Fear No Evil

Chapter 15

Philippe Abelmar had a salt-and-pepper beard that complemented his slicked-back silver hair and piercing blue-gray eyes. His blue linen blazer and starched white shirt set off his deep tan.

Valentina, the raven-haired young woman next to Bree, raised her head, put her phone to her chest, and said in an Aussie accent: “It’s my mum, Philippe.”

“It always is,” he shot back. “And she does not pay you, chérie. I do.”

Bree acted interested in the entrées as she felt the tension rising next to her.

Valentina cleared her throat, then raised the phone and said, “Mum. I have to go.”

Bree glanced up and saw Valentina set her phone on the bar top. “Your wish is my command. Again,” Valentina said.

“Better,” Abelmar said softly, tilting his head. “You are beautiful when angry.”

“I’m not angry, Philippe. I’m tired. I’ve not had a day off in months.”

“A week shy of six months. And yet, when have you learned more about the world? About finance?”

“I’m grateful. I tell you so every day. But you can’t expect me to cut myself off from my mum while I work for you.”

“Why not? You are my personal assistant for one year. Twelve months of your life. After that, you can talk to Mummy day and night for all I care.”

The bartender came over to Bree. “Have you decided?”

“What’s your favorite?” Bree asked.

“The veal.”

“And the chef’s specialty?”

Carole glanced to her right.

Philippe Abelmar said, “At Canard? The duck, of course.”

Bree looked around to find the billionaire gazing at her from behind Valentina’s shoulder.

“It’s fantastic,” he said. “But I warn you, it can become an addiction.”

She smiled, said, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

“The duck,” Bree said to the bartender, who nodded to her and to the billionaire.

Valentina said, “Philippe, may I please be excused for the evening? I won’t make it through dinner without falling asleep.”

Seeming to know he had an audience now, Abelmar said, “Of course, my dear. I am not that hungry tonight anyway. Come, I’ll get you a cab. And you can have the whole day off tomorrow to sleep and recharge.”

Bree glanced in the mirror and saw genuine relief in the young woman’s face and body posture as she got off her stool. The financier was getting up as well.

Bree turned to them. “Thank you for the recommendation.”

The billionaire’s personal assistant gave her an exhausted smile. Abelmar replied with warmth, “You are most welcome. Bon appétit, madame.”

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she said cheerily. She pivoted away and watched in the mirror as they made their apologies to Henri and left.

Bree wanted to ask for a piece of paper and a pen so she could write down everything she could remember about the incident. Instead, she waited several long moments, then retrieved the phone Le Tour had given her, opened a note app, and began typing with her thumbs. She wrote that she’d gone to Canard hoping to see Abelmar in his element and that, to her surprise, she’d ended up interacting with him and his newest personal assistant.

They would remember her. Wouldn’t they?

Valentina seemed exhausted, so maybe not. But unless the financier had a facial-recognition problem, he would know Bree if he saw her again.

Was that good? Or bad?

Bree was still trying to decide when her dinner arrived. She set the phone down and ate. Abelmar was right. The duck — in a reduced shiitake mushroom, garlic, and white wine sauce — was fantastic, the sort of meal you’d come back for again and again.

She felt full and satisfied when she finished but succumbed to temptation and ordered the crème brûlée, which Carole the bartender also recommended. Bree glanced at her watch and saw it was close to ten, which was almost four p.m. in Washington, DC. She’d try calling Alex when she got back to her hotel room.

Scanning through her notes, Bree realized she hadn’t described the argument between Abelmar and his PA.

PA Valentina? Bree wrote. Australian? Complained tired. A.: listening, but cold. V.: she hadn’t had a day off in months. A. cited benefits of what V. was learning. V. grateful, but...

The crème brûlée arrived just as Bree started to feel like she’d missed something. She thanked the bartender, took a bite of the dessert, and barely registered how delicious it was because she realized just then what she’d missed.

After Valentina complained about not having had a day off in months, Abelmar had corrected her: A week shy of six months. That’s what he’d said. A week shy of—

Bree felt her stomach turn over. The majority of the women she’d read about in the files reported that Abelmar first drugged and raped them on camera shortly before or just after they’d been working for him for six months.

A week shy of six months. And poor, tired, beautiful Valentina has no idea.