~41~
In the morning, Fabien LaPointe trudged through Provins' crowded 16th Avenue.
He pushed against the rush hour pedestrian traffic clutching his satchel closely to his side. He had just lodged in a million dollars into his Swiss account using the local community bank. It had been Emile's idea. Small thriving community bank were willing to bend their codes of conduct just a little to meet up targets in the money market.
They demanded that he opened an account with them. So he used the names Mr and Mrs Barnes for the new account. He had settled with a hundred thousand dollars bribe with the bank manager and the rest was history.
The power of money.
With Alberte out of the way, Fabien enjoyed luxury to its fullest. He ran the Lacroix Enterprise with a strong hand yet he stashed embezzled funds monthly into an unknown account abroad. Anyone who knew LaPointe will attest to the fact that he was one dangerous and shrewd player.
Yes. Of course.
Dressed in his pair of white shorts and tee shirt, he could literally pass for a golf player heading to game. He walked back to the hotel Côte Remparts, a mini haven located at 16 bd gambetta, Provins.
His phone beeped as he approached the gardens.
"What?" he said.
"Waiting for your orders sir."
Fabien breathed into the phone. His head reeled for the next line of action.
"Release the girl, place her on the next flight to London."
"Yes sir."
~~~~~~~
Laila Barnes hopped out of the taxi quite gallantly, she replaced her dark sun shade glasses over her eyes as she walked into the two storey building.
Dressed in high waisted jean and flowery chiffon top to match the sunny weather, Laila marched to the office of Martins Berger, a burly old man well known in Provins, with hair as sandy as the Sahara.
He was not overly pleased when Laila walked in. He was generally not a happy man.
"Can we try to stick to schedule. I have important engagements with other clients," he sighed.So what? Laila thought irritably.
I'm the one who's paying. Or rather Fabien is.
After years of slow planning she had finally decided the battle line was drawn. Maxime leaving the house spelt war. Not only did he ruin her plans, he made away with important documents. How she wanted to squeeze the life out of that boy.
Don't worry Maxime. I will break you limb for limb. There will be no escape this time.
Laila remained calm.
"You've already spoken to my husband. He told you the details I'm sure of that. I'm only here for the paper work."Whatever.
Berger nodded halfheartedly. From his unkempt desk, he presented the papers related to the Lacroix and tapped the spots to sign.
"Just a few questions for clarifications," Berger swallowed.
"Yes." Laila didn't look up.
"The woman in question is a sister to your late husband, am I right?"
"She is."
"You're sueing her for defamation, harassment and false accusations."
"Yes?"
Berger leaned back into his swivel chair. "In other words, you want her out of the way."
Laila raised her eyebrows faintly.
If I wanted her out of the way, I would have so easily done that myself. I just had a little pity and decided to go by the law this time.
"Why do you put it that way?" Laila read his mind almost immediately. Was he trying to get her to compromise or what?
Berger shrugged. "It's my job to know the dirty details."
In case you've forgotten.
Laila dropped the pen.
"Juliette is family," she said sarcastically. "I only find myself having a hard time understanding her. We have a very difficult relationship."Berger studied the woman. He knew her type. Greedy rich women who feigned innocence while they crushed their victims. Her husband had been more specific when they spoke on phone last night. He wanted Juliette out of the way. In other words, she should be labeled as guilty with every possible accusations.
He was an expert in such cases after all. So long as the bills and deals are met on both sides.
Not wanting to go further on sentimental discussions, Laila trotted out of the building with her phone to her ears.
"You are not at the company, Antoine. I left you in charge!" Laila harsher out. "Don't tell me you are at the mansion - drinking."
"Your pretty mansion is deserted. Mother."
"Why? Is no-one there?"
"There's nobody here, mom."
Her voice intensified. "Where is Henrietta? Where is she?"
"I don't know. She never came back all weekend."
"Don't tell me, she left. That ungrateful girl!"
Antoine breathed. "Where are you? What the hell is going on? What did you do to Maxime?"
"So many questions boy." The wrinkles lining her sharp eyes creased. "You must look so sad been home alone, just like when you were a little boy. Is it because of a minor issue you want to drink yourself to death. Is that even proper?"
"You call this a minor issue?" Antoine slurred.
"Fabien told me you called him. That you both had a man to man talk - like father and son. You should do that more often. You see, he is your father after all."
A crooked smile lined Laila's face. She was enjoying her camouflage."Where is Olga?" Antoine cut in. He was exhausted hearing that Fabien-is-his-father crap.
"Oh! Your little play thing that was snatched from you," Laila said merrily. "You have to put yourself together. You are embarrassing yourself."
"Just tell me where she is."
Antoine barked."Why?" Laila smirked. "So you can go and save her?"
"What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you call your father and ask him. He should know the details."
"Mom. Why are you doing this? Where is Fabien?"
"How would you know when you decided to isolate yourself. Hang in there. I think you will find this news useful," Laila bit her lips. She was digressing but she had no choice. "In about an hour or so pretty Olga should be in Paris."
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Beneath The Orange Sunset ✔️
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