Claire walked straight towards us, without greeting anyone, her step firm and her back straight, as if the entire reception room had suddenly transformed into a courtroom.
Antoine frowned.
"Who is it?" he asked, annoyed.
— My lawyer — I replied —. Since you brought yours, I did too.
The man in a suit accompanying Antoine introduces himself as Romain , "legal advisor," uttering these words with a somewhat forced assurance that convinces no one.
Claire doesn't even blink.
— The advisor is not a lawyer registered with the bar. What is your registration number, please?
Romain stammers.
Antoine gives him a murderous look.
And inside me, an even louder alarm goes off.
It's worse than I imagined.
Claire calmly opens her file, leans towards me and whispers not to sign anything.
Then she raises her voice.
— Before we talk about inheritance, I want to see the matrimonial property regime document that you signed.
Antoine stiffened.
I then remember the day before the wedding: Mrs. Dubois insisting on "a quick signature", saying that these were just organizational details... and me, exhausted, signing without reading too much because I trusted her.
Claire looks at me.
And I understand.
— Camille, do you remember signing a marriage contract?
My throat is getting dry.
— I was given a piece of paper… I was told it was for the reception.
Claire takes a deep breath and, without losing her composure, asks for the microphone left on stage.
— I need the room manager to confirm who brought these documents yesterday and at what time.
The nervous official nods and explains that an "elegant" lady left an envelope for "the bride" to sign.
Madame Dubois turned pale.
Antoine tries to downplay it.
— Don't make a big deal out of it. It's a formality.
But this is no longer a mere formality.
It's another piece of the puzzle.
Claire asks for my phone to check Antoine's messages from this week.
I show her a conversation that had been worrying me for a few days: he insisted that "everything my father left me" be "well organized".
At that moment, my cousin Julien , who works in a bank, approaches and whispers to me that Antoine called twice this afternoon to ask for information about "change of ownership procedures".
The murmur grew louder.
