She lays a hand on my arm, looks me in the eye, and says gravely, “This is the most important moment of your life, Fanny. Not only will you have to make a difficult decision, but you will have to make it quickly.

“There are two possibilities. The first is that we call the police and tell them everything. By tonight, you’ll be sleeping in a cell. When the trial comes, the prosecutor and the court of public opinion will rip your life to shreds. The media will be gripped by the case. You’ll be painted as the evil, jealous bitch, the monster who cold-bloodedly killed her best friend, a girl everyone in school adored. Since you are over eighteen, you will be given a long sentence.”

I am already overwhelmed, but Annabelle drives home the final nail.

“By the time you get out of prison you will be thirty-five, and for the rest of your days you will be branded a murderer. In other words, your life is over before it has really begun. Tonight, you stepped into a hell from which you can never escape.”

I feel as though I am drowning, as though I’ve been knocked on the head and am underwater and cannot catch my breath. For a full minute, I am speechless, then finally I manage to stammer, “Wh-what’s the other possibility?”

“That you fight your way out of this hell. And I’m prepared to help you do that.”

“I don’t see how.”

Your mother gets up from her chair. “That’s something you don’t have to deal with directly. The first problem is to make Vinca’s body disappear. As for the rest, the less you know, the better.”

“It’s impossible to just make a body disappear,” I say.

Just then, Francis comes into the office and lays a passport and a credit card on the coffee table. He picks up the phone, dials a number, and puts the call on speaker.

“Hôtel Sainte-Clotilde, good evening.”

“Good evening. I was wondering if you might have a room for two people for tomorrow night.”

“We do, but it’s the last available room,” the receptionist says and informs him of the room rates.

Francis says that he’ll take it and makes the reservation in the name of Alexis Clément.

Your mother looks at me as if to say that the wheels are already turning and she is waiting only for my signal to continue.

“I’ll leave you to think for ten minutes,” she says.

“I don’t need time to choose between my life and that hell.”

In her eyes, I can see this is the answer she’s hoping for. She sits down next to me and takes me by the shoulders.