Chapter 8 - The Daughter Who Was Erased
# Chapter 8 - The Daughter Who Was Erased
“My name is Sophie. But I'm not Catherine's daughter.”
Bastien stared at the woman standing before him.
“Then whose daughter are you?”
Sophie's lips trembled.
“Isabelle's.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Outside Rosalie's apartment, the evening traffic continued as though nothing extraordinary had happened. Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. A child laughed in the courtyard.
But inside the apartment, Bastien felt as if the world had stopped.
“My mother?” he whispered.
Sophie nodded.
“Isabelle Laurent was my biological mother.”
Bastien shook his head.
“No.”
“Bastien—”
“No. You told me Catherine was your mother. You showed me a photograph of Catherine holding a baby.”
“I know.”
“You told me Philippe arranged your disappearance.”
“He did.”
“Then why would you lie about your mother?”
Sophie lowered her eyes.
“Because I didn't know whether you would help me if you knew the truth.”
Bastien laughed bitterly.
“You thought pretending to be my father's daughter would make me trust you?”
“I thought it would make you listen.”
He stepped backward.
“And what else have you lied about?”
Sophie began crying.
“Not everything was a lie.”
“That isn't an answer.”
The police officer standing near the doorway exchanged a glance with his colleague.
Sophie looked toward them.
“Please. I need to explain.”
Bastien folded his arms.
“Then explain.”
She took a trembling breath.
“Isabelle gave birth to me before she married Henri. I was placed with another family when I was a baby. Years later, she found me.”
Bastien stared at her.
“My mother had a daughter before me?”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew?”
“Eventually.”
“Why didn't they tell me?”
“Because my existence threatened an agreement Henri had made with Catherine.”
Bastien looked at the handwritten letter on the coffee table.
The family settlement.
The missing children.
The secret medical records.
Everything seemed to lead back to one agreement.
“What agreement?” he asked.
Sophie wiped her tears.
“The one that determined who would inherit Laurent Industries.”
Inspector Mercier arrived less than twenty minutes later.
He listened as Sophie repeated her confession.
Then he asked a question Bastien hadn't considered.
“If Isabelle was your mother, who was your father?”
Sophie hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Mercier studied her.
“Have you ever taken a DNA test?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the results?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because the laboratory closed.”
Bastien felt his frustration returning.
“Of course it did.”
Sophie looked at him.
“I understand why you don't believe me.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then give me something real.”
She reached into her handbag.
For a moment, Bastien tensed.
But she removed only a folded document.
“My original birth certificate.”
Mercier took it carefully.
The document was old.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
Under the mother's name was written:
Isabelle Martin.
Bastien recognized his mother's maiden name.
Under the father's name, however, there was nothing.
Mercier examined the document.
“We'll need to authenticate this.”
Sophie nodded.
“I know.”
Bastien looked at her.
“Why did you tell me Catherine was your mother?”
“Because Catherine told me to.”
The room fell silent.
Mercier leaned forward.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Bastien felt cold.
The same three months during which Julie had learned about Manon and Théo.
The same period when Philippe had begun pressuring Bastien to sell his shares.
The same period when Catherine's influence had returned to his life.
“Catherine contacted you?” Mercier asked.
Sophie nodded.
“She said Henri was alive. She said Bastien needed to know about Adrien.”
“And what did she want in exchange?”
Sophie looked ashamed.
“She wanted me to bring Bastien to Saint-Augustin.”
Bastien stared at her.
“You've been working for her?”
“At first.”
His anger surged.
“You knew she threatened my children!”
“No. I didn't know that.”
“Then what did you know?”
Sophie began crying harder.
“She told me Adrien was in danger. She said Bastien was the only person who could save him.”
Mercier remained calm.
“Why didn't you go to the police?”
“Because Catherine said the police were involved.”
Bastien shook his head.
“You believed her?”
Sophie looked at him.
“I spent my entire life trying to find out who I was. She was the first person who seemed to have answers.”
That stopped him.
For the first time, he saw something of himself in her desperation.
Someone had offered Sophie the truth she had wanted all her life.
And she had accepted the price without understanding what it would cost.
Later that evening, Bastien returned to the hospital.
Émilie was awake.
Manon slept beside her, one small hand resting on her mother's blanket.
Théo was in his cot.
Bastien stood in the doorway, watching them.
He had spent days chasing the truth about his father.
But the more he discovered, the less certain he became about the people around him.
Even Sophie, who had seemed like an ally, had been following Catherine's instructions.
He wondered how many more people had been placed in his path.
“Bastien?”
Émilie looked up.
“You look terrible.”
He gave a tired smile.
“I feel worse.”
She gestured toward the chair.
“Sit.”
He did.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Émilie asked, “Did you find Rosalie?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Sophie confessed something.”
Émilie listened as he explained.
When he finished, she looked troubled.
“Isabelle had another child?”
“Apparently.”
“And Sophie didn't know whether to trust you?”
“That's what she says.”
Émilie looked toward Manon.
