Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(55)

I turn my head and see Gautier, his wife, Camille, Pascal, and Blaise, like a troop of nightmares waiting at the door.

“I didn’t know if you needed some more time alone,” Gautier says carefully. It sounds like he’s being concerned, but I swear there’s something mocking in his voice. Or perhaps I’m hearing what I want to hear. You couldn’t blame me at this point.

“It’s fine,” I tell them, my voice gruff, and go back to leaning forward in my seat, elbows on my thighs. I’m not getting up.

“We’re so sorry, Olivier,” Camille says, coming over. She drops to her knees beside me, hand on my arm, and peers up at me. I try not to shudder. Camille is a beautiful woman, a good twenty years younger than Gautier, and always plays each part perfectly. Right now, she’s being the sympathetic aunt, even though I know she doesn’t have a sympathetic bone in her lithe body.

But I play along. I don’t have the strength to do otherwise.

Besides, I know why they’re all here. It’s not because of my father. It’s not because they all wanted to be early to his funeral.

It’s because of business.

I raise my head and take the rest of them in. My uncle with his arched brows and sour smile, Pascal and his blank expression, except for his eyes, which have a strange gleam to them. Blaise at least has the respect to appear subdued. And Camille, of course, is just an act.

Seeing them all here like this, my family by blood, them against me, has me mourning again in a different way. What went wrong with us? What family secrets originally drove our parents apart? I know that it couldn’t have just been old-fashioned sibling rivalry or a difference in egos and temperaments. There had to be something else that caused the rift between them, which then created a rift between all of us.

But I won’t get any answers today.

“Will you give Olivier and me a minute alone?” Gautier asks them, and they all file out the door, more than willing to leave.

I should be nervous. I can’t remember the last time I was alone with my uncle. I’ve done all I can to avoid exactly that, in case he wanted to add something else to our bargain. But I don’t fear anymore. There’s nothing left to lose.

Gautier pulls up a chair across from me, comfortable and elegant, and I’m reminded of that fateful day ten years ago.

“We need to have a talk, Olivier,” he says smoothly, putting on a wince that I guess is supposed to be shame. “I know this isn’t the right time, but it’s never the right time, is it? And you’re a hard man to get ahold of.”

“I’ve been busy,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes, not wanting him to glean any information from me, information he can use to his advantage.

“I understand,” he says, folding his hands. “But the truth of the matter is that we had an agreement. You signed a contract. In one week, you have to make a choice.”

“Have?” Now he has my attention.

“Yes. Because, well, my brother is dead, and you currently hold his shares, shares that were willed to you, along with your own. You do realize you have complete control of the company, don’t you?”

I do realize. I’ve met with the lawyers. I know that with my shares combined with my father’s, I hold all the cards.

Except that I don’t.

My uncle does.

Just that one card, signed in blood, but it’s enough to steal the entire deck.

“I know you don’t want control of the company, Olivier,” Gautier says. “I know that you’d rather concentrate on your hotels. That’s something that’s all you. That’s something you built from the ground up, and in just ten years. You should be proud of yourself. I know your father never acted like he was, because all he wanted was for you to do exactly as he did, but I’m proud of you, Olivier.”

My gaze fixes on him, hard and cold. “My father was proud of me.”

Gautier smiles and shrugs. “Of course, he was. Of course. But he also knew you didn’t want the Dumont brand. Never did figure out why. But we all hope to keep it that way, even after his death.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the contract has been modified. I need you to give up your shares—and your father’s shares—now. Not next week. Now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You know what will happen.”

“My father is dead,” I grind out, my jaw so tense it feels like my teeth may shatter.

He nods. “He is. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to the idea. We were closer than you think, you know. And I loved him dearly. There wasn’t a better man out there, that much I know is true. We all know it.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath in through his nose, his eyes pinched shut. In this moment I can only sense the conflict inside of him. He might even be sincere.

When he opens his eyes, they’re wet and full of anguish. “He is dead. He is gone. But his legacy remains. Your legacy remains. Do you want to throw that all away? Do you want to tarnish his memory?”

“It was my mistake, not his,” I growl.

“You’re wrong. The sins of the father pass on to the son, and the sins of the son pass up to the father. If it were to come out what you did, that you had an affair with your cousin’s wife, it would ruin the Dumont name. Not just for your father’s sake, but for all of us. You would bring all of us down, including your brother and sister. Including me.”