Chapter 212: Chapter 212

At eight in the morning, Albert burst through Beauchamp’s door, his heart pounding with anxiety.

The servant had been told to let him in immediately. Beauchamp was still in the bathroom getting ready.

"I’m here," Albert called out, his voice tight with worry.

"I was expecting you, my friend," Beauchamp replied grimly. "I knew you’d come."

"You’re one of my closest friends. I know you’d never spread gossip about something so painful. The fact that you sent for me proves how much you care. So tell me straight, do you have any idea where this attack came from?"

"I think I might have a lead."

"First, just tell me everything. What exactly happened?"

Beauchamp took a deep breath and began explaining the nightmare that had unfolded over the past two days.

The scandal had started with an article in a newspaper called The Impartial. But that wasn’t the worst part. The same story had appeared in a government-backed paper, one with serious political weight. When Beauchamp had been eating breakfast that morning, he’d nearly choked on his coffee reading it.

He’d immediately grabbed a cab and rushed to the publisher’s office. Despite being on opposite sides politically, Beauchamp and the editor were actually good friends. That’s how things worked in their world, bitter rivals in print, drinking buddies in person.

When Beauchamp arrived, he found the editor happily reading some article about sugar beets, probably something he’d written himself.

"With that paper in your hand," Beauchamp had said, "I don’t even need to tell you why I’m here."

The editor looked up, confused. "Are you interested in agricultural policy now?"

"No. I’m here about the article on Morcerf."

"Oh, that? Fascinating story, isn’t it?"

Beauchamp’s blood had run cold. "Fascinating? You realize you could be sued for defamation, right? You could lose everything."

The editor had waved his hand dismissively. "Not a chance. We’ve got proof, documents, testimonies, the whole package. Morcerf won’t dare challenge us. Besides, we’re doing the country a favor by exposing these criminals who don’t deserve the honors they’ve been given."

Beauchamp had been stunned. "Who gave you this information? My paper broke the story first, but we had to hold back because we couldn’t verify the details. And we have way more reason to go after Morcerf than you do, he’s a member of the upper house and we’re the opposition party."

"It’s simple," the editor had explained. "We didn’t go looking for this. Yesterday, someone showed up from Yanina with a mountain of evidence. When we hesitated about publishing, he said he’d just take it to another paper."

Beauchamp had realized there was nothing he could do. He’d left immediately to send a messenger to warn Morcerf. But he hadn’t been able to include the latest developments in his message, because they’d happened after his courier left.

The same day the article came out, chaos had erupted in the House of Peers. This was normally a quiet, dignified place where the country’s elite gathered. But that day, everyone had arrived early, whispering about the scandal that was about to explode.

Some members were rereading the article. Others were swapping stories that made the accusations seem even worse. The truth was, Count Morcerf wasn’t well-liked among his colleagues. He was what people called "new money", someone who’d climbed up from nothing and acted arrogant to compensate.

The old aristocratic families mocked him behind his back. The truly talented ones kept their distance. The honorable ones instinctively distrusted him. He was the perfect target, someone everyone was secretly waiting to see fall.

The Count himself had no idea what was coming. He didn’t subscribe to the newspaper that had published the article. That morning, he’d been writing letters and testing out a new horse. He’d arrived at his usual time, walking with his head high and that arrogant swagger he always had.

He’d stepped out of his carriage, strolled through the halls, and entered the chamber without noticing how the doormen avoided his eyes or how his colleagues suddenly went quiet when he passed.

The session had already been going for half an hour. Everyone was holding a copy of the damning article, but no one wanted to be the first to bring it up. Finally, one of Morcerf’s known enemies stood up to speak with an exaggerated solemnity that made everyone sit up straight.

The room fell silent. Even Morcerf didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly paying such intense attention to this particular speaker, who usually bored them half to death.

The count barely paid attention to the introduction, where the speaker announced he had something vitally important to share. But then the speaker mentioned "Yanina" and "Colonel Fernand."

Morcerf’s face went white as a sheet. Every head in the room turned toward him. Everyone could see he’d been hit hard, these kinds of wounds might be invisible, but they never heal. They stay raw and painful, ready to bleed at the slightest touch.

After the article was read aloud, a collective shudder ran through the room. The speaker continued, explaining how difficult this situation was. They needed to protect Morcerf’s honor, and the honor of their entire institution. He proposed an official investigation to either clear Morcerf’s name or expose the truth before rumors spread any further.

Morcerf was so overwhelmed he could barely stammer out a few words as he looked around at everyone staring at him. His fear could have been the shock of an innocent man or the panic of a guilty one. Some members felt sympathy for him, even your worst enemy deserves compassion when they’re suffering this badly.

The president called for a vote. The investigation was approved. They asked Morcerf how long he needed to prepare his defense.

