc.”

  “Since he’s your ex, I’ll dub him Agent What-A-Shame, because again, that level of hotness should be illegal.”

  “I could introduce you,” Acacia said quietly.

  “Absolutely not. You’re my friend.” Kate closed her fingers over the coins and brought them to her mouth, blowing on them before muttering a few words in English. She threw them over the side of the bridge, where they barely missed a barge.

  “You’re going to get arrested.” Acacia looked over her shoulder and scanned the bridge. “You aren’t supposed to throw things into the Seine.”

  “No one noticed. If someone comes by, we’re tourists and neither of us speaks French. Or perhaps we can ask Agent What-A-Shame to bail us out.” Kate winked. “I just made a wish. I asked the river to help you.”

  Acacia fought a smile. “You think the Seine is going to find me another job?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re thinking of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. You throw coins into it and make a wish.”

  “Fountain, river, whatever. I made a donation to the river gods and asked them to help. I’m pretty confident they’ll do something, or they’ll have to refund my money.”

  Acacia snickered. “I appreciate the thought.”

  “I’m here to help.” Kate cupped her hands around her mouth. “Come on, Seine. Don’t let me down.”

  Over the sound of Acacia’s laughter, her cell phone rang.

  She glanced at the screen. “I’m sorry, Kate, I should take this. It could be someone calling about a job.”

  Kate waved her off and continued to lean against the railing.

  “Hello?” Acacia stepped a few meters away.

  “Good afternoon,” a mature female voice said. “May I speak with Acacia Santos, please?”

  “This is she.”

  “This is Madame Bishop of KLH. We represent a number of corporations and assist them in finding exceptional employees.”

  The mere hint of hope caught in Acacia’s throat. She moved the phone away from her mouth to cough quickly. “Yes, madame. May I ask how you got my name and number?”

  “We are an executive search firm and have contacts in the hospitality industry. At the moment we are assisting a number of clients who are looking to hire persons with concierge experience. I understand you’re currently employed as concierge at the Victoire?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “Would you be interested in interviewing with us? This isn’t an offer of employment. But if your interview is successful, we can attempt to match you with a client company. Our client list includes multinational corporations as well as French companies, and they all offer generous remuneration and benefits packages.”

  Acacia shut her eyes tightly and tried to contain her excitement. “Yes, I’d like to interview. Thank you.”

  “Could you come in Friday afternoon, say at two o’clock?”

  “Yes, I’m available then.”

  “Excellent. We are located in the financial district of La Défense. When you arrive, tell reception you have an appointment with me. I’ll be expecting you promptly at two.”

  “Of course. Thank you, madame.”

  “In the interim, I’d suggest you look at our website and familiarize yourself with the guidelines for prospective employees. Please email my assistant a cover letter and your curriculum vitae, along with any supporting documents.” Madame rattled off the email address of her administrative assistant.

  “Yes, madame. Thank you again.”

  Acacia ended the call and tucked the cell phone under her chin. Her heart beat quickly, and she found herself smiling.

  It wouldn’t do to be excessively optimistic. A job in the corporate world would be different from one in hospitality. Still, it was too good an opportunity to turn down.

  Acacia dug into the pockets of her jeans and withdrew a handful of coins. She crossed over to where Kate stood and surreptitiously dropped them into the river.

  “What was that for?” Kate asked as she watched the Euros breach the surface of the water.

  “I’m just showing my thanks to the river gods.” Acacia lifted her hands into the air. “I think my luck has changed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  DESPITE HER RAY OF HOPE, Acacia remained anxious.

  She worried her identity would be leaked to the media in the aftermath of the BRB’s descent on Hotel Victoire. She’d set up a Google alert for any mention of her name or, God forbid, a photograph. Dread filled her every time she checked her email.

  She hadn’t mentioned the situation to her mother, foregoing their weekly telephone calls in favor of emails. It was impossible to hide her anxiety over the telephone. If Acacia lost her job, she wouldn’t be able to support her mother. But she didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.

  By the time Friday arrived, Acacia was more than eager to quit the hotel. Monsieur Roy had recruited other staff to watch her, eagerly looking for any misstep or hint of customer dissatisfaction. Acacia knew it was only a matter of time before he found something he could manipulate into an infraction worthy of termination, which was why she’d delayed turning over Marcel’s journal to the Paris police.

  She’d researched KLH and found it to be a well-respected employment firm. She had no idea how she’d come to their attention, but she was grateful she had.

  Acacia had to cut her sleep short on Friday in order to prepare for the interview. That morning, she took extra care with her appearance. She was fortunate her tanned skin was clear and required little in the way of cosmetics. Her parents had gifted her with beauty and an attractive figure that wore clothes very well.

  She had to remove her jacket and shoes when she went through security as she entered the building, a modern high rise in the financial district. Their setup rivaled that of the airport.

