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Chapter 174: Your Enemy Knows You Best
🕑 Added 2025-01-02 19:39:02 +0000 UTCChapter 174: Your Enemy Knows You Best
"Oh, of course, go ahead," Fouché said, stepping aside to let the officer through. After all, he was just a low-ranking officer here, and even being allowed to guard Necker required special permission from the Count of Robert, head of the secret police.
The tall officer nodded and smiled at Fouché before walking over to the prisoner. He looked carefully at the disheveled, bearded man to confirm it was indeed Necker, then pretended to search him thoroughly.
"We've already searched him," Fouché said, standing nearby. "Don't worry, there's nothing dangerous or valuable left."
The officer moved to check Necker's trouser pockets, but as he did, he leaned in close and whispered quickly, "If you keep quiet, you'll be rescued within three days and taken to England."
Necker's heart skipped a beat, and he turned to look at the officer, but by then the man was already pulling on his gloves and heading out the door. "No issues here, I'll leave the rest to you," the officer said as he left.
Once the officer was gone, Fouché immediately locked the door and signaled to his men, "All right, let's move quickly!"
Interrogation of Necker began that very night. The main interrogators were two officers from the secret police, while Fouché and others observed. In a case that had reached the Queen's ears, it was important for the royal "hounds," the secret police, to be seen as leading the investigation.
However, despite the interrogation lasting until dawn, Necker hardly spoke. Even when confronted with undeniable evidence, he simply stared at the lead interrogator, not admitting nor denying anything, as if he were a mere bystander.
By morning, the two lead interrogators were exhausted and decided to take a break.
Fouché instructed Prosper to keep a close watch on Necker, ensuring that even the secret police didn't leave their posts without permission. He then took an assistant with him back to a cell on the third floor of the Bastille.
The officer on duty outside the cell saluted Fouché. "Everything's normal, sir."
Fouché nodded, glanced through the small window in the door, then pulled up a chair and leaned against the door to take a nap.
Around noon, the clatter of dishes woke him. He squinted and saw an officer and two soldiers carrying meals.
Fouché's men stepped forward, exchanged a few words with the officer, who then smiled, nodded, and tasted each dish himself.
Satisfied, Fouché's men opened the door and gestured for the officer to enter.
The officer walked into the room, laying out the sumptuous meal on the table in front of the seated Necker and his family, who were huddled in a corner. No one noticed that when the officer lifted a dish of creamy pea soup, his thumb subtly dipped into the soup.
After setting down the food, the officer gestured to Necker, who was still stiffly sitting on the sofa. "Please, enjoy your meal."
An hour later, loud cries and a woman's scream echoed from the cell.
Fouché, who had been catching up on sleep, sprang from his chair and rushed into the room.
He found Necker lying on the sofa, writhing in pain. His body twitched occasionally, and dark blood trickled from his bearded face onto the floor.
Fouché checked Necker's pulse and asked his men, "Poisoned?"
The officer pointed to the food on the table. "Seems like it, sir. He complained of stomach pain shortly after eating, and then this happened."
"Quick work," Fouché sneered. He then ordered, "Arrest the person who brought the food. And Orlan, find some animals to test the food."
"Yes, sir!"
…
At the Palais-Royal, the Duke of Orléans pushed open the door to a large room where the banking giants were anxiously discussing their next move. He smiled and said, "No need to look so grim, gentlemen. The situation isn't as bad as it seems. I suggest we enjoy a fine dinner, and by then, everything might already be resolved."
"Why are you so calm, Duke? You've had dealings with Necker as well. What have you done?" asked the owner of Béranger Bank, looking at him curiously.
"You'll find out soon enough," the Duke replied, motioning down the hallway. "The dining room is this way."
The Earl of Isaac, noticing the Duke's confidence, asked excitedly, "Have you really taken care of it?"
The others, seeing the Duke's calm demeanor, began to cheer. "Oh, thank God, you've saved us all!"
"Excellent, it looks like everything will be fine after all…"
"I swear, you're the finest, most remarkable Capet!"
The banking titans showered the Duke with praise, inwardly congratulating themselves for choosing him as their patron.
Just then, the Duke's butler, Donadier, hurried in and handed him a sealed note.
The Duke, full of pride, raised the note for everyone to see, then slowly opened it. But as he read the two lines of text, his face darkened. He turned to the butler and barked, "Didn't Lavielle say he had succeeded?"
"Yes, that's what he reported at noon," the butler stammered.
The Duke ripped the note into pieces and threw them to the floor. "How is this possible?"
The note had come from his mole in the secret police, stating only two things: Necker had been interrogated that afternoon but did not incriminate any other banks.
But Lavielle had assured him that Necker had been poisoned during lunch!
Suddenly realizing the implications, the Duke grabbed the butler. "Has Lavielle been found out?"
The butler, confused, bowed and said, "I'll send someone to find out right away."
The Duke shut the door behind him and began pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath. "That idiot Lavielle, why didn't he prepare more thoroughly?"
He stopped suddenly, realizing that whatever had allowed Necker to survive the poisoning, it was unlikely Necker would now trust the offer of being saved and sent to England.
This meant that all the dirty dealings between Necker and the banks would likely come to light before the royal family.
The Duke pulled up a chair and sat down heavily, his mind racing. What to do now?
He had already lost control of public opinion and the high courts, and his efforts to infiltrate the military had been undone by an inexplicable assassination attempt. If he also lost control over the financial sector, the Orléans family's centuries-old challenge to the throne would surely end with him!
No, there must be a way. The Duke wiped the sweat from his palms onto his coat. What resources do I still have…
The Earl of Kapfpfel, sensing the sudden tension, cautiously asked, "So, uh, should we still go to lunch?"
