The one who understands you best is always your enemy

"Oh, of course, please go ahead." Fouche said, stepping aside.

After all, he was only a minor Police in name, and his ability to guard Necker here depended on permission issued by Count Robert of the Secret Police.

The tall officer nodded and smiled at him, then went to the prisoner and carefully examined the disheveled, unshaven man to confirm that he was indeed Necker before pretending to search him.

"We've searched everything, don't worry, there are no dangerous or valuable items," Fouche said from the side.

The officer moved to Necker's side, seemingly checking his trouser pockets, but then whispered rapidly in his ear, "If you don't say anything, you'll be rescued within three days and taken to the United Kingdom."

Necker was startled and turned to look at the officer, who had already put on gloves and was walking towards the door. "No problem, the rest is up to you."

After Fouche left, he immediately closed the door and gestured to his men, "Come on, hurry up!"

The interrogation of Necker began that very evening.

The presiding judges were two Secret Police Commissioner, while Fouche and others listened in from the sidelines—such a high-profile case that alarmed the Queen was obviously to be handled by the Royal House's "henchmen," the Secret Police.

However, the interrogation continued until dawn, during which time Necker barely uttered a word.

Even when faced with irrefutable evidence, he simply watched the presiding judge roar, neither admitting nor denying, as if he were not a party involved at all.

The two presiding judges yawned wearily and decided to take a short break.

Fouche instructed Prosper to keep a close watch on Necker, and that no Secret Police were allowed to leave without permission. He then returned to his cell on the third floor of the Bastille with an assistant.

The Police Intelligence Division guarding the cell saluted him with his hat raised. "All is well, sir."

Fouche nodded, glanced into the room through the small window in the door, then pulled up a chair and leaned against the door to doze off.

He was awakened by the sound of dishes clattering around noon.

He squinted and saw an officer and two soldiers carrying food.

Fouche's men immediately stepped forward, exchanged a few words with the officer, who then smiled and nodded, picked up the spare utensils, and tasted a bite of each dish.

The Police Intelligence Division then opened the door and gestured for people to come in, saying, "Please come in."

The officer entered the room and, in front of several guards, laid out a sumptuous meal on the table. However, no one noticed that when he picked up the dish of creamy pea soup, his thumbnail was dipped into the soup.

After the food was laid out, the officer gestured to Necker, who was sitting stiffly on the sofa, and to the woman and child huddled in the corner of the room, "Please have your meal."

Nearly an hour later, a commotion of shouts and a woman's screams suddenly erupted from the cell.

Fouche was still catching up on sleep, suddenly opened his eyes, sprang up from his chair, and rushed into the room.

Necker lay on the sofa in agony, his body twitching every now and then, dark blood rolling down his stubble and onto the floor.

Fouche reached out and felt Necker's carotid artery, then turned to his subordinate and asked, "Poisoned?"

The officer from the Police Intelligence Division pointed to the food on the table. "That should be it, sir. He said he had a stomachache shortly after he finished eating, and then this happened."

"Quickly enough." Fouche sneered and ordered his men, "Arrest the person who delivered the food."

"Oran, find some animals to try these foods on."

"Yes, sir!"

Royal Palace.

The Duke of Orléans pushed open the door to a Hall on the second floor and greeted the banking tycoons who had been there discussing countermeasures with a smile, "Don't look so gloomy, gentlemen, the situation is not as serious as it seems."

"I suggest we all enjoy a delicious dinner first; perhaps that will resolve the issue."

"You've done business with Necker before, so why are you so relaxed about it?" The owner of the Beranger Bank looked at him. "What method have you come up with?"

"You'll find out soon enough," the Duke of Orléans gestured down the corridor. "The Dining Hall is this way."

Count Isaac discerned something from his expression and exclaimed with delight, "You really solved it?"

Seeing the Duke of Orléans' silent smile, the others immediately cheered, "Oh God, you have saved us all!"

"Thank goodness, it seems everything's alright..."

"I swear, you are the best and greatest Capet! [Note 1]"

The banking giants showered the Duke of Orléans with praise, bowing and patting their chests in humility, secretly rejoicing that having him as their patron had been an incredibly wise decision!