  As she waited outside Madame Bishop’s office, she carefully smoothed her black skirt. She wore a suit and her lapel pins, her hair and clothes intentionally conservative.

  “Madame will see you now.” The administrative assistant approached Acacia and ushered her into a large corner office that featured floor-to-ceiling windows.

  A diminutive woman with black hair pulled into a severe bun at her nape and oversized, red-framed glasses rose behind the desk.

  “Mademoiselle.” She extended her hand.

  Acacia shook it and took the seat that was offered to her.

  Madame Bishop returned to her seat and retrieved a file. “I’ve reviewed your curriculum vitae, mademoiselle, and I’ve spoken with the Paris branch of Les Clefs d’Or. They noted that you received several commendations during your tenure at Le Méridien Étoile.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  She gazed at Acacia from across the desk. “Some of our clients are looking for more than just an experienced executive assistant. I know the tradition of the concierge is tied to the hotel industry, but we’ve been successful in recruiting talented concierges to work in the corporate sector. For example, we recruited one of the junior concierges at the Shangri-La Hotel to serve as the personal concierge for the CEO of a major technology firm. Both our client and the concierge are happy with the arrangement. Would you be interested in becoming a personal concierge?”

  Acacia hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes, madame. I believe the skills I have are transferable to assisting an individual client.”

  Madame Bishop opened the file and uncapped a pen. She made a few notes. “It’s possible the position would require travel. What would you do to ensure you maintain a consistently high level of service outside Paris?”

  “In both of my positions I’ve worked with concierges from hotels in other countries to assist guests, so I already have an international network. I’d be more than happy to cultivate that network. I believe my facility with languages is also an asset.”

&
nbsp; “Have you traveled much?”

  Acacia shook her head but forced a smile. “No, madame. But I’m enthusiastic about the possibility. I enjoy learning about other cultures.”

  “According to your paperwork, your citizenship is Brazilian, and you are on a work permit tied to your position at the Victoire. Why do you want to leave?” Madame’s blue eyes grew razor sharp.

  Acacia thought very quickly, maintaining her smile. “The Victoire is an excellent hotel. But the senior concierge is firmly entrenched, and for the time being, there isn’t room for promotion. I’m eager to expand my experience so I may apply for senior concierge positions someday.”

  “So you wouldn’t see yourself as a personal concierge in the long term?”

  “That would depend on the position.”

  “I see.” The woman gazed at her sharply. “Do you possess any other talents that aren’t listed in your curriculum vitae?”

  “I enjoy sports and try to stay physically fit. I studied art history.”

  “Anything else?” Madame persisted.

  Acacia developed the impression that Madame Bishop was expecting something in particular, but Acacia didn’t know what it could be.

  “I think that’s all.” Acacia forced another smile.

  “As with any prospective employee, we have to conduct a background check. Also, we would need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Our clients expect confidentiality with respect to any information you might glean while in their employ, even with regard to the interview process.”

  Acacia’s smile didn’t falter. “As a concierge, I’m committed to confidentiality.”

  “Excellent.” Madame produced several pages that were stapled together. “Please take a few moments to review this agreement. If you accept it, please sign and date at the bottom.

  “May I see your passport? I’ll ask my assistant to make a photocopy.”

  Acacia retrieved her Brazilian passport and work permit from her briefcase and handed them over.

  The woman excused herself and exited the office, leaving Acacia to read the form.

  The non-disclosure agreement appeared to be fairly standard, although she noted that the form expected her to keep confidential the names and identities of any potential employers she might encounter. She read the agreement twice and signed and dated it.

  In the end, Acacia wasn’t sure how the interview had gone. Certainly it was very different from other interviews she’d had.

  She knew a search of her passport or fingerprints would find nothing damning. Even if KLH somehow pulled her birth certificate from Brazil, there wouldn’t be a problem. Still, she lived with the fear that someday someone would discover who she really was and he would find her.

  The office door opened and madame returned.

  “Did you sign the form?” She returned Acacia’s passport and work permit.

  “Yes.” Acacia placed the signed agreement on the woman’s desk.

  “Good. One of our clients is in the office today and has expressed an interest in meeting you. Would you object to a second interview?”

  Acacia turned in her chair. “Not at all.”

  “This way, please.” Madame waited for Acacia to pack up her briefcase and escorted her down the hall to what was labeled a conference room.

  She opened the door. “Monsieur Nicholas Cassirer, I’d like you to meet Mademoiselle Acacia Santos of Hotel Victoire. Mademoiselle, Monsieur Cassirer has a few questions for you.”

  Madame guided Acacia into the conference room. “You can ring my assistant when you’re finished, monsieur.”

  “Thank you.” A deep voice spoke from the other end of the conference room.

  Madame closed the door.

  “Bonjour, monsieur.” Acacia greeted the broad back of a tall man who stood at one of the windows, gazing at the financial district with his hands in his pockets.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He turned.