“Sometimes people lie because they're afraid.”
Bastien stared at her.
“That's what everyone keeps telling me.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I'm tired of secrets.”
Émilie reached for his hand.
“Then stop keeping them from each other.”
Bastien looked at her.
For a moment, the room felt strangely quiet.
Then he asked the question he had been avoiding.
“Did you know about Adrien before that night in Marseille?”
Émilie froze.
He felt his stomach tighten.
“Émilie?”
She looked away.
“I knew someone existed.”
Bastien closed his eyes.
“Someone?”
“A man who looked like you.”
“Before he came to your apartment?”
“Yes.”
He pulled his hand away.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't believe it.”
“What does that mean?”
She began trembling.
“Catherine showed me a photograph years ago. She said Henri had another son.”
“And?”
“She warned me that if I ever saw him, I should stay away.”
Bastien stared at her.
“Then eighteen months ago, a man who looked exactly like me came to your apartment, and you didn't question it?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
Émilie's voice broke.
“He said he was you.”
Bastien shook his head.
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
The words hung between them.
Bastien leaned forward.
“What happened after that?”
Émilie covered her face.
“He knew things about us. Things nobody else knew.”
“Like Collioure?”
She nodded.
“The apartment. The pendant. The night we promised we'd always find our way back to each other.”
Bastien felt a painful ache in his chest.
Those memories had belonged to them.
Someone had stolen even that.
“Did you ever suspect he wasn't me?”
Émilie began crying.
“The next morning.”
Bastien went still.
“What?”
“He was gone when I woke up. But he left something behind.”
“What?”
“A note.”
Bastien stared at her.
“Do you still have it?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“In my apartment.”
He looked at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
She looked directly at him.
“Of wanting so badly to believe you had come back that I ignored everything that felt wrong.”
Bastien's anger faded.
Not completely.
But enough for him to see how deeply the deception had wounded her.
He reached for her hand again.
“Émilie, whatever happened that night, we need to understand it.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
The next morning, Inspector Mercier arranged a formal interview with Sophie.
Bastien was asked to attend part of it.
The detective placed several photographs on the table.
One showed Catherine.
Another showed Philippe.
A third showed Henri.
And the fourth showed Adrien.
“Tell us everything Catherine asked you to do,” Mercier said.
Sophie took a breath.
“She wanted me to convince Bastien that Henri was alive.”
Bastien looked sharply at her.
“Is he?”
“I don't know.”
Mercier continued.
“What else?”
“She wanted me to give Bastien the USB drive.”
“Why?”
“Because she said it contained the truth.”
“Did you know what was on it?”
“No.”
Mercier studied her.
“Who gave you the drive?”
“Catherine.”
Bastien felt cold.
The videos.
The documents.
The accusations against Isabelle.
All of them had passed through Catherine's hands.
“How do we know any of it is real?” he asked.
Mercier nodded.
“That's exactly what we're investigating.”
Sophie looked frightened.
“But Adrien was in the video.”
“Yes,” Mercier replied. “That doesn't prove he recorded it voluntarily.”
Bastien remembered Adrien's bruised face.
The tied hands.
The fear in his eyes.
Perhaps the accusation against Isabelle had been forced.
Perhaps Adrien had been told what to say.
Or perhaps Catherine had simply chosen which parts of the truth to reveal.
Mercier placed another photograph on the table.
“This was recovered from Julie's apartment.”
It showed a woman entering the Clinique Saint-Augustin.
She wore a dark coat.
Her face was partly obscured.
But Bastien recognized the silver bracelet.
Catherine.
“What about it?” he asked.
Mercier pointed toward the corner of the image.
A man stood beside the entrance.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
Holding a walking stick.
Henri.
Bastien leaned forward.
“When was this taken?”
“Three days ago.”
His heart began pounding.
“Then he's alive.”
“Possibly.”
Mercier turned the photograph over.
“There was writing on the back.”
Bastien stared at him.
“What did it say?”
The detective read aloud.
He knows what happened to Subject A.
Bastien felt cold.
“Who wrote that?”
“We don't know.”
Mercier looked at Sophie.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“It's Catherine's.”
That afternoon, Bastien received a call from an unknown number.
He almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice spoke.
“Bastien Laurent?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Madeleine Perrin.”
He stood abruptly.
The elderly nurse.
The woman who had disappeared after agreeing to speak to the police.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Inspector Mercier is looking for you.”
“I know.”
“Then why haven't you contacted him?”
“Because I needed to find something first.”
“What?”
“The original birth records.”
Bastien felt his pulse quicken.
“Did you find them?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Where?”
“Saint-Augustin.”
“Then bring them to the police.”
“I intend to.”
“Why are you calling me?”
Madeleine hesitated.
“Because there's something you need to know before you see them.”
Bastien gripped the phone.
“What?”
“The boys were not born to different mothers.”
He went still.
“What?”
“They were twins.”
Bastien felt the room spin.
“Identical twins?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does the settlement say otherwise?”
