Four days after their discovery in the garage, Mathilde and Sophie unmask Luc as Frédéric's agent. With unexpected help from Véronique, they confront Luc publicly and fire him. But an anonymous threat reveals they don't yet know the whole truth about David.
The underground garage at Rousseau Air headquarters barely breathed at three in the morning. The blue-white fluorescent lights vibrated slightly, creating shadows that danced on the concrete walls like impatient ghosts. Mathilde descended the metal staircase with the slowness of someone carrying the weight of four days of insomnia. Her hands trembled—not from cold, but from an apprehension she couldn't name.
Sophie emerged from the darkness, her laptop clutched against her chest like a weapon. At twenty-three, she looked forty. The circles under her eyes told the story of three sleepless nights spent combing through financial flows, tracing wire transfers, assembling the pieces of a puzzle whose shape she already dreaded.
"Mom, you need to see this," Sophie whispered, placing the screen before her.
The evidence scrolled with the precision of a whispered accusation. Each line of code, each date, each amount formed a sentence no one had dared speak aloud. Mathilde saw her own reflection in the screen—a face aging in real time.
"No, Sophie. No! You must be wrong. Luc has been helping us for weeks, he..."
Her voice trembled. Why was it trembling?
"Show me. Show me everything, methodically."
Sophie tapped nervously on the keyboard. "Look at this, Mom. Every transfer, day by day. March 15th: Luc receives 5,000 euros, the same day he advises you to postpone engine maintenance. April 3rd: another 3,000 euros, the day he suggests you fire the quality control team."
Mathilde felt the ground give way beneath her feet. She collapsed slowly onto the cold metal chair, as if her bones were liquefying.
"I spent three nights on this," Sophie continued, her voice hardened by a new maturity. "At first, I thought they were just coincidences. But look at the email metadata. Same vocabulary, same turns of phrase. It's Frédéric through and through. Luc is just a damn parrot."
It was at that precise moment—that moment when the mother becomes vulnerable—that Sophie did something she hadn't done since childhood. She placed her hand on Mathilde's. The gesture was awkward, almost foreign, but it spoke louder than a thousand words.
"We're going to nail him, Mom. But we have to be smarter than he is."
The CEO's office bathed in the cold morning light. Mathilde sat behind her desk and looked out the bay window. Lyon stretched below her, indifferent to her ordeal.
Luc arrived at precisely ten o'clock. His shoes were impeccably polished. His tie a reassuring blue. Mathilde now noticed what she hadn't seen before: it was a predator's suit.
Sophie sat in a corner, a notebook open before her. She was mentally recording every gesture, every micro-expression.
"Thank you, Luc. Your restructuring plan seems very thoughtful. Very humane, as you say," Mathilde said, playing a role whose every nuance she had mastered.
Luc spread out his documents with the confidence of a magician. His plan was brilliant—too brilliant. Each suggested layoff systematically weakened her. Each asset sale made her more dependent.
Then came the moment. Luc leaned slightly forward—a gesture that might have seemed friendly four days ago.
"This life insurance matter... it's complicated," he said softly. "My sources tell me Frédéric could turn the situation around. Make it look like David was involved in certain decisions."
Mathilde felt the trap closing. It was magnificent, almost. An impossible choice: abandon justice or destroy her husband's memory.
"You may be right," she agreed calmly. "I need to think about dropping the lawsuit."
Luc smiled. He believed he had won.
After his departure, Sophie stood slowly and whispered: "He's trying to make you give up. He's protecting Frédéric."
Mathilde, hands trembling, replied: "I know. But now we know that he knows that we know."
The anonymous café on the outskirts of Lyon smelled of old coffee and secrets. Véronique Mercier arrived with a manila envelope.
"I knew you'd eventually understand," she said simply.
Véronique revealed what Mathilde dreaded learning: Frédéric had hired Luc six months before the crash. Six months to "prepare the ground." She discreetly pulled out her phone and played an audio recording. Frédéric's voice: "Make sure she drops all legal action. If she insists, use the life insurance to discredit her." Luc's voice: "She trusts me. It'll be easy."
Mathilde felt her stomach knot. All the documents. She had given him all the incriminating documents.
"Why did you wait?" she asked.
"You had to discover the truth yourself. Otherwise, you would never have had the strength to fight," Véronique replied. She held out the envelope. "But if you use this, you'll have to accept a difficult truth: David was manipulated, but he also chose to turn a blind eye to certain things out of loyalty to his brother."
Sophie, who had been listening from a nearby table, joined them. The three women now formed an unlikely alliance.
Véronique added: "There's a list of collaborators who turned a blind eye. It's up to you what you do with it."
Mathilde opened the envelope. Photos: David and Frédéric signing documents together, three weeks before the crash. David looked normal. He was even smiling.
The conference room was freezing. Mathilde summoned Luc, Véronique, and the restricted board of directors. She calmly presented Luc's restructuring plan, congratulated him on his professionalism.
Luc smiled, confident.
Then Mathilde pulled out Véronique's envelope and projected the audio recordings on the screen.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You're fired. Immediately. And I will sue you for complicity in fraud," she said coldly.
Luc paled. He tried to justify himself, but his mask fell. "Frédéric has connections everywhere. You'll never win."
He left, slamming the door.
Late in the evening, Mathilde and Sophie were alone in the family apartment. Sophie was making tea while Mathilde studied the list of complicit collaborators. Long-time friends. Loyal employees.
"What do we do now?" Sophie asked.
"I choose the truth. Even if it hurts," Mathilde replied. She called her lawyer. Hanging up, she said: "We're going to sue Frédéric. And we're going to restructure the company our way."
Sophie smiled for the first time in weeks.
"Mom... do you think Dad was really innocent?"
Mathilde took a long breath. "I think he was manipulated. But I also think he made choices. And now we have to live with the consequences."
Mathilde's phone rang. Unknown number. She answered, intrigued.
A male voice, electronically distorted: "Mrs. Rousseau. You should give up. You don't know everything your husband did. If you continue, you'll destroy his memory. And you'll lose everything."
Click.
Mathilde and Sophie looked at each other, terrified. Who was it? Frédéric? Luc? Someone else?