Just then, the butler Donadier rushed over and respectfully handed a small scroll sealed with Sealing Wax to the Duke of Orléans.

The latter proudly held up the rolled-up paper and gestured to everyone in the room, then peeled off the Sealing Wax and slowly unrolled it.

However, when he saw the two lines of small print on the note, his expression immediately darkened, and he turned to the butler, demanding, "Didn't Laville say he had succeeded?!"

"Yes, that's what he said in the message he sent at noon," the butler said tremblingly.

The Duke of Orléans tore the note into more than a dozen pieces and threw them at his feet. "How is this possible?"

The note was delivered by his inside contact in the Secret Police. It contained only two sentences: "Necker was interrogated this afternoon and did not implicate any other banks."

But Laville told him that Necker had been poisoned at lunch!

Suddenly remembering something, Orleans grabbed the butler and asked, "Has Laville been discovered?"

The butler, somewhat confused, quickly bowed and said, "I'll send someone to inquire right away."

The Duke of Orléans slammed the Hall door shut, paced back and forth irritably, and muttered curses under his breath, "That idiot Laville, why didn't he prepare more!"

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, realizing that no matter how Necker had escaped poisoning, he most likely would no longer believe the lie about "rescuing him to the United Kingdom."

In other words, the Royal House is likely to find out about Necker's dealings with the bank.

He pulled up a chair, sat down wearily, and felt utterly confused. What should he do? What should he do next?

He had already lost control of public opinion and the High Court, and his infiltration of the military was ruined by a mysterious assassination. If he were to lose control of finance as well, the House of Orleans's challenge to the throne over the past century would inevitably come to an end in his generation!

No, there must be a way. The Duke of Orléans wiped the sweat from his palms on his coat. What other power could I possibly have...?

Seeing the atmosphere suddenly become somber, Count Capeville cautiously asked, "So, shall we still go have lunch?"

The Bastille.

In the cell on the third floor, Necker, now dressed in a white coat, shaved, and wearing a wig, stared wide-eyed at his other self lying on the ground, filled with terror.

If the Police hadn't taken him to the small building opposite the Bastille for interrogation, he would be the one coughing up blood and dead right now.

Yes, last night Fouche placed a death row inmate here to impersonate Necker, and thanks to Necker's previously messy hair and beard, it was difficult to spot the difference at first glance.

Joseph had long known that the Bastille was infiltrated like a sieve; Jeanne, who had committed the "Affair of the Diamond Necklace" in history, could escape from there, let alone an important target like Necker. So he ordered Fouche to set up a decoy to draw fire, while the real Necker was kept in a house by the roadside, which was actually very safe.

Suddenly remembering something, Necker turned to Fouche and asked urgently, "Where are Suzanne and the children?!"

Suzanne is his wife's name. These Police, in an attempt to lure the killer into revealing his identity, actually used his wife and children to help the imposter.

Fouche gestured towards the inner room. "They're fine. Their food was personally delivered by my men."

Necker breathed a sigh of relief, looked at the corpse on the ground, and suddenly said coldly, "This was just a trick you used to scheme against me, wasn't it?"

The door was pushed open, and Prosper entered, bowing to Fouche with his hat in salute. "Sir, the man who brought the food is named Carla, and he's a Lieutenant."

"Did you catch them?"

He's dead.

Fouche kicked the sofa in a fit of rage. "Damn it! How could he be dead? Who killed him?!"

"He's been poisoned," Prosper said. "He's still breathing, but he can't speak anymore."

Fouche glanced at Necker, his tone dripping with sarcasm, and said, "Would you like to see how we poisoned an officer to plot against you?"

"His Majesty the King has pardoned you. Who do you think wants your life now?"

Necker lowered his head in despair, his last glimmer of hope shattered.

Before long, Joseph also arrived at the Bastille upon hearing the news.

After listening to Fouche's brief account of what had happened since yesterday, he first asked, "Is the assassin still alive?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, he passed away two hours ago."

"So fast?" Joseph frowned. "Didn't you give him a stomach lavage?"

"Uh, what is stomach lavage?"

Joseph shook his head and sighed. It seemed that stomach lavage hadn't been invented yet in this era. If the poisoned person could have their stomach lavaged immediately, at least he could survive the night, and perhaps then they could reveal the mastermind behind it all.

