The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 60
Stella’s posture changed the moment Justin joined them. She released the champagne glass and rearranged her anger into wounded dignity, aware that too many guests were watching to risk another open attack. “Everything is fine. I was only talking to my sister.”
Justin looked at Sophie first. The question in his expression gave her the choice to continue or leave, and she steadied herself beneath that silent support. Stella noticed the exchange and rushed to control the story before Sophie could speak.
“I wanted to apologize for what happened at the coffee shop,” Stella said loudly enough for nearby guests to hear. “I received a business call and had to leave early. I had no idea Sophie would drink so much or behave in a way scandalous enough to make headline news.”
The lie was polished to sound compassionate. It excused Stella’s disappearance, blamed Sophie for the drug’s effects, and revived the rumor after the clarification had begun to bury it. Murmurs moved through the crowd.
Justin did not look at the guests. “I trust my wife.”
The simple declaration silenced more speculation than an angry defense could have done. Sophie felt the words settle inside her, answering every fear that the photographs might have planted between them.
“A clarification has already been distributed to every major media outlet,” Justin continued. “Medical records establish that Sophie was incapacitated, and the café evidence is being preserved. Anyone who knowