PART 1 — THE WOMAN IN THE POOL
The first person to laugh when Camille Laurent fell into the pool was the one who had just pushed her.
The second raised her phone.
In less than three seconds, almost the entire terrace had turned towards the water.
The Villa des Orangers dominated the Mediterranean from a hill between Cannes and Antibes. The property seemed to hang above the sea: light stone walls, huge bay windows, century-old olive trees, tiered terraces, and an infinity pool whose black surface reflected the lights of the coast.
That evening, more than one hundred and fifty guests flocked there.
Business leaders.
Heirs.
Lawyers.
Investors.
Known families of the Côte d'Azur.
Everything had been planned to give the impression that money had no limits.
Vintage Champagne.
Candles in crystal candle holders.
Discreet orchestra under a pergola.
Waiters in dark suits.
Cars with drivers lined up lower on the private road.
Camille, twenty-five, was crossing the terrace with a tray of glasses of red wine when a single drop fell near Victoire Delacroix's golden shoe.
Not on her dress.
Not on his foot.
On the stone.
Victoire lowered her eyes.
Then slowly looked back at Camille.
She was thirty years old, with long dark blonde hair, a sapphire blue satin dress, and that way of looking at the staff as if her mere presence required justification.
Next to her, Sophie held back a smile.
Camille stopped.
"I'm sorry.
Victoire observed the gout.
Then Camille.
Something in the calm of the young waitress seemed to annoy her more than the incident itself.
"Be careful.
Camille bowed her head slightly.
"Of course.
She wanted to pass.
Victoire stretched out her arm.
"I said, be careful.
Camille turned round.
Around them, a few guests were already watching.
Victoire felt it.
And some people became more cruel when they had an audience.
Camille took a step aside.
Victoire pushed her abruptly with both hands.
The gesture was clear.
Voluntary.
The plateau toppled.
Two glasses shattered on the stone.
Camille lost her balance.
His heel slipped.
Then his body disappeared into the infinity pool.
The shock of the cold water took his breath away.
For a moment she heard nothing.
Only the thud of the water around his ears.
She opened her eyes.
Above her, the silhouettes were distorted across the surface.
A blue dress.
A burgundy dress.
Phones.
Faces.
The black sky.
Camille did not go up immediately.
She counted to two.
Then three.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she knew her own anger.
His father used to repeat to him:
"Never make an important decision while you're still trying to punish someone."
She had hated this sentence at eighteen.
At twenty-five, she understood her.
Camille rose to the surface.
Muffled laughter reached him.
Victoire was watching her from the edge.
"That's what happens when you don't know your place."
Sophie smiled.
A man behind them raised his phone slightly.
A young waitress made a movement towards Camille.
His manager discreetly grabs his arm.
Camille noticed this gesture.
She always noticed this kind of thing.
She placed both hands on the edge of the pool and pulled herself out of the water.
Her ivory blouse stuck to her skin.
His dark green vest was dripping.
His shoes made a wet noise on the stone.
She walked towards Victoire.
Without shouting.
Without accelerating.
Sans trembler.
Victoire folded her arms.
Camille stopped two meters away.
"You should stop smiling."
Victoire let out a chuckle.
"Why?"
Camille did not answer.
She reached into the inside pocket of her vest and pulled out a phone protected by a waterproof case.
Sophie's smile diminished.
Camille dialed a number.
Someone answered immediately.
"It's me."
She looked towards the main aisle.
"Open the portal."
She hung up.
Victoire shook her head.
"Is that supposed to impress me?"
Camille still did not answer.
But the security guards had changed.
Two men in charcoal suits had stood up.
One of them put his hand to his earpiece.