A medical certificate has been issued.
The report concerning Camille has been forwarded.
A complaint has been prepared with the family protection unit.
Inès had already sent urgent letters to: notary, Land Registry Service, family court judge, prosecutor’s office.
Then Victor called.
This time, I was the one who answered.
« Where is my wife? » he asked.
— Safe.
Silence.
Then he laughed.
— Mr. Moreau… what a pleasure. Have you already told her that she signed everything of her own free will?
— Yes. And she also told me that you forced her to do it by using my granddaughter as leverage.
— Be careful what you say.
— No, Victor. Be careful what you signed.
His voice has changed.
— You don’t know who you’re dealing with.
— Yes. To a man who sends his wife to beg with a baby in her arms and who believes that the street leaves no witnesses.
— No one will believe you.
I watched Elise.
She held Camille against her chest.
— They already believe us. Doctors, social worker, lawyers, association, soon the judge. You’re wasting your day.
I hung up.
At 9:30 PM, Bérenger received a message.
— Victor is home.
— Let’s go, I said.
Elise turned livid.
— Non.
— You stay here with Inès.
— Dad, don’t confront him.
— I’m not going to fight. I’m going to retrieve some documents.
— He’s going to provoke you.
I smiled without joy.
— My daughter, I spent thirty years letting men more intelligent than Victor believe they could provoke me.
I left with Bérenger and two police officers.
Not through influence.
Because there was already a complaint, a risk to the child, a suspicion of extortion, violence and fraud.
The house was located in Boulogne-Billancourt, on a quiet, tree-lined street.
I bought it for Elise when she got married.
I had never given it to Victor.
Never.
She was protected by clauses that my wife and I had arranged before her death.
My wife was more distrustful of the world than I was.
Fortunately.
Victor opened the door with a glass in his hand.
Behind him, Geneviève was sitting in the living room, a rosary between her fingers.
There were cardboard boxes on the table.
Elise’s clothes.
Camille’s toys.
Documents.
« What a sight, » said Geneviève. « The father coming to save the helpless little girl. »
I didn’t look at Victor first.
I looked at his mother.
