Chapter 4 - The Private Wing
The private wing of Saint-Antoine Hospital smelled of fresh lilies and polished marble rather than antiseptic fear.
A team of specialists surrounded Henri Morrow’s bed, adjusting intravenous drips, monitoring lung function, and administering advanced therapeutics that ordinary insurance never covered. The transformation in Henri’s care was immediate and absolute.
Leia sat in a plush leather armchair beside the bed, wrapped in a warm cashmere blanket that one of Étienne’s assistants had hastily purchased. She held a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows, though she hadn't touched it. Her eyes were fixed on her sleeping father, whose breathing was now steady and deep, aided by the rhythmic hum of the respirator.
The door opened silently. Étienne entered, carrying a small paper bag from a high-end Parisian bakery.
"How is he?" Étienne asked, his voice subdued.
"The doctor said the crisis has passed," Leia whispered, not looking up. "They said if we had waited another night... his lungs would have failed completely."
Étienne walked over and placed the paper bag on the small bedside table. Inside were warm croissants and fruit tarts.
"You haven't eaten, Leia," he said gently. "You need your strength too."
Leia finally looked up at him. In the soft light of the hospital room, she looked smaller than ever, yet her eyes possessed a fierce, mature intelligence.
"Why did you do it, Monsieur DuPont?" she asked quietly. "Fifteen years ago. Why did you ruin my father?"
Étienne pulled up a chair opposite her, sitting down with a heavy sigh. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring down at his polished shoes.
"When you are young and hungry for success, Leia, you look at the world as a battlefield," Étienne began, his voice reflective and distant. "Your father and I started our firm together out of university. We were brilliant, but we were poor. We worked twenty hours a day. But when the first major contract came—millions of francs—the pressure mounted. Investors wanted guarantees. The market shifted. I was terrified of failing, of going back to the poverty I grew up in."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"I made a choice. I convinced myself that Henri was too idealistic, that he would sink the company with his moral scruples. So I isolated him. I manipulated the board, and when he signed the restructuring papers under false pretenses, I didn't stop it. I let him take the fall for a debt that belonged to us both."
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"That wasn't business," Leia said, her voice shaking with quiet indignation. "That was betrayal."
"Yes," Étienne admitted, looking her straight in the eye without flinching. "It was betrayal. And every day since then, behind the wealth, the success, and the empty mansion, I have lived with the ghost of what I did. Seeing your father tonight... and seeing the daughter he raised, so fiercely honest and loyal... it was the mirror I spent fifteen years trying to avoid."
