Chapter 2 - The Empire Beneath the Surface
The alarm on my phone rang sharply at 5:00 AM. In the next room, muffled by heavy acoustic insulation, I could hear the heavy, rhythmic snoring of Julien, dead to the world after polishing off three bottles of Saint-Émilion. Chloé was sprawled across the guest suite down the hall, likely dreaming of the promotion Julien had promised her once he managed to push me out completely.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the heavy air, and walked into my private home office. Unlike Julien’s messy, paper-strewn desk, mine was a masterclass in minimalist organization. Twin monitors sat silently on a white quartz desktop, flanked by an espresso machine and a secure encrypted terminal linked directly to my chief operating officer, Marc.
Marc had been with me since salon number two. He was a ruthless, brilliant financial strategist who previously managed portfolios for private equity firms in Zurich before burning out and deciding he preferred the stability of the high-end beauty industry.
I tapped the video-call icon. Within three seconds, Marc’s face appeared on screen. He was already suited up, sitting in his office at our Lyon headquarters, a cup of black coffee in hand.
"Good morning, Élise," Marc said, his voice crisp and professional despite the early hour. "You're up early. Everything ready for the final audit phase?"
"Everything is locked and loaded, Marc," I replied, leaning back in my ergonomic leather chair. I touched the jagged edge of my hair where Julien had sheared it just hours before. Marc’s eyes immediately narrowed as he noticed the missing length. He didn't ask questions; he simply observed, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
"Did Julien do that?" Marc asked softly, the temperature in his voice dropping ten degrees.
"Julien and his little corporate pet," I said evenly. "They had a good laugh over it last night. He called me a maid. Reminded me that I’m just a little hairdresser playing house in his world."
Marc let out a short, humorless laugh. "The man couldn’t balance a petty cash drawer if his life depended on it. Vaurien Pharma’s internal compliance department is going to have a field day with his expense reports. Have you reviewed the final dossier?"
"I’m looking at it now," I said, sliding the digital files onto the shared secure workspace. "Everything is airtight. The commercial espionage evidence from his office computer, the offshore wire transfers Chloé initiated using forged vendor signatures, and the exact paper trail linking their corporate embezzlement to the purchase of her apartment deposit."
"And the real estate maneuver?" Marc asked, leaning forward.
"The building purchase was finalized yesterday afternoon," I confirmed. "As of midnight last night, Julien’s lease—which he proudly believes his company subsidizes—is officially under the management of Élise Holding BV. When we serve him the eviction notice on Wednesday, he won't even be able to call his landlord for help, because the landlord is me."
Marc smiled, a predatory flash in his eyes. "Cruel, brilliant, and entirely legal. I love it. What about the bank loan?"
"The five-hundred-thousand-euro commercial bridge loan we took out last month?" I asked. "It’s sitting in our expansion account, fully liquid. Vaurien Pharma’s regional director has been looking for a reason to restructure Julien’s division due to declining performance metrics. Once I hand them the internal corruption dossier on Tuesday morning, they’ll terminate him with cause before lunch. No severance, no stock options, and immediate blacklisting from the pharmaceutical sector."
"And Chloé?"
"Fired for corporate fraud, asset falsification, and breach of employment ethics," I said, my voice steady and cold. "By Friday afternoon, both of them will be completely broke, legally compromised, and wondering how a 'simple hairdresser' dismantled their entire lives."
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Marc nodded slowly, raising his coffee cup in a silent toast. "I’ll notify our legal counsel to prepare the formal injunctions and the notification letters for Vaurien Pharma’s CEO. Whenever you give the word, Élise, the storm hits."
"Give them forty-eight more hours to celebrate," I whispered, closing the encrypted link. "Let them enjoy the penthouse while they still think they own it."