The count’s courage seemed to return. He straightened up. "My lords," he said firmly, "I don’t need time to defend myself against enemies I don’t even know, cowards hiding in the shadows. I need to strike back immediately, like answering lightning with thunder. I wish I could shed every drop of my blood to prove to you that I’m your equal in honor."

His words impressed some of the members. "I demand the investigation begin as soon as possible. I’ll provide whatever evidence you need."

"When?" the president asked.

"Today. Right now. I’m at your service."

The president rang his bell. "Does everyone agree to begin today?"

"Yes!" came the unanimous response.

A committee of twelve members was formed to review Morcerf’s evidence. The investigation would start at eight that evening. If they needed more time, they’d continue the next evening at the same hour.

Morcerf asked permission to leave. He needed to gather all the documents he’d been preparing for this exact storm, because somehow, he’d known it was coming.

Albert listened to all this, trembling with alternating waves of hope, anger, and shame. From the way Beauchamp was telling the story, he could tell his father was guilty. The question was: how could a guilty man possibly prove his innocence?

Beauchamp hesitated, not wanting to continue.

"What happened next?" Albert demanded.

"My friend... you’re asking me to do something painful. Do you really need to know everything?"

"I have to know it all. And I’d rather hear it from you than anyone else."

"Then gather all your courage. You’re going to need it more than ever before."

Albert ran his hand over his forehead, as if testing his own strength. He thought he was strong enough, but he was mistaking feverish desperation for real power.

"That evening, all of Paris was watching. Some said your father just needed to show up to destroy the charges against him. Others said he’d never appear. Some claimed they’d seen him leaving for Brussels. Others went to the police station to check if he’d gotten a passport.

I used my connections with one of the committee members, a young guy I knew, to get into one of the viewing galleries. He picked me up at seven, and before anyone else arrived, he got one of the guards to hide me in a private box. I was concealed behind a column where I could see everything that was about to happen.

At exactly eight o’clock, everyone was in position. Your father entered on the final bell chime. He was carrying papers, his face was calm, and he walked with steady confidence. He wore his full military uniform, buttoned all the way up to his chin.

His appearance made a good impression. Since the committee was mostly made up of liberal politicians, several of them actually came forward to shake his hand."

Albert felt his heart squeeze. Despite everything, he felt grateful to those men who’d shown his father respect when he needed it most.

"Then one of the guards brought in a letter for the president. ’You may speak, Monsieur de Morcerf,’ the president said as he opened it.

Your father began his defense, and I have to say, Albert, it was brilliant. He produced documents proving that the Vizier of Yanina, that’s a regional governor in the Ottoman Empire, had trusted him completely right up until the end. He’d even given your father a critical diplomatic mission.

Your father showed them a ring, an official seal that the Vizier used on his letters. He said the Vizier had given it to him as proof of his authority, allowing him to enter the Vizier’s presence at any time, even in the private family quarters. Unfortunately, the diplomatic mission had failed, and when your father returned, the Vizier was already dead.

’But,’ your father said, ’the Vizier trusted me so much that on his deathbed, he placed his favorite mistress and her daughter under my protection.’"

Albert jerked upright. The story of Haydée flashed through his mind, what she’d said about the message, the ring, and how she’d been sold into slavery.

"What effect did that have?" Albert asked urgently.

"It impressed me," Beauchamp admitted. "And it impressed the committee too."

He paused. "Meanwhile, the president casually opened the letter that had been delivered. But as he read the first lines, his expression changed. He read them again, more carefully, then looked up at your father.

"’Count,’ he said, ’you stated that the Vizier entrusted his wife and daughter to your care?’

’Yes, sir,’ your father replied. ’But tragedy followed me there as well. When I returned, Vasiliki and her daughter Haydée had vanished.’

’Did you know them personally?’

’My close relationship with the Vizier gave me access to his family. I must have seen them more than twenty times.’

’Do you know what happened to them?’

’I heard they died from grief and poverty. I wasn’t wealthy myself. My life was constantly in danger. To my great regret, I couldn’t search for them.’

The president frowned slightly. ’Gentlemen,’ he said, ’you’ve heard the Count de Morcerf’s defense. Can you produce any witnesses to verify your statements, sir?’

’Unfortunately, no,’ your father replied. ’Everyone who knew me at the Vizier’s court is either dead or disappeared. I believe I’m the only one of my countrymen who survived that terrible war. I only have the Vizier’s letters, which I’ve shown you, and this ring. The most convincing proof I can offer, after facing an anonymous attack, is my unblemished military record and the absence of any witnesses against me.’

A murmur of approval went through the room. At that moment, Albert, if nothing else had happened, your father would have won. All that remained was the final vote. But then the president spoke again.

’Gentlemen, and you, sir, I’m sure you won’t object to hearing from someone who claims to be a very important witness. This person has just arrived and undoubtedly comes to prove the perfect innocence of our colleague. I’ve just received this letter. Should we read it, or ignore it?’

Your father went pale and clenched the papers in his fists. The committee voted to hear the letter. Your father sat frozen and silent.