Chapter 5 - The Man Who Stole His Face
# Chapter 5 - The Man Who Stole His Face
The man in the photograph had Bastien's face.
The same dark hair. The same sharp jawline. The same deep-set brown eyes that Manon had inherited.
But above his left eyebrow was a thin, unmistakable scar.
And Bastien had never had a scar there.
He stood beside his car, staring at the photograph Émilie had sent to his phone.
The image showed a man leaving a small apartment building in Marseille at 11:47 p.m., eighteen months earlier. He wore a charcoal coat, dark trousers, and a silver watch.
Bastien recognized the watch.
It was identical to the one his father had given him on his thirtieth birthday.
He looked closer.
The man wasn't merely similar to him.
He looked like his reflection.
“Bastien?”
Émilie's frightened voice came through the phone.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“You need to come back to the hospital.”
“Is Sophie still with you?”
“Yes.”
“Don't let her leave.”
A pause.
“Bastien, she says the man in the photograph is dangerous.”
His grip tightened around the phone.
“Who is he?”
Émilie hesitated.
“She says his name is Adrien.”
Bastien frowned.
“Adrien?”
“Yes.”
He thought of Inspector Adrien Mercier.
The detective investigating Julie's disappearance.
The man who had been helping him.
For one terrible second, suspicion flashed through his mind.
But Émilie continued.
“Adrien Laurent.”
Bastien stopped breathing.
“Laurent?”
“She says he's your brother.”
Forty minutes later, Bastien entered Émilie's hospital room.
A woman stood beside the window.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, with dark chestnut hair, gray-green eyes, and an elegant but restrained appearance. She wore a navy coat over a cream blouse.
When she turned toward him, Bastien immediately noticed something familiar.
Her expression.
The slight tightening around her eyes.
The way she held herself when she was frightened.
She reminded him of Henri.
“You're Bastien,” she said.
He stopped near the doorway.
“And you're Sophie?”
She nodded.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Bastien asked, “How do I know you're telling the truth?”
Sophie didn't seem offended.
“You don't.”
She reached into her handbag and removed a small envelope.
“That's why I brought this.”
Inside was an old photograph.
Henri stood in a garden beside Catherine, holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
On the back, in Henri's handwriting, were the words:
My daughter Sophie. June 1994.
Bastien stared at the photograph.
His father had never mentioned another daughter.
Not once.
“Where have you been all these years?” he asked.
Sophie looked down.
“Living under another name.”
“Why?”
“Because someone decided I was worth more as a secret than as a daughter.”
Bastien studied her.
“Who?”
She looked toward Émilie.
“May we speak alone?”
Émilie nodded.
“I'll ask the nurse to take me to see the children.”
Bastien waited until the door closed.
Then he turned back to Sophie.
“Start talking.”
She sat down.
“I was raised by a couple in northern France. They told me my biological parents had abandoned me.”
“Did you believe them?”
“For most of my childhood.”
“What changed?”
“When I was twenty-three, my adoptive mother died. She left me documents proving that my identity had been changed.”
Bastien frowned.
“What kind of documents?”
“A birth certificate. A private adoption agreement. And correspondence involving Philippe Delmas.”
Bastien felt his stomach tighten.
“Philippe arranged your adoption?”
Sophie nodded.
“Not legally. At least, not in the ordinary sense.”
“Then why didn't you go to the police?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“The documents disappeared from the lawyer's office before investigators could examine them.”
Bastien stared at her.
“Who took them?”
“I never found out.”
She paused.
“But three years ago, someone contacted me.”
“Who?”
“Our father.”
The room fell silent.
Bastien slowly sat down.
“Henri found you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two months before his supposed accident.”
Bastien looked at her sharply.
“Supposed?”
Sophie met his eyes.
“He told me he was planning to disappear.”
Bastien felt the words strike him like a physical blow.
“Disappear?”
Sophie nodded.
“He said people were threatening him.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't tell me.”
“Then why did he contact you?”
“Because he wanted to apologize.”
“For abandoning you?”
“For believing I was dead.”
Bastien leaned forward.
“He thought you were dead?”
“Yes. Catherine told him I had died shortly after disappearing.”
“But Rosalie said he received a letter claiming you were alive.”
“He did. He spent years trying to verify it.”
Bastien rubbed his forehead.
The pieces were beginning to fit together.
But the picture they formed was disturbing.
Henri had hidden a daughter.
Philippe had helped conceal her identity.
Catherine had manipulated the story.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was a financial conspiracy involving Laurent Industries.
“Did Henri tell you why he needed to disappear?”
Sophie hesitated.
“He said someone was using the company to move illegal funds.”
“Philippe?”
“He suspected Philippe. But he believed someone else was directing him.”
“Who?”
Sophie looked away.
“I don't know.”
Bastien studied her.
“Then tell me about Adrien.”
Her expression changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
“Adrien is the reason I came here.”
