Fear No Evil

Chapter 32

Paris

Bree steeled herself as she walked toward the lion’s den — a glass-faced high-rise in La Défense, France’s big financial and business district, some three kilometers west of Paris’s official border.

For the occasion, she wore a black pantsuit, a black silk blouse, low black pumps, and the single strand of Tahitian pearls around her neck.

Glancing at her reflection as she went to the building’s main entrance, Bree told herself she certainly looked the part of a woman on the edge of business respectability. But she was about to deal with Philippe Abelmar, self-made billionaire, a man sophisticated in the ways of both business and finance.

Being married to Alex and being friends with Ned Mahoney, Bree knew a lot about shell corporations and how they were structured and interlocked. Still, as she entered the lobby and crossed to the security desk, she feared being unable to prove her capabilities, despite Marianne Le Tour’s assurances earlier in the morning that her cover in Saint Martin was well documented and rock solid.

After inspecting her Saint Martin’s passport, the guards made a copy and told her that she was expected and that a Monsieur L’Argent would be down to escort her to her meetings. Then they put her bag through a scanner, which made her glad that she had left the pistol in the hotel room’s safe.

“Madame St. Lucie?” a man called after she’d gone through a metal detector.

It was the same big, muscular guy from Le Canard, the one who enjoyed sopping up garlic butter with the fresh bread, only now he was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit and moving toward her with total confidence.

“We never had the pleasure of meeting properly,” he said, making a half bow. “I am Luc L’Argent, personal security director to Monsieur Abelmar.”

Bree smiled. “Enchanté. It’s nice to meet properly.”

“Very much so,” he said and gestured toward the elevator. “I understand you are from Saint Martin and here talking with clients.”

“Potential clients,” she said.

They boarded the elevator. He pushed the button for the forty-ninth floor. “Monsieur Abelmar says you are in the shell-company business.”

“We help people organize them and put them together with local banks,” she said as they began to rise. “The Caribbean is an attractive place for people with money. Not far from the U.S. and, of course, beautiful.”

“It is that.”

The elevator doors opened, and they emerged into the lobby of the French offices of the Pegasus Group. He led her inside and showed her the layout of the facility, including the currency and futures trading desks.

Then he offered her coffee, which she accepted and drank in a lounge area. Afterward, L’Argent took her to meet with three people who questioned her about her service and its merits and weaknesses.

Bree did her best to answer questions about the shell-company operation and how it might benefit Pegasus France in general and Philippe Abelmar in particular. She also did her best to walk the line between earnest and coy, legal and illegal, focusing mostly on the regions’ shared language and therefore ease of doing business in Saint Martin.

After the third talk, she was taken back to the lounge area, where she sat for almost an hour before Valentina, Abelmar’s young personal assistant, appeared.

“Congratulations,” she said and shook Bree’s hand. “Everyone is very impressed. Philippe wanted to take you to lunch but he has been called away at the last minute. Can you meet us for dinner tonight at Le Canard? Eight thirty? He has a proposal that he thinks you will find intriguing.”

Bree tilted her head and gave Valentina her sincerest smile. “How could I say no to an invitation like that?”