“Because the agreement was designed to conceal something.”
“What?”
Madeleine's voice trembled.
“The identity of the woman who gave birth to them.”
Bastien stared at the wall.
“Who was she?”
A long silence followed.
Then Madeleine whispered, “Not Catherine.”
Bastien closed his eyes.
“Then Isabelle?”
“No.”
His heart began pounding.
“Who?”
Madeleine took a shaky breath.
“Her name was Claire.”
Bastien frowned.
“Claire who?”
“Claire Beaumont.”
He had never heard the name.
“What happened to her?”
Madeleine began crying.
“She died shortly after the boys were born.”
“Why?”
“I don't know everything. But I know the records were altered afterward.”
Bastien felt sick.
“Then who was my mother?”
Madeleine's voice softened.
“Isabelle raised you. Whatever the records say, she loved you.”
Bastien closed his eyes.
For thirty-four years, he had believed Isabelle was his biological mother.
Now even that certainty was gone.
“And Adrien?”
“He was taken away.”
“By Catherine?”
Madeleine hesitated.
“Catherine was involved.”
“Who ordered it?”
A long silence.
Then Madeleine whispered, “Henri.”
Bastien couldn't speak.
His father.
Again.
Every secret seemed to lead back to him.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“Because someone threatened to expose the circumstances of the twins' birth.”
“What circumstances?”
Madeleine's breathing became rapid.
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Then tell Mercier.”
“I will.”
“Madeleine, please.”
She hesitated.
Then said, “There's one more thing.”
Bastien felt cold.
“What?”
“Henri wasn't the only man who signed the original agreement.”
“I know. Philippe did too.”
“No.”
Bastien frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“There was another man.”
“Who?”
Madeleine whispered, “The biological father.”
Bastien froze.
“Henri isn't our father?”
“No.”
The room seemed to disappear around him.
“Then who is?”
Madeleine began crying.
“I promised Claire I would never tell anyone.”
“Claire is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, Madeleine spoke.
“The man who fathered you and Adrien is still alive.”
Bastien felt his pulse quicken.
“Who?”
Before she could answer, he heard a loud noise.
A door opening.
Madeleine gasped.
“Someone's here.”
“Madeleine?”
“Bastien, listen carefully.”
Her voice became desperate.
“Don't trust the man investigating your father's death.”
Bastien went still.
“What?”
“He knows about the twins.”
“Who?”
“He was there when they were born.”
Bastien felt his blood run cold.
“Inspector Mercier?”
Madeleine whispered, “No.”
Then she said a name Bastien had heard countless times.
“Philippe Delmas.”
The line went dead.
Bastien stood motionless.
Philippe.
The man who had controlled Laurent Industries alongside Henri.
The man who had arranged Sophie's disappearance.
The man connected to Catherine.
The man who had pressured Julie.
The man who had appeared beside Henri in the recent photograph.
And now, according to Madeleine, the man who might be his biological father.
Bastien slowly lowered the phone.
He looked toward the hospital corridor.
At the far end, Inspector Mercier was speaking to a uniformed officer.
Bastien walked toward him.
“Inspector.”
Mercier turned.
“What happened?”
“Madeleine Perrin called me.”
The detective straightened.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she say?”
Bastien hesitated.
He remembered her warning.
Don't trust the man investigating your father's death.
But then she had named Philippe.
Had she meant Philippe was investigating Henri's death privately?
Or had someone interrupted her before she could explain?
Bastien looked at Mercier.
“She said the original birth records exist.”
Mercier's expression changed.
“Where?”
“Saint-Augustin.”
The detective took out his phone.
“I'll arrange a search.”
Bastien watched him carefully.
Then asked, “Inspector, how long have you known Philippe Delmas?”
Mercier stopped.
For a moment, his expression was unreadable.
Then he said, “Why?”
“Just answer.”
Mercier lowered his phone.
“Twenty years.”
Bastien felt cold.
“You know him personally?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because it wasn't relevant to the initial investigation.”
Bastien stared at him.
“Not relevant?”
Mercier looked uncomfortable.
“Bastien—”
“Philippe is connected to my father's disappearance, Julie's kidnapping, and the threats against my children. And you knew him for twenty years?”
The detective's jaw tightened.
“There's something you should understand.”
“What?”
Mercier took a slow breath.
“Philippe Delmas was once my commanding officer.”
Bastien frowned.
“Commanding officer?”
“Before I joined the police, I served in military intelligence.”
Bastien stared at him.
“And Philippe?”
“He worked for the same unit.”
The corridor suddenly felt too quiet.
Bastien thought about the altered records.
The missing witnesses.
The false identities.
The abandoned clinic.
The impossible photographs.
And the extraordinary ease with which people seemed to disappear.
Then Mercier said something that made Bastien stop breathing.
“Philippe didn't begin investigating your family three years ago.”
Bastien stared at him.
“When did he begin?”
Mercier looked directly into his eyes.
“Before you were born.”