They aren’t the papers I was looking for. They don’t pertain to Genovexa. But as I pull them from the plastic folder and leaf through them my breath catches. The top one is an invoice from a lawyer. It’s for: Liechtenstein Foundation: Requiem. The rest are pages of correspondence – letters, emails – with words like ‘appointees’ and ‘beneficiary’ dotted throughout. I’ll need to look through them properly when I’m at home. And then, at the bottom, there it is: a flimsy piece of paper.

A share registry for Genovexa.

One hundred shares owned by Requiem.

My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone and take a picture of each page, double-checking the focus. I can’t come back. I need to get it right.

I put the papers and the folder back where I found them.

And then I hear it.

A noise outside.

What the hell is that? Have I tripped an alarm? Is it a security company? Are they shining torches through the window right now?

I hold my breath and tiptoe over to the door, flicking off the light. The room falls into darkness.

My heart hits the walls of its cage so hard I grit my teeth.

And then I just sit dead still, listening for movement, watching the thin crack under the door for light, for movement, frightened to even breathe.

But nothing more comes.

I need to get the hell out of here.

I edge open the door – a crack of grey light – and crawl over to the desk again. Opening the lowest drawer, I drop in the fob and close it again. And then I crawl to the back door. As soon as I’m out of sight, I stand up and set the alarm again. I take a deep breath, reach for the handle and crack the door open, peeking outside. There’s no one there. I move out into the cool night air, pulling it closed behind me with a gentle thud. Once I’m down the stairs, I hoist myself up onto the back of them and remove the tape from the camera. The only sound is water rushing into gutters and traffic in the distance as I skirt the wall and rush towards the main road. I turn right towards the Seine, reach for my phone and, as people walk past me, I hold it against my ear and pretend to talk.

Chapitre Trente-trois

Chapitre trente-trois

It’s 7.48 am and the empty office echoes with the sound of the elevator doors opening. I step out into greyness and switch on the light. I’m the first one here. My head throbs as I make my way over to my desk, drop my bag on the floor, fire up my computer and take a sip of the coffee I grabbed on my way in.