How many did Necker recruit?

Fouche lowered his head and said, "He has remained silent. He said he would only reveal more if he agreed to be sentenced to exile."

Joseph sneered, "Still trying to bargain? When that person arrives, he'll confess honestly."

"Alright, you can go ahead and get back to work. Just make sure to keep a close eye on Necker."

"Yes, Your Highness."

After Fouche and the others left, Joseph looked at Bernard - Rene Jourdan de Launay, the Bastille Commander-in-Chief was standing beside him with a bitter expression.

"Marquis de Launay, do you know how important Necker is? Do you know the impact his death would have?"

"Your Highness, I am truly sorry. It was my officer's negligence." Launay wiped away a cold sweat. He hadn't expected the Royal House to be alerted so quickly. Luckily, Necker was still alive, otherwise he might have lost his position.

Joseph rolled his eyes at him. "Was it an oversight by your 'subordinates'?"

"Oh, no, no," Launay bowed repeatedly, "It was my oversight!"

Joseph nodded. "Yes, I will report this to Her Majesty the Queen truthfully."

"Ah?" Launay panicked immediately. "Please, please don't do this, Your Highness! Please give me another chance..."

Joseph stopped and looked at him, saying, "During this period, everyone from the guards at the Bastille to the cooks and cleaners has been replaced by my men. Your officers and soldiers are forbidden from approaching within a hundred paces of Necker's cell."

"Okay, okay, I'll do whatever you say!"

"Furthermore, you have half a month to find the mastermind behind Necker's murder."

"Yes, yes, I'll definitely find that guy!"

Joseph knew almost certainly that the mastermind was someone from the Banking Guild; how could Launay possibly have found out?

However, the Bastille has now become a sore spot for the France people and is often used to slander the Royal House. He can take this opportunity to make some leverage so that dealing with the Bastille later will be much easier.

Night falls.

In the interrogation room on the second floor of the Bastille, Necker gritted his teeth and kept repeating things like, "I need the Royal House's promise," and "I can only be sentenced to exile."

Suddenly, the interrogation room door was pushed open, and a familiar face appeared before him.

Necker was immediately taken aback, and exclaimed, "Calonne? What are you doing here?!"

Calonne, dressed in a simple black coat, gave him a casual bow and a friendly smile, "Good evening, Mr. Necker! How long has it been? Well, since I was exiled two years ago."

"You, how did you get here?" Necker repeated mechanically.

Calonne nodded to Fouche and the others, then went straight to the presiding judge's seat, sat down, and familiarly picked up the interrogation records and case files to look at them.

After a moment, he looked up at Necker and smiled again, "His Crown Prince has appointed me as your presiding judge. Mr. Necker, my old friend, are you surprised?"

"Why you...?"

"Heh, after all these years of open and covert struggles, I'm probably the person in this world who knows best what you've done." Calonne flipped through the files. "Don't waste time, let's start with your loan agreement with Beranger Bank."

"No, I need a promise of exile!"

"Hmm, let me guess, you must have signed two contracts with Beranger Bank for this 4 Livre loan." Calonne ignored him, filled with a vengeful thrill, her mind racing, pointing out every suspicious detail and using her years of experience in corruption to speculate, "Look, here's the government expenditure interest; although you balanced the books, there are clues left here about where the funds went..."

Necker listened to him ramble on for over an hour, his expression gradually shifting from anger to shock— Calonne's account was becoming increasingly consistent with the truth, until it was almost identical. And this was something only he and the directors of Beranger Bank knew!

"Hmm, it seems you agree." Calonne nodded in satisfaction, then asked the scribe beside him, "Have you written everything down?"

"Yes, Viscount Calonne."

"Very good. Tomorrow, have the Royal Police arrest people and investigate the accounts according to this plan; I'm sure they'll find something."

Cold sweat immediately streamed down Necker's back...

This book currently has exactly 800 monthly votes. With only a few days left in January, I don't know if I can get another 200 or more. I really want to reach 1000 monthly votes this month! This humble author earnestly requests that readers cast more monthly votes for this book!

(End of this chapter)