  Acacia placed a hand over her mouth as she realized the man who stood in front of her was none other than Monsieur Breckman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ACACIA RETREATED AND PUT HER HAND on the door handle.

  “All I ask is a moment of your time.” Monsieur Breckman remained by the windows.

  “You’re stalking me.” She cast him an accusatory look.

  “Far from it.” He gestured to a chair, but Acacia refused to take it.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nicholas Cassirer.” He stepped toward her and extended his hand.

  She spurned it.

  “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” He lowered his voice. “I regret this.”

  “You changed your name. And your appearance.” She gestured to his face, which was now bearded. His scar had been covered, presumably with some kind of prosthetic that blended into his beard. His dark hair was combed differently.

  “I’m still scarred.” He gazed at her coolly. “I just choose to cover it on occasion.”

  Acacia had to fight the urge to touch her temple, where the skin was marred but hidden. “Why the name change?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment. I’ve made several missteps, which I mean to correct. The gratuity was not intended as a bribe, but rather a reward for excellent service.”

  “Wrongs can’t be rectified by money.”

  “I agree.” Nicholas’s tone was sincere. “I’m not here to give you your gratuity. I’m here to offer an explanation.”

  He gestured to one of the chairs again.

  “Thank you, I prefer to stand.”

  “Very well.” He placed his hands in his pockets once again. “My family owns a number of different corporations. I’m involved with their oversight. A few years ago I began devoting much of my time to the recovery of stolen art.”

  Acacia’s gaze sharpened.

  Nicholas smiled. “I knew that would pique your curiosity. Because of the nature of the black market, I assume different identities. I have the support of several governments and sometimes travel on diplomatic passports.”

  “Why would a government support you?”

  “My goal is to return stolen art to its rightful owners. National governments view me as an ally.”

  Acacia looked at him curiously. “Are you a spy?”

  Nicholas’s dark eyes twinkled. “I inhabit the corporate world, while dabbling in black market art and antiquities.” He extended his arms. “Think of me as Robin Hood in a suit.”

  “There was a theft at the Uffizi in Florence a few years ago; someone stole a collection of illustrations of Dante’s The Divine Comedy. Later on, they were recovered. Was that you?”

  “No.” He lowered his arms. “But you heard about that.”

  “It was all over the news.”

  “I know the Emersons, the present owner and his wife, because my family sold them the illustrations. But I was not the Robin Hood who returned them.”

  “Robin Hood was captured by the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  “I have powerful friends who assist me in evading capture.”

  She squinted at him. “Is that why the BRB released you?”

  “They released me because I was on the trail of a stolen painting. I was undercover, which is why I couldn’t explain myself to you. Marcel was the intermediary between an art dealer and me. Unfortunately, he was attacked before he could give me the location of the meeting or the name of the dealer.”

  “I didn’t know Marcel had those kinds of connections.”

  “Probably because those connections run through the black market.” Nicholas took a step closer. “A couple of years ago, I expressed interest in an artifact I knew was illegal to acquire. At first, Marcel refused. Later, he said he might have a source that could help me. I’ve been using Marcel ever since.”

  “Did you ask him for a relic?”


  Nicholas chuckled. “No.”

  Acacia waited, expecting him to expand on his answer. But he didn’t.

  She clutched her briefcase. “Marcel is still in a coma.”

  “I’ve been trying to discover who attacked him. You should know, mademoiselle, Marcel has been procuring illegal goods and services for his clients for years. I’m convinced Monsieur Roy has some awareness of these activities and probably takes a commission. His animosity toward you suggests he sees you as a threat.”

  “I’m not a threat to anyone.”

  Nicholas gave her a pointed look. “You’re a person of integrity who has a friend in the BRB. Roy doesn’t want their scrutiny. He has to get rid of you or risk exposure.”

  Acacia’s shoulders slumped. “Then there’s nothing I can do to keep my job.”

  Nicholas guided her to a chair, and she finally sat down. He walked over to the conference table and lifted a bottle of sparkling water. He poured some into a glass and presented it to her.

  “Thank you.” She sipped, her mind racing. “I didn’t know about any of this.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “If law enforcement ever investigated the Victoire and made arrests, my reputation would be tarnished. No other hotel would want to hire me.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Acacia tasted the water again. “I don’t need rescuing.”

  Nicholas’s expression tightened. He pulled up a chair and sat facing her.

  “My executive assistant is unable to travel. I need someone who can accompany me on business trips and help with local arrangements. I also need an interpreter.”

  “I’m sure there are many potential executive assistants who could fill the position.”

  “I don’t want them. I want you.”

  Acacia arched an eyebrow.

  Nicholas leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “You have concierge experience, fluency in several languages, and a background in art.”

  “Why not contact me directly rather than using Madame Bishop to lure me out here?”