Chapter 5 - The Man Who Had Been Watching Our Marriage
The police moved us to a hotel that afternoon.
Not because our apartment was officially considered a crime scene.
Because Detective Delon no longer believed it was safe.
I sat on the edge of a hotel bed staring at walls that belonged to no one.
Sébastien stood by the window.
Neither of us had spoken for twenty minutes.
Finally, I asked, “How did someone record us?”
“I don’t know.”
“Our bedroom, Sébastien.”
“I know.”
“Three weeks ago.”
“I heard him.”
He turned.
“What?”
“The night of the recording.”
Fragments returned.
A faint sound near the balcony.
A door moving.
I had thought it was wind.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Someone was inside our apartment.”
Sébastien approached.
I raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For bringing this into our life.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I kept things from you.”
“Yes.”
That was the wound beneath everything.
Not Gabriel.
Not Nicolas.
Not the dead man.
Secrets.
Every marriage contains private corners.
Small embarrassments.
Old fears.
Thoughts that never reach the other person.
But this was different.
Sébastien had discovered a man claiming to be his dead brother and said nothing.
He had received threats against me and said nothing.
He had known someone sabotaged his brakes months earlier.
And said nothing.
“How many other things don’t I know?”
He sat in a chair across the room.
“Probably more than you should have had to discover like this.”
I waited.
“My father wasn’t just an accountant.”
“What was he?”
“He worked for an investment group.”
“What group?”
“Orion Meridian.”
I recognized the name.
Twenty years earlier, Orion Meridian had collapsed in one of the largest financial fraud scandals in the country.
Executives went to prison.
Investors lost millions.
“My father helped hide money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly. Tens of millions.”
“And the trust Gabriel mentioned?”
“Possibly real.”
“Your mother knew?”
“I think so.”
“Did she take it?”
Sébastien lowered his head.
“I inherited several accounts when she died. She said they came from property investments.”
“How much?”
“About six million.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.”
“It was before we married.”
“We are married.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked ashamed.
“I invested most of it into my company.”
My anger began connecting dots.
“What if Gabriel and Nicolas believed that money belonged to them?”
“That seems likely.”
“Then why watch me?”
“To pressure me.”
“For four years?”
He had no answer.
Detective Delon called.
The flash drive Gabriel gave me contained financial records.
Many were genuine.
Some showed transfers from Orion Meridian shell companies into accounts controlled by Sébastien’s mother.
Others suggested she had maintained contact with someone named Nicolas long after the accident.
“Your mother knew Nicolas?” I asked.
Sébastien shook his head.
“I didn’t even know Nicolas existed.”
Delon explained the likely truth.
Sébastien’s mother had given birth to triplets.
But Nicolas had severe respiratory complications and was supposedly placed in long-term medical care.
For reasons still unclear, his birth record had been sealed and later altered.
Gabriel and Sébastien grew up believing they were twins.
After the car accident, Gabriel entered care.
Nicolas appears to have been raised elsewhere.
Years later, the brothers found each other.
Except Sébastien remained outside their lives.
Until someone decided he shouldn’t.
That evening, Delon came to the hotel.
“We identified the dead man.”
My pulse quickened.
“Nicolas Reyes.”
Sébastien closed his eyes.
A brother he had never known existed had died carrying his life.
“How did he die?” I asked.
“Impact injuries.”
“So the crash killed him.”
“Yes.”
“Was he driving?”
Delon hesitated.
“We found bruising consistent with restraint before the crash.”
“What does that mean?”
“He may have been unconscious or physically restrained.”
“Murder?”
“Possibly.”
Sébastien stood.
“Gabriel killed him.”
“We don’t know.”
“He was in Lucie’s apartment hours later.”
“That makes him suspicious.”
Delon looked at me.
“But Gabriel contacted us.”
I stiffened.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He claims Sébastien killed Nicolas.”
My husband laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“He says Nicolas wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
Delon placed several photos on the table.
Surveillance images.
Nicolas and Gabriel had been running an elaborate identity-fraud operation.
Corporate espionage.
Blackmail.
Social engineering.
Their identical appearance allowed them to create alibis, impersonate executives and manipulate security systems.
For years they had made substantial money.
Then they discovered Sébastien.
A third identical brother.
A legitimate businessman with wealth, access and a clean record.
“He was the perfect identity,” Delon said.
I felt nauseous.
“Why wait so long?”
“They didn’t.”
He pointed to dates.
Four years ago.
Exactly when the photographs of me began.
“They were learning his life.”
My eyes moved toward Sébastien.
“Us.”
“Yes.”
“They studied our home, routines, friends, anniversaries, personal memories.”
The garlic-bread story.
Suddenly it wasn’t proof anymore.
It was evidence of surveillance.
“What if…”
I couldn’t finish.
Delon understood.
“What if the man beside you isn’t Sébastien?”
Sébastien stared at him.
“That’s insane.”
“Is it?”
“I have the shoulder scar.”
“So might Gabriel.”
“I have fingerprints.”
“We’re comparing them.”
Sébastien became angry.
“I can tell you anything about my wife.”
“Anything you could have learned through years of surveillance.”
The room went silent.
I hated the detective for saying it.
Because it was exactly what I was thinking.
Sébastien turned toward me.
“Lucie.”
I stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
His face broke.
“How do I prove who I am?”
I didn’t know.
Then I remembered something.
A memory no camera could have captured.
No journal recorded.
No conversation anyone had overheard.
At least I hoped.
“When my mother died,” I said slowly, “I spent one night at her old house before we sold it.”
Sébastien nodded.
“You came with me.”
“Yes.”
“What did I find under her kitchen sink?”
His expression changed.
He answered immediately.
“A red coffee tin.”
“What was inside?”
“Twenty-three handwritten birthday cards.”
My eyes filled.
“Why twenty-three?”
“Because she had written one for every birthday she thought she might miss after her cancer returned.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“What did you do when I couldn’t read them?”
“I read them to you.”
“How far did you get?”
“Four.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because you asked me to put them back.”
My voice broke.
“And what did you say?”
Sébastien’s eyes filled.
“I said grief doesn’t expire just because somebody leaves you instructions.”
I covered my mouth.
Nobody knew that.
Nobody.
Not even my closest friend.
I had never written it down.
I walked toward him.
Then Detective Delon’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at Sébastien.
“Fingerprint results.”
My heart hammered.
Delon read silently.
Then raised his eyes.
“The fingerprints we took from you this morning do not match Sébastien Reyes’s government records.”
The room went completely still.
I stepped away from my husband.
He stared at Delon.
“That’s impossible.”
May you like
But the detective was already reaching for his handcuffs.
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