He could’ve punched me in the gut, and it would’ve hurt less. I’d been correct to suspect he would hurt me emotionally. He’s doing it already. I should’ve never suggested we meet up. I should’ve never asked him to make love to me.
God, this stings so bad!
I pick up my pantyhose and panties and scoot the edge of the bed. “I better go.”
A part of me is hoping he’d ask me to stay, pointing out he isn’t dating that other woman, or isn’t exclusive with her yet. And I’ll stay. I know it. That’s how much my stupid body wants him.
But instead of trying to stop me, he says, “It’s probably best for everyone involved.”
While I put on my underwear and boots, he calls the front desk to call me a cab. Three minutes later, the two of us leave the room without another word exchanged. As he walks me to the taxi and pays the driver, I wonder what he meant by “everyone involved.”Himself, I guess.
My early departure means he won’t need to dump me tomorrow morning, after deflowering me. Could he be thinking that if no “virtue” gets “stolen,” then there’s no reason for remorse? I expect most men would feel that way.
Thing is, Darrel Vlovsky isn’t most men.
DARREL
I’m in the same strategic spot as last time. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I’m so antsy I could start chewing my tie if I don’t watch out. I wait for the judge to address the audience.
Finally, her authoritative voice cuts through the tense silence of the courtroom. “The evidence introduced by the plaintiff has not held up under scrutiny. Nothing in the file we have reviewed proves that Madame Gotteland returned a forgery instead of the original to Monsieur Lefevre.”
A wave of relief washes over me, but I remain alert, knowing that the case isn’t over yet. My gaze shifts to Charlie, who looks anxious but hopeful.
The judge continues, “The defendant’s new evidence, however, has proved to be much more interesting.” She gestures to Charlie’s lawyer. “Will you present it, Maître?”
Maître Simonnet stands up. His demeanor is a lot more confident now than at the end of the previous session. And for a good reason—albeit not one he can take credit for.
“Madame le Juge, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he begins, “I would like to commence my plea by highlighting the injustice that has been inflicted upon my client, Madame Gotteland.”
A murmur passes through the courtroom as Simonnet looks around to gauge the reaction of the public and the judge.
He clears his throat and resumes, “The evidence I wish to present is of unparalleled importance, and the documents we have obtained will back it up, as well as by an expert witness who will provide his analysis and opinion on this case. We will not only demonstrate the malicious intent of the plaintiff, but also the necessity of granting Madame Gotteland fair and appropriate compensation for the emotional, financial, and reputational damages suffered.”
Lefevre springs up in outrage. “Have you lost your mind? I am the wronged party here! I suffered the damages!”
His lawyer whispers to him, no doubt urging him to shut up and sit back down, which he eventually does.
“Our investigations have uncovered,” Simonnet carries on in a steady and clear voice, “that Monsieur Lefevre has a history of fraudulent activities, including art and rare book forgery.”
A hush falls over the courtroom as Simonnet pauses to let his words sink in.
“There have been several cases in France, Switzerland, Belgium, and the Netherlands,” he resumes. “Nothing stuck, for lack of witnesses and material evidence, so Monsieur Lefevre was never convicted. Even so, a clear pattern emerges.”
I watch as Lefevre’s face reddens, his eyes narrowing at the accusation.
“Monsieur Lefevre has a habit of entrusting a valuable painting or book to a restorer and then accusing them of having swapped the original. This typically allows him to either extort money from the artisan to keep the matter quiet and avoid damaging their reputation. When extortion doesn’t work, as in our case, he takes them to court and wins on occasion.”
Lefevre’s lawyer stands up to object. “This is all speculation, Madame le Juge! They have no proof.”
“Oh, but we do have proof,” Simonnet counters. “I would like to call an expert witness, former officer of the judicial police, now private detective Arthur Rosace, to the stand.”
With a surge of anticipation due to the impact his testimony will have, I watch my guy take the stand. Over the past week, Charlie, her lawyer, Arthur, and I have met several times. Those meetings have been the only glimmers of sunshine in the nonstop foul mood I’ve been in since my aborted tryst with Stella. Not only did Arthur and I find ourselves getting along like gangbusters, but I have come to admire his professional skills and no-nonsense personality. I can see why MINDFUCH’s Nikolai Smirnoff values him so much.
On the stand, Arthur swears to tell the truth and then dives into his testimony.
“During my investigation,” he says, “I discovered that as soon as Madame Gotteland finished her restoration work on the book, Monsieur Lefevre hired a known art forger to work on a project.”
The room gasps.
