Chapter 8: The Plan

"A gala," I said.

"At the shop. Champagne. Press. His investors in their good suits." Solène's eyes were bright. "He wants a stage. I'll give him one."

"Then we need your brother."

Her smile slipped.

"Julien hates parties."

"Julien owns forty percent of the venue."

She sighed and took out her phone.

At seven that evening the three of us were in my suite at the hotel on the rue de Rivoli.

Julien stood by the window with his arms folded and his jacket still on.

Solène sat cross-legged on my sofa with her notebook.

I'd had dinner sent up. He'd looked at the plates and said, "Is this supposed to be fish?" and eaten all of it anyway.

"Okay," I said. "Three things."

I wrote them on the hotel notepad and held it up.

"One. Maison Valery survives. Without Crestline buying it. Without anyone buying it."

Julien snorted.

"Two. The marriage contract dies. Solène keeps her forty percent, whatever happens on June 27."

Solène nodded hard.

"Three. Ashton loses. In front of everyone he's ever lied to. His investors, his friends, the press, the people he borrowed money from."

"That's four things," Solène said. "Number three is two things."

"It's three things."

"You can't count."

"I run a company with eleven thousand employees."

"Then they count for you."

Julien made a noise by the window that might have been a laugh.

"The first one's impossible," he said. "So we can skip to the party."

"It's not impossible."

"Fourteen million euros by June thirtieth. Tell me how."

"I don't know yet."

"Then it's impossible."

"I said I don't know yet. That's different."

He came away from the window.

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