The Figaro mansion seemed to hum with a life of its own as the enigmatic doctor stood in the doorway, his leather case clutched firmly in his hand. His piercing gaze swept across the dining room, briefly lingering on Fernande, who gripped her wine glass as if it were her only anchor. The tension in the room was palpable, each family member silently wondering what storm the stranger’s arrival might unleash.
Robert Sr. rose from his seat, his expression a careful mask of authority. “Doctor Saint-Clair,” he greeted, his voice steady, yet edged with caution. “I didn’t expect you this evening. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
The doctor’s lips curved into a subtle, unreadable smile. “A matter of urgency, Mr. Figaro. Perhaps it’s best discussed in private?”
Robert Jr.’s brow furrowed. He had never heard of this man, yet his father addressed him with a familiarity that felt unsettling. Before Robert Sr. could respond, Fernande spoke up, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of tension.
“Surely, whatever the doctor has to say can wait until after dinner,” she said, her eyes briefly meeting the doctor’s. A flicker of recognition passed between them, unnoticed by everyone except Marie-Elizabeth, whose sharp gaze missed nothing.
“No,” Robert Sr. said firmly, gesturing toward the study. “This cannot wait.” He turned to his family, his tone brooking no argument. “Continue without me.”
As Robert Sr. and the doctor disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Fernande’s grip on her wine glass tightened. Régine, ever curious, glanced at her mother. “Who is he, Mama? Do you know him?”
Fernande’s smile was brittle. “Just an old acquaintance of your father’s.”
Marie-Elizabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to Robert Jr., whose unease was palpable. “Why do you look so worried?” she asked, her voice laced with mockery. “Afraid of what skeletons might tumble out of Papa’s closet?”
“Mind your business, Marie,” Robert Jr. snapped, but his tone lacked conviction.
Meanwhile, in the study, the air crackled with tension. The doctor set his leather case on the desk and opened it, revealing a stack of documents. “Your rivals are moving faster than you anticipated, Robert,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “If you don’t act soon, everything you’ve built will crumble.”
Robert Sr.’s jaw tightened. “And you’ve come to offer a solution, I presume?”
The doctor’s smile widened. “Let’s just say I know things others don’t—and I can make problems disappear.”
Back in the dining room, Régine couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. She slipped away from the table, unnoticed, and crept toward the study. Pressing her ear to the door, she strained to hear the conversation.
“Careful, little one,” came a voice behind her. She spun around, heart pounding, to find a servant standing in the shadows. His eyes were kind but wary. “This is no place for children.”
“I’m not a child,” Régine whispered, defiance flashing in her eyes.
The servant hesitated before leaning closer. “If you want to know the truth, look under the floorboards in the west wing. But be careful—some truths are better left buried.”
Régine’s breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to ask more, but the servant had already melted into the shadows.
Meanwhile, in the garden, Marie-Elizabeth met with the same young diplomat who had approached her at the gala. “Your family’s empire isn’t as untouchable as it seems,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you want to survive what’s coming, you’ll need allies.”
“And you’re offering your help out of the kindness of your heart?” Marie-Elizabeth retorted, her sharp mind calculating every angle.
“Let’s just say we have mutual interests,” he replied with a sly smile.
As the evening deepened, the Figaro family retreated to their rooms, each carrying the weight of the night’s revelations. Régine, clutching a candle, made her way to the west wing, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. She knelt on the floor and pried open a loose floorboard, revealing a small, dusty box. Inside, she found photographs, letters, and a single key—each item whispering secrets that could shatter her family’s world.
At the same time, Fernande stood in her room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind raced with memories she had long buried—memories tied to the doctor. She knew his arrival wasn’t a coincidence, and she feared what he might reveal.
In the study, Robert Sr. stared at the documents the doctor had left behind, his expression unreadable. His empire, his legacy, was at stake—and the cost of saving it might be higher than he was willing to pay.
Next Chapter: Buried Truths
As Régine delves deeper into the secrets hidden in the west wing, Marie-Elizabeth begins to weave alliances that could alter the course of her family’s future. Meanwhile, Fernande’s connection to the doctor threatens to unravel everything, and Robert Sr. faces a decision that could either save or destroy the Figaros. The shadows of wealth grow darker, and betrayal looms at every corner.
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