Chapter 3 - The Web of Lies
For the next three days, I lived a double life that required every ounce of my mental stamina. I had to play the part of the helpless, recovering blind woman while keeping my eyes wide open beneath the surface.
Antoine and Élise became careless again, convinced that my brief moment of clarity in the kitchen had been nothing more than a passing neurological glitch. They spoke in whispers right in front of me, thinking I could only hear the cadence of their words, not the sinister details of their plot.
"We need her to sign the power of attorney tomorrow," Antoine whispered to Élise on Tuesday morning while I sat at the dining table, staring blankly ahead, pretending to grope for my glass of orange juice. "The notary in Marseille is expecting the documents for the Cassis property by Friday. Once that’s done, we liquidate the gallery shares."
"And what about her?" Élise murmured, her voice laced with an icy indifference that broke my heart. This was my little sister, the girl I had protected when our parents divorced, the one I had shared all my secrets with. "If she keeps having these flashes of sight, she’s going to realize the drops aren't working."
"I increased the dosage in the water bottle she keeps by the bed," Antoine replied quietly. "It won't blind her permanently, just enough to cause severe corneal edema and blurred vision. By the time she realizes what’s happening, we’ll be in Switzerland, and her bank accounts will be empty."
I took a sip of my juice, forcing my throat to swallow, forcing my face to remain completely expressionless. In reality, every night, as soon as Antoine left the room after giving me the poisoned water, I would spit it into a small thermos I had hidden beneath the mattress, replacing it with tap water from the bathroom when he thought I was sleeping.
On Wednesday afternoon, Antoine brought a colleague from his notary firm to the apartment.
"Mathilde, sweetheart," Antoine said, guiding my hand toward a thick stack of papers laid out on the table. "Monsieur Durand is here. It’s just the standard paperwork for the renewal of our apartment’s comprehensive insurance policy, the one we talked about. I’ve placed a small plastic guide over the signature line so you know exactly where to sign."
I felt the smooth plastic frame he had placed on the paper. I could see the document perfectly through my slightly lowered eyelashes. It wasn't an insurance policy. It was a total and irrevocable transfer of all my assets, including my late mother’s art gallery and our family estate in Cassis, into a joint holding company controlled solely by Antoine and a shell corporation registered in Delaware.
If I signed this, I would be destitute. If I refused to sign, they would know I was faking, and I didn't know what a desperate Antoine might do to protect his freedom.
"Antoine," I said, my voice trembling slightly, playing the role of the exhausted patient. "My hand is shaking so much today. The doctor said the neurological strain might make it hard to write. Can we do this tomorrow morning? I feel so dizzy."
Monsieur Durand shifted uncomfortably. "Madame Delcourt, the filing deadline is tomorrow at noon..."
"Please," I whispered, putting a hand to my forehead, letting tears pool in my eyes—tears that were very real, born from the sheer terror of my situation. "Just until tomorrow. I promise I will sign it first thing in the morning."
Antoine hesitated, his eyes narrowing. He looked at my pale face, my trembling lips, and apparently decided that forcing a hysterical woman to sign in front of a witness might look suspicious later.
"Very well, Durand," Antoine said smoothly, tapping the papers together. "We will do it tomorrow morning. I’ll bring the documents to the office myself."
Once Durand left, Antoine turned to me, his voice dropping its warm veneer. "You need to be stronger, Mathilde. I am doing all of this to protect us. To protect your future. Don't disappoint me tomorrow."
"I won't," I whispered.
That night, I waited until I heard the rhythmic, heavy breathing of Antoine sleeping beside me. I slipped out of bed with the stealth of a ghost. I grabbed my phone, my wallet, the thermos of poisoned water, and the original brown vial.
May you like
I didn't take any clothes. I didn't take anything that would look missing. I walked out of the apartment in my coat and slippers, closing the front door with an agonizingly slow click.
The cool night air of the Cours Vitton hit my face like a jolt of pure life. For the first time in two years, I ran. I didn't care about the shadows or the streetlights burning my sensitive eyes. I ran until I found a taxi, and I gave the driver the only safe address left in my world: the Édouard-Herriot Hospital.
