But an elderly woman sitting beside the fireplace had stopped breathing.
Her eyes were fixed on Elena.
Not her uniform.
Not her face.
Her left hand.
There was a tiny crescent-shaped scar near Elena's thumb.
The old woman slowly stood.
“Where did you get that scar?”
Elena looked toward her.
“I don't remember.”
The woman's face went white.
Because she remembered.
Twenty years ago, a little girl had disappeared from the Laurent family estate.
A little girl with the same scar.
A little girl everyone had been told was dead.
And tonight, that girl had just slapped Vanessa Laurent in front of half of Paris.
The woman who had asked about Elena's scar was named Marguerite Laurent.
She was the oldest living member of the Laurent family.
For fifty years, people had called her the keeper of the family history.
She remembered births.
Marriages.
Scandals.
Funerals.
And one particular funeral that had never made sense.
Twenty years earlier, the Laurent family had buried a four-year-old girl.
Aurelia Laurent.
The only child of Camille Laurent, the eldest daughter of billionaire Victor Laurent.
Aurelia was supposed to inherit the Laurent fortune.
Her father had died before she was born.
Her mother, Camille, had refused to marry again.
Instead, she had devoted herself to raising Aurelia.
Then, one rainy night, Camille and her daughter disappeared.
The official story was simple.
Aurelia had been kidnapped.
Camille had chased the kidnappers.
Their car had crashed into a ravine.
Camille died instantly.
Aurelia survived the crash but was supposedly too badly injured to save.
Three days later, a small coffin was buried.
The family never opened it.
There was no public viewing.
No photograph.
No autopsy report shown to the relatives.
And no one ever saw Aurelia's face after the accident.
Marguerite had always hated that.
But Victor Laurent had insisted.
The funeral took place in silence.
Then the Laurent fortune passed into the control of Camille's younger brother, Richard.
Richard became the family patriarch.
His daughter Vanessa grew up believing she would eventually inherit everything.
For twenty years, the story never changed.
Aurelia Laurent was dead.
Until tonight.
Marguerite walked toward Elena.
Vanessa immediately stepped between them.
“Don't encourage her.”
Marguerite ignored Vanessa.
“Come here, child.”
Elena hesitated.
Marguerite reached for her hand.
Elena slowly extended it.
Marguerite turned it over.
The crescent-shaped scar was still there.
Her fingers began to tremble.
“Oh God.”
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“Grandmother, you're being ridiculous.”
Marguerite looked up.
“What was Aurelia's birthmark?”
Vanessa froze.
She knew the answer.
The girl had been born with a small dark mark beneath her left shoulder.
But nobody could see it beneath Elena's uniform.
Marguerite looked at Elena.
“Excuse me.”
She reached toward the collar of Elena's shirt.
Elena stepped back.
“Please don't.”
Marguerite stopped.
“I'm sorry.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“But I need to know.”
Richard Laurent finally approached.