“Who is he?”
Sophie took a slow breath.
“He's a man who was raised to believe he was Henri Laurent's son.”
Bastien stared at her.
“What?”
“He grew up in a private household outside Lyon. He was told that Henri was his father, but that his existence had to remain secret.”
“Why?”
“Because his mother claimed Henri had another family.”
Bastien shook his head.
“Who was his mother?”
Sophie hesitated.
“Catherine.”
Bastien went still.
“Catherine had another child?”
“Yes.”
“And he looks exactly like me?”
Sophie nodded.
Bastien stood abruptly.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I know.”
“Half-brothers don't usually look identical.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you not telling me?”
Sophie looked at him.
“Adrien doesn't believe Henri is his biological father.”
Bastien stared at her.
“Then who does he believe his father is?”
Sophie swallowed.
“He thinks he was created to replace you.”
For several seconds, Bastien couldn't speak.
“Created?”
Sophie looked uncomfortable.
“That's the word he used.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because Adrien has been searching for information about his birth.”
Bastien shook his head.
“This is insane.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I believe someone lied to him about his identity.”
Bastien paced toward the window.
He thought about the night in Marseille.
Émilie had believed she was speaking to him.
She had recognized his voice, his face, his mannerisms.
And according to her, the man had stayed overnight.
But Bastien had been in Paris.
If the man was Adrien, why had he impersonated Bastien?
And why had he gone to Émilie?
He turned toward Sophie.
“Did Adrien know about Manon?”
“Yes.”
Bastien stopped.
“How?”
Sophie looked ashamed.
“Because Catherine told him.”
“And Théo?”
Sophie lowered her eyes.
“He believes Théo is his son.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Bastien gripped the back of a chair.
“That can't be true.”
Sophie said nothing.
“I had a paternity test.”
“I know.”
“It confirmed Théo is mine.”
Sophie looked at him sadly.
“Did you see the laboratory collect the samples?”
Bastien opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
He remembered arranging the tests through a private clinic recommended by Julie.
The results had arrived electronically.
He had never questioned them.
Sophie continued.
“Adrien told me Catherine had access to the laboratory.”
Bastien felt sick.
“You're saying the results were falsified?”
“I'm saying you should have them repeated independently.”
Bastien looked toward the door.
Beyond it, Théo was sleeping peacefully in a hospital cot.
The child had smiled at him.
Reached for him.
Accepted his arms without hesitation.
And Bastien had already begun to love him.
Whether the boy was biologically his or not suddenly seemed less important than the possibility that someone had deliberately used an innocent child to manipulate him.
“Why would Adrien do this?” he whispered.
Sophie looked down.
“Because he was told Émilie was the only person who could give him something he desperately wanted.”
“What?”
“A family.”
At noon, Bastien met Inspector Mercier in a private hospital office.
He explained what Sophie had told him.
Mercier listened without interrupting.
When Bastien finished, the detective folded his hands.
“Let me make sure I understand. A woman claiming to be your half-sister says another man, who looks almost identical to you, may have impersonated you eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And that man may be connected to your former fiancée, Philippe Delmas, and your father's disappearance.”
“Yes.”
Mercier sighed.
“Do you have proof?”
“Photographs.”
“Photographs can be altered.”
“I know.”
“And the paternity test?”
“I want it repeated.”
“That would be sensible.”
Bastien leaned forward.
“Inspector, I need you to find Adrien Laurent.”
Mercier studied him.
“Do you have a date of birth?”
“No.”
“An address?”
“No.”
“Any official identification?”
“No.”
“Then we have a name that may not even be genuine.”
Bastien felt his frustration rising.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Protect your children. Stay available for questioning. And let us investigate.”
Bastien stared at him.
“Julie is missing.”
“I know.”
“Someone threatened Manon and Théo.”
“I know.”
“My father may be alive.”
Mercier's expression tightened.
“And I am investigating all three.”
For a moment, the two men looked at each other in silence.
Then Mercier leaned forward.
“There's something I haven't told you.”
Bastien felt his pulse quicken.
“What?”
“We found evidence that someone accessed your father's old corporate records last night.”
“Who?”
“The access came from an account registered to Julie.”
Bastien frowned.
“Julie is missing.”
“Exactly.”
“What files were opened?”
Mercier hesitated.
“Employee records. Financial transfers. And a confidential medical insurance file.”
Bastien stared at him.
“Whose file?”
Mercier looked directly at him.
“Yours.”
That afternoon, Bastien returned to Émilie's room.
She was sitting beside Manon, helping her color a picture of a house.
Théo slept nearby.
For a few minutes, Bastien stood silently in the doorway.
The scene was painfully ordinary.
A mother.
A daughter.
A sleeping baby.
A family that might have existed years earlier if no one had interfered.
Manon noticed him first.
“Papa!”
She ran toward him.
Bastien knelt and caught her in his arms.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“Look what I made!”