…
At the Bastille, in a third-floor cell, Necker, now dressed in a white coat, clean-shaven, and wearing a wig, stared wide-eyed at the figure lying on the floor—a dead ringer for himself. His heart was filled with terror.
If the police hadn't taken him to the building across from the Bastille for questioning, the man now lying on the floor, foaming at the mouth and turning blue, would have been him.
Yes, Fouché had placed a death row inmate here to impersonate Necker. Thanks to Necker's previously disheveled hair and beard, it was hard to tell at first glance that he was not the real Necker.
Joseph had long known that the Bastille was as porous as a sieve. Historically, even someone like Jeanne, involved in the "Diamond Necklace Affair," had escaped from there, let alone a high-profile target like Necker. So he instructed Fouché to set up a decoy to draw fire, while the real Necker was held in a roadside house, much safer by comparison.
Necker suddenly thought of something and urgently asked Fouché, "What about Susan and the children?"
Susan was his wife. These officers had used his family to bait the assassin.
Fouché gestured toward the inner room. "They're fine. My men personally delivered their food."
Necker breathed a sigh of relief, but then looked at the body on the floor and coldly said, "This was all just a trap to deceive me, wasn't it?"
The door opened, and Prosper entered, saluting Fouché. "Sir, the man who delivered the food was a lieutenant named Carla."
"Did you catch him?"
"He's dead."
Fouché, furious, kicked the sofa. "Damn it! How did he die? Who killed him?"
"He was poisoned," Prosper replied. "He's still alive, but he can't speak."
Fouché glanced at Necker, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like to see how we poisoned an officer just to trick you? The King has already pardoned you—who do you think wants you dead the most now?"
Necker lowered his head, the last shred of hope in his heart completely shattered.
Not long after, Joseph arrived at the Bastille after hearing the news.
After listening to Fouché's brief report on the events of the past day, he first asked, "Is the assassin still alive?"
"Sorry, Your Highness, he died two hours ago."
"So soon?" Joseph frowned. "Didn't you try to pump his stomach?"
"Uh, pump his stomach? What's that?"
Joseph sighed. It seemed stomach pumping hadn't been invented yet. If they could have pumped the poison from his stomach, the man might have survived the night and revealed the mastermind.
"What did Necker confess to?"
Fouché hung his head. "He remained silent. He says he'll talk only if he's promised exile."
Joseph sneered. "He's still trying to bargain? Once a certain someone arrives, he'll start talking. For now, keep a close watch on Necker."
"Yes, Your Highness."
After Fouché and the others left, Joseph turned to the Bastille's commander, Bernard-René Jourdan de Launay.
"Marquis de Launay, do you understand how important Necker is? Do you know the impact it would have if he died?"
"This… Your Highness, I'm truly sorry. It was my officer's oversight," Launay stammered, wiping the sweat from his brow. He hadn't expected the royal family to become involved so quickly. If Necker had died, he would have surely lost his position.
Joseph glared at him. "Your officer's oversight?"
"Oh, no, no," Launay stammered, bowing repeatedly, "It was my oversight!"
Joseph nodded. "Good. I'll report the situation to the Queen as it is."
"What?" Launay was terrified. "Please, don't do that, Your Highness! Give me another chance…"
Joseph paused and looked at him. "From now on, replace all guards, cooks, and cleaners at the Bastille with my men. Your officers and soldiers are to stay at least a hundred paces away from Necker's cell."
"Yes, yes, I'll do exactly as you say!"
"And find out who ordered the hit on Necker within half a month."
"Yes, yes, I'll find the culprit!"
Joseph knew that the mastermind was almost certainly from the banking guild, so Launay had no chance of discovering the truth. But the Bastille was already a sore point for the French people and a frequent target for slander against the royal family. This was a good opportunity to gather leverage, making future dealings with the Bastille easier.
That night, in the Bastille's second-floor interrogation room, Necker bit his lip, repeatedly saying only, "I need the royal family's promise," and "I must be promised exile."
Suddenly, the door opened, and a familiar face appeared before him.
Necker froze in shock. "Calonne? What are you doing here?"
Calonne, dressed in a simple black coat, nodded slightly in greeting and smiled warmly. "Good evening, Mr. Necker! How long has it been? Ah, since I was exiled two years ago, correct?"
"You… Why are you here?" Necker repeated mechanically.
Calonne nodded to Fouché and the others, then walked over and sat in the main interrogator's seat, casually flipping through the interrogation records and case files.
After a moment, he looked up at Necker, still smiling. "The Prince asked me to be your chief interrogator. Isn't that a pleasant surprise, Mr. Necker, my old friend?"
"Why you…"
"Well, after years of fighting, I probably know your secrets better than anyone," Calonne said, flipping through the files. "Let's not waste time. Let's start with your loan agreement with Béranger Bank."
"No, I need a promise of exile!"
"Hmm, let me guess. You probably signed two contracts for that 4 million livre loan with Béranger Bank," Calonne continued, ignoring him. His mind was filled with the satisfaction of revenge as he rapidly connected all the suspicious details, piecing together the puzzle with his years of experience in embezzlement. "See here, even though you balanced the government's interest payments, the cash flow left traces…"
As Necker listened to Calonne speak for over an hour, his anger slowly turned to shock. Calonne's descriptions were increasingly accurate, almost perfectly matching the truth. And this was something only he and the directors of Béranger Bank knew!
"Hmm, it seems you've tacitly agreed," Calonne said with satisfaction, then turned to the clerk. "Did you get all that?"
"Yes, Lord Calonne."
"Good. Tomorrow, let's have the royal police arrest people and check the accounts. I'm sure we'll find something."
Cold sweat dripped down Necker's back…
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