Ben returned to his father’s desk and continued his search among old papers to the rise and fall of her soft breathing until his eyes, too, felt heavy.

BLOATED

BEN

Two hours after he’d collapsed into bed, Ben woke up in terrible pain.

Spending most of the night in his father’s study proved to be a terrible decision. His back and buttocks ached; he immediately blamed the stiff chair and its poor stuffing. After Remi dozed off into a peaceful slumber, he followed, woken a short time later by a loud popping from the fire in the hearth. Carrying Remi to bed after that might have made it worse, but she was light and easy to carry, and after her story, he felt the weight of his burdened heart lift.

She was telling the truth; he should have recognized that sooner.

“Knock, knock,” Jacques announced loudly, barging into the room with a steaming mug and small plate.

Ben narrowed his eyes as he positioned himself upright.

“You look like shit.” Jacques passed the mug to Ben. “You’ve looked better after binge drinking all night at the bordello. What happened?”

“I went to my father’s study,” Ben said as he took his first sip of the hot drink, grateful for the energy it might reward him, “and found nothing of value.”

“Nothing?”

“There were a few receipts that piqued my interest, but they were small in nature.” Ben finished the croissant in one bite and drank the coffee down quickly, unaffected by the heat. “I want to visit the lawyer this morning.”

“Shall I accompany you?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I’ll bring the carriage around,” Jacques said as he left.

Ben tidied himself quickly, exchanging his wrinkled garments for a freshly pressed shirt, and arranged a silk ascot around his neck. After a sharp pull of his hand through tangled hair, he slipped on his boots and grabbed his frock coat before bounding down the stairs to the foyer.

The morning air was frigid from the rain, and Ben could see his breath as he raced toward the waiting carriage.

“What’s this about then?” Jacques asked as Ben swung himself up into the seat next to him. He nudged the horses, and they started down the gravel road to the hill. “What did your findings prove?”

“We’re nearly penniless,” Ben stated, popping his collar to cover his ears. “Land rich, of course, but the money has all but dried up. There is some money from previous arrangements with my cousins, but nothing else. No more than what is necessary to keep up the house. ”

“Does Madame know?”

“Doubtful,” Ben said. He wondered if she was awake yet. “My father kept her in the dark about everything.”

Their finances must have been why he’d been let go from the Institute of Medicine in Paris. It wasn’t enough to get in on good terms or from personal relations with a few of the instructors; there needed to be money. His cousins could not afford to further his education without leaving his father destitute. He could have saved any earnings he made, but unfortunately, Ben never kept a dime. Liquor and pretty prostitutes cost a great deal.

He cursed himself for allowing himself to sink so thoroughly into the gutter.

“But you said there was a treasure?” Jacques asked.

“A lost treasure,” Ben corrected. “I have no idea where it might be; it’s a family legend. If my father knew where it was, then I have to find the clue he left behind. He would have left one, I’m sure of it.”

“There’s a lot of mystery to your family.”

“That’s not all.” Ben shivered. “My father entered into some sort of business and lost someone else’s money. It was the reason for my meeting with Marchand at the wake.”

“What a reckless thing to do.” Jacques bowed his head. “The poor Madame.”

Ben grunted his agreement. Remi was in for another shock. He would have to tell her the state of their finances, but before that, he needed to know exactly where they stood on the business end of things. Especially if what Hugo Marchand said was true and his father had already agreed terms. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose, determined to ignore the dull throb that started behind his eyes.

After getting lost and asking for directions, he was relieved when the carriage finally stopped in front of the lawyer’s small shack of an office.

“Ben! What a surprise.” Lamotte appeared starry-eyed and coated in a fine sheet of sweat when he swung the door open.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not! Come in, come in,” He seemed amiable. “You must excuse my appearance. It’s been a long morning.”

“So it has,” Jacques mumbled.

They could smell the alcohol on Lamotte. It was stale but still strong.

“What’s your poison, Lamotte?” Ben asked, following the stout man to his desk.

“Red wine.” He picked up a dark bottle as he sat and shook it. There was a splash inside, but it was small. “A gift, actually. Not very tasty, more pricey than I’d like, but it has quite a kick.”

“Wine, you say?” Ben tried not to think about the connection, but the receipt he’d found last night was damning.

“Mm. A weakness of mine.” He yawned, and his breath reached both Ben and Jacques.

Ben tried to mask his disgust. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Nonsense! Nonsense.” Lamotte waved him off jovially. “Your father and I were friends. I hope to honor our friendship through my relationship with you.”

“I appreciate that.” Ben nodded. “I do have some business with you today, if you could spare me a moment.”

“Yes, I have some time. What’s on your mind?” Lamotte smiled, eager to change the subject.

Ben leaned forward. “I came across a receipt among my father’s papers. It was a large purchase made with no explanation.” He paused before he continued. “A gentleman approached me the other day at my father’s wake—Hugo Marchand. He claimed to have unfinished business with our family and demanded he be paid. I understand you are aware of our financial situation, non?”

Lamotte’s eyes never left Ben’s face. Despite his intoxication, he appeared sharp and focused. He seemed to grow more sober as Ben went on, nodding as the gears in his mind turned. Finally, he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“We don’t have money, so I fail to see his ability to invest in anything,” Ben said.

"That’s not exactly true," Lamotte shrugged. "At least, not completely."

Ben stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Lamotte turned wordlessly to a drawer in his desk. He pulled it open and rifled through a few papers before producing a stack bound together in brown paper.

Ben looked between the stack and Lamotte, confused. “What’s this?”