“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?”
“An agreement,” Lamotte said with a sigh. “Between Arnaud Cuvilyé, Bernard Cuvilyé, and Edgar Leone. It has to do with Madame Leone.”
Ben straightened in his chair. “You mean Remi?”
“Oui.”
“May I see it?”
Lamotte ran a hand over the top, hesitant as he licked his wine-stained lips. “This is confidential.”
“My father’s name is on it,” Ben snapped.
“So it is.” Lamotte closed his eyes and sighed. “But there are two other names here as well.”
Incensed by his reluctance, Ben lurched from his chair until he towered over the lawyer. Through bared teeth, he hissed, “I have inherited my father’s estate. I have a right to these documents, Lamotte.”
“As does Edgar’s widow.”
Remi? Of course. “So I must see to it that she is in agreement?”
