Chapter 3 - THE ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS NEVER ABOUT LOVE
Camille didn't sleep.
She returned to her small apartment above a bakery on Dauphine Street and sat at the kitchen table until dawn.
The engagement ring was gone.
Her father's name was back in her life.
And the man she'd planned to marry had suddenly become a stranger.
At seven, her phone began vibrating.
Preston.
She ignored it.
He called again.
And again.
Then came the messages.
You're embarrassing me.
We need to discuss what happened.
My family has been very generous to you.
Don't forget who helped you get that job.
Camille stared at the last message.
Her stomach tightened.
She had applied for the auction house position through an employment agency.
Preston had claimed their meeting months later was a coincidence.
Now she wondered.
She opened her laptop.
For years, she'd kept a folder containing everything connected to her father's death.
Insurance documents.
News clippings.
Photographs of the warehouse.
A police report.
And one handwritten note from Étienne.
If anything happens, look for the inventory that doesn't belong.
She had never understood it.
But now she remembered the warehouse crate upstairs.
The one she had been trying to locate for fourteen months.
The crate marked D-47.
At ten that morning, Camille went to work.
Her supervisor, Mrs. Bellamy, intercepted her near the staff entrance.
"Camille, management wants to see you."
Camille's stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Mrs. Bellamy looked uncomfortable.
"Something about last night."
Camille followed her upstairs.
Inside the office sat Preston's father, Harrison Whitfield.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, and chairman of the auction house's board.
He smiled.
"Camille."
She remained standing.
"Mr. Whitfield."
"Please sit."
"No, thank you."
His smile weakened.
"I understand you and Preston had a disagreement."
"We ended our engagement."
"Young people can be emotional."
Camille stared.
Harrison continued.
"Preston is a good man. He was trying to include you."
"By humiliating me?"
Harrison sighed.
"You're taking this personally."
"It was personal."
His expression hardened.
"Let's not make things difficult."
Camille felt cold.
"What does that mean?"
"It means your employment here has always depended on discretion."
She stared.
He continued.
"Your father was a talented man, Camille. But he had a tendency to involve himself in matters beyond his responsibility."
Her breath caught.
"You knew him."
Harrison smiled faintly.
"Of course."
"Did you know he died in a warehouse fire?"
The smile disappeared.
"Everyone knew."
Camille leaned forward.
"Did you know Lucien Moreau was there?"
For one second, Harrison's composure broke.
Then he recovered.
"Mr. Moreau is not someone you should trust."
"Why?"
"Because men like him destroy lives."
Camille looked at him.
"And men like you?"
Harrison's eyes narrowed.
"Be careful, young lady."
She stepped back.
"I think I will be."
Then she walked out.
By noon, her access badge had been deactivated.
May you like
Her employment had ended.
And the crate she'd spent fourteen months searching for was still locked inside the warehouse.
