Cassian looked from the photograph to the woman he was supposed to marry in four days.
“You told me you had never met her.”
Sabine’s eyes filled. “I met her once.”
“The photograph says otherwise.”
“It was work.”
“You told me you had never worked with Adrian.”
Her silence answered before she did.
Cassian felt Elodie’s fingers close around the back of his coat.
That small grip brought him back to the immediate danger in front of him.
He crouched beside the scattered tickets and began sorting them without taking his body out of the space between Elodie and the other two adults. One ticket bore Elodie’s name. One bore Sabine’s. The destination was Zurich. Departure was scheduled for that evening. No return date appeared on Elodie’s itinerary.
Another document lay half under a suitcase.
Cassian pulled it free.
It was a temporary educational authorization naming Sabine as the adult responsible for Elodie during an overseas placement. At the bottom was Cassian’s name.
And a signature that looked almost like his.
Almost.
He had signed thousands of contracts in his life. He knew the angle of his own hand, the pressure of the first stroke, the way the second half of his surname tightened when he was impatient. This one had been copied by someone who understood the shape but not the rhythm.
He looked at Sabine.
“You forged my signature.”
“No.”
Adrian said, “That proves nothing.”
Cassian’s voice stayed quiet. “You should decide which one of you is answering.”
Elodie tugged at his coat again.
“Daddy.”
He turned immediately.
Her face was wet. “There was another paper.”
“Where?”
She pointed to the open case near Adrian’s feet.
Cassian crossed the two steps, keeping Elodie behind him, and tipped the case with his shoe so the remaining papers slid into view. A cream envelope, two printed pages, and a copy of an account statement came out.
Adrian moved.
Not far. Barely half a step.
