Beneath The Orange Sunset ✔️

38

~38~

Of course there were some people who knew about LaPointe. The locals knew, but they kept it to themselves.

A few witnesses who had seen a Mercedes drive by that day could swear that they never really did see anything.

Nobody wanted to get involved with the ensnaring wiles of the police.

The local Channel 4 news and France24 of Paris were cruel and without pity. They labelled LaPointe as 'an immature businessman hiding behind Lacroix shadow.'

They also painted their opinion of him in fierce black letters on the newly released front-page of the Paris Frontier newspaper.

LAPOINTE: OUT OF LINE.

When he'd left office that afternoon, he had to pass by a few nosey reporters. They made him sick in the stomach.

It all began when the German investors returned to their country and began spreading such insidious remarks to whoever cared to listen.

Fabien awoke with a start. His mind was still focused on the daunting news - he'd been thinking of all day. He knew why he was been attacked, all he needed was a counterattack.

He blinked away morbid images from the glaring white lights of the flat television screen until his head got a fix of his actual location. He was in a five star hotel in midtown Provins, a city he had never visited before, and one he had disliked intensely from the moment he entered it. Maybe because he had a few enemies rooted here.

The medieval city didn't suit his strong personality but he needed to get away and clear his head for a while.

Standing to his feet, he took in the shiny, silver colored wallpaper, mahogany furniture, the stylish white and blue brocade fabrics of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the deep hued Parisian walls.

He listened absently to the whine of a police siren as he peered through the transparent, glass window overlaying the quiet scenery of the city.

Leaving the comfort of his own home for a hotel was never one of  LaPointe's habit but he had no choice at situations like this. Things had gotten complicated lately; Juliette's incessant intrusion was beginning to piss him off.

He had to make sure her slate was wiped clean before moving on to his next agenda. He glanced at the Rolex golden chain on his wrist. It was a few minutes past six. Just a few more hours - his ears itched to hear a positive report. He was awaiting a thrilling feedback. He had ordered Juliette's car to be towed away from his home and dumped in Seine River. How perfectly in line that she reported the car missing.

Placing his phone on the desk by the window overlooking the street, he picked up a newspaper from a stack of others.

The yellowed paper was dated September 4, and the main story at the front page was a headline that got his attention: Seine floods its banks in Paris after heavy rains.

The reporter for the September Paris Frontier newspaper had written these words:

Parisians on Saturday were preparing for the Seine River to rise further as it approached peak levels, with forecasters warning that flood danger both in the French capital and other regions could stay high for the next week. The Yonne department further to the south in the Seine basin also saw "significant flooding" on Friday, according to authorities, with some five major roads blocked.

Fabien cracked a smile. Calling himself a genius wouldn't be totally wrong, would it? His heart bubbled in triumph. Everything seemed to be falling in place for good - as long as he doesn't accept defeat. Yes, that was his mantra. Never accept defeat. Emile need not worry anymore.

What happens when the police finds the car in the middle of Seine River?

And Antoine, yes his dear son must be devastated after seeing the video of poor Olga, considering the fact that he haven't heard from him since the incident. It's been over forty eight hours since she'd been held against her will. Its a pity that Antoine would let such a pretty girl suffer so much.

The longer he delayed, the more Olga suffers. He wasn't been mean. No. He is just trying to be a good father - a father to his son.

Fabien rolled his neck. He hated the tension that was returning in waves. The soft hum of the air control unit suddenly felt deafening.

He ordered champagne and a plate of assorted chocolates. Then he showered and cleaned himself of last night sweat.

Next he brought out a small vial which contained a dozen tablets. Last time he had taken them with Emile, they both had an ecstatic time together. 

He dressed in white pants and a short-sleeved flowery shirt. Settling beside the large bed, he unlatched a satchel which contained the necessary documents for his next agenda execution. But he won't be working alone tonight.

Just as the sun was setting in the horizon, he waited patiently for Emile. She would be arriving soon and she will check into the hotel under the pseudo name, Laila Barnes.