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“Forgive me, I’m confused. Is this my father asking, or the Chief Inspector? That is your rank now, isn’t it? It’s hard to keep track.”

The collapse had begun. Here, in this garden that had always held a special place in his heart. Another sanctuary sullied.

“No matter what my job is, I’ve always been, and always will be, your father.”

“First? Are you my father before anything else?”

“Yes.”

The answer was swift, absolute. “Were you my father in the meeting yesterday when you humiliated me?”

“I was trying to help, to protect you.”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t need your help.”

“We always need help.”

“Maybe, but not yours. If I’m in trouble, it’s because of you.”

They were alone in the garden, enclosed by old mansions on all sides, and one of the ancient towers of the wall of Philip Augustus, built during the Crusades.

Once formidable, it was now crumbling.

Armand took a deep breath. He could see that Daniel was lashing out. And he could see the pain behind the words, even if he had no idea where it came from.

“Why didn’t you say something about Monsieur Plessner after you’d had time to think?”

“Because his death has nothing to do with me or his work with us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know the work. He and I’d only met a few times. We’d barely started.”

“What were you working on?”

“Venture capital.”

“Oui. But was there a particular project?”

“That’s confidential.”

Fighting words once again, but Armand chose not to pick up the gauntlet. He hadn’t lived to be an old warrior by responding every time someone wanted to fight. Even his son. Especially his son.

“I can find out,” said Armand.

Daniel smiled. Satisfied. “Yes. The father might trust me, but the cop will find out.”

“You seem to think the two are separate. They aren’t. Any more than they are with you. You’re a banker. I expect that extends to looking after your family’s finances. You and Roslyn make sure they’re safe. I’m doing the same thing. Yes, I’m a cop. And I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m not a child. Stop treating me like one. I can look after myself. And I can provide for my family. So stop trying to protect me, and stop giving me money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like you don’t know. You’re always slipping me envelopes with money.”

“I honestly don’t know what you mean. I haven’t done that since you were at college.”

“Really? That day on Mount Royal, a few years ago? I was already a banker, already in Paris. Making good money. Way more than you ever made. And what do you do? You shoved an envelope into my hand, like I’m some broke teen working at McDonald’s. Do you have any idea how insulting that was?”