She held up the drawing.
Four figures stood in front of a yellow house.
Émilie.
Manon.
Théo.
And Bastien.
He smiled despite the heaviness in his chest.
“It's beautiful.”
Manon looked at him seriously.
“Are you going away again?”
The question pierced him.
“No.”
“Promise?”
He hesitated.
Then kissed her forehead.
“I promise I'll do everything I can to stay with you.”
She seemed satisfied.
But Émilie watched him carefully.
After Manon returned to her coloring, Bastien approached the bed.
“We need to talk.”
Émilie looked frightened.
“About Adrien?”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes.
“I don't understand any of this.”
“Neither do I.”
He sat beside her.
“I'm arranging another paternity test for Théo.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You think I lied to you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because someone may have lied to both of us.”
Émilie looked toward the baby.
“I thought it was you that night.”
“I know.”
“He knew things only you should have known.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated.
“He remembered our first holiday together.”
Bastien frowned.
“Where?”
“Collioure.”
He felt cold.
Only a handful of people knew about that trip.
They had rented a small apartment near the harbor.
One evening, Bastien had given Émilie a silver pendant shaped like a star.
He had never told Julie about it.
Or Philippe.
Or anyone else.
“How did Adrien know?” he whispered.
Émilie shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Bastien stared at her.
Then another thought occurred to him.
“Did he mention my father?”
Émilie looked up.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Henri had finally told him the truth.”
Bastien leaned forward.
“What truth?”
Émilie swallowed.
“He said there were two versions of the same story.”
Bastien frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I asked him.”
“And?”
“He told me one version had been allowed to live.”
Bastien felt a chill.
“And the other?”
Émilie's voice trembled.
“He said the other had been hidden.”
At 5:18 p.m., Bastien received another anonymous message.
This time, it contained a video.
He opened it.
The footage showed a dimly lit room.
A man sat in a chair facing away from the camera.
His hands were tied behind his back.
Someone approached from the side.
A woman wearing a dark coat.
Catherine.
She leaned toward the seated man.
“Tell him,” she said.
The man slowly raised his head.
Bastien's breath caught.
It was his face.
His exact face.
Except for the scar above the left eyebrow.
Adrien.
The man looked directly into the camera.
“Bastien,” he said quietly.
His voice was almost identical.
“I know you've been looking for me.”
Bastien gripped the phone.
Adrien continued.
“You think I stole your life.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“But you don't know what was stolen from me.”
Catherine stepped closer.
“Enough.”
Adrien ignored her.
“You need to understand something. I didn't choose to look like you. I didn't choose the name they gave me.”
He leaned forward.
“And I didn't choose what happened in Marseille.”
Bastien felt his heart pounding.
Adrien's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked frightened.
“They told me Émilie knew.”
Bastien whispered, “Knew what?”
Adrien stared into the camera.
“That I wasn't you.”
Catherine grabbed his shoulder.
“Stop talking.”
But Adrien continued.
“They lied to both of us.”
The camera shook.
Someone shouted from behind it.
Then Adrien spoke one final sentence before the screen went black.
“Ask Henri why he kept two boys with the same DNA.”
Bastien stared at the frozen image.
Two boys.
The same DNA.
The same face.
The same voice.
He thought of his childhood.
The private doctors his father had insisted he visit.
The blood tests.
The strange medical appointments.
The years when Henri refused to explain why Bastien was constantly being examined.
Then his phone rang.
Inspector Mercier.
Bastien answered immediately.
“Inspector, I just received a video—”
“We need to talk,” Mercier interrupted.
“About what?”
“The medical insurance file accessed last night.”
Bastien went still.
“What did you find?”
Mercier hesitated.
“Your father authorized a private genetic investigation when you were eight years old.”
Bastien felt his mouth go dry.
“Why?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Then what do you know?”
Mercier took a slow breath.
“The file contains laboratory records for two male children.”
Bastien closed his eyes.
“Two?”
“Yes.”
“Were they related?”
Mercier paused.
“According to the documents, they were genetically indistinguishable at the markers tested.”
Bastien gripped the phone.
“Identical twins?”
“Possibly. We need to verify the records.”
“Then why didn't anyone tell me?”
Mercier's voice became quieter.
“Because one of the children's identities was removed from the file.”
Bastien stared at the wall.
“And the other?”
“The other was listed as Bastien Laurent.”
A long silence followed.
Then Mercier added:
“There's one more thing. The file includes a note written by your father.”
Bastien could barely speak.
“What does it say?”
The detective read slowly.
“Subject B must never discover the existence of Subject A. If the truth becomes known, the original arrangement will collapse.”
Bastien felt the world fall silent.
Subject B.
Subject A.
Two boys.
One identity.
And a father who had apparently spent decades hiding the truth.
For the first time, Bastien wondered whether the name he had carried all his life truly belonged to him.