Page 39 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

Her father stifles a laugh as he takes his seat, while her mother feigns a sudden fascination for the tulips that are beginning to grow. Sophia shoots me a mock-threatening glance before pouring us all some coffee.

The end of the weekend arrives sooner than expected. Between cultural visits, captivating shows, and gourmet dinners, time seems to fly by.

At the moment of farewells, Loïc pulls me aside. Sophia’s father rests a hand on my shoulder, his gaze suddenly serious yet kind.

"You know," he says in a fatherly tone, "I still remember the young man who arrived at our house full of anger, lashing out at the entire world. I’m happy and very proud of the man you’ve become."

I remain silent in front of this man who gave so much—to me, and to so many other children—who was a role model.

"And when I look at you today," he continues, "I tell myself we were right to embark on this foster family journey. You make me proud, Ruslan."

Shit. He’s going to make me cry, the bastard.

"And the fact that you make my little girl happy means everything to me as well," he goes on. "For years, I thought she’d end up single. She wasn’t interested in men, only in her work. Despite all the dates her mother tried to arrange, she never had a serious relationship. So when she told us you’d reconnected and were going to get married, Renée and I were overjoyed. It’s true—you’ve always had a special connection."

Guilt tightens around my chest. I’m lying to them. To people who have shown nothing but generosity and kindness. So I give him one truth.

"I never told you this, Loïc, but Renée and you saved me from myself. You were my anchors. You gave me the support and stability I desperately needed. When my mother died, I was angry at the whole world. I felt powerless in the face of illness. I kept thinking that if we’d had more money, maybe she could have been saved."

"Ruslan, you know that wouldn’t have changed anything," he replies gently. "It was a fast-moving cancer. Medicine was powerless."

"I know. Renée helped me understand that."

Even so, doubt followed me for years. That’s where my desire to create Gloventis came from. I swore that money would never be an obstacle again. That if illness ever struck someone I loved, resources would never be the problem.

And suddenly, I realize that this may be my true failing. The trauma left by my mother’s death—this obsession with succeeding at all costs so I would never feel that helpless again—pushed me to take shortcuts.

Shortcuts that could cost me the respect of the people who matter most to me, if they were ever to discover the truth.

And above all, I could lose Sophia.

I understand then, brutally, that all the success in the world means nothing without them. Without her. Without Sophia by my side.

20. Le Havre

SIERRA

Today, I’m working from home. I’m deep into an ongoing case when my phone suddenly vibrates. An alert. My surveillance system, carefully programmed to track Nexora Trade’s activities, has detected something unusual in Le Havre.

I stare at the screen and triple-check the signal, ruling out any chance of a false alarm. The data is clear: a Fruits Corporation container is scheduled to arrive tomorrow at 3 p.m. This company, founded three weeks ago in Panama, has all the hallmarks of a Nexora Trade shell company—same digital signatures in the documents, same subtle irregularities that give away their patterns.

But something’s off. The container’s route is different from the previous ones. And yet, it doesn’t make sense. The timing, the stops… something doesn’t add up.

My gut tells me it followed the same path as Fresh Logistics’ containers, but someone is trying to make us believe otherwise.

I grab my secure phone and dial Pedro’s number.

"I’ve got an update on Nexora Trade, I say straight to the point. A shipment is arriving tomorrow at 3 p.m. in Le Havre. If my gut is right and it’s a drug load, I’ll need the GPS data. But if I’m right, there’s a security system that will instantly erase the travel history unless we disable it properly. Do you have a team on-site?"

"Our technician has COVID. He won’t be back for another week. If you want your evidence, you’ll have to come in person," Pedro replies gravely.

Shit. Bad timing. I need that data to confirm my theories, but tomorrow night… there’s the gala. And Ruslan… I push away the images of our last night together.

"Okay. I’ll be there," I finally concede. "But I absolutely have to be on the 5:04 p.m. train back."

"I’ll have my contact drop you off at the station."

I hang up with a sigh, already thinking of an excuse to justify my delay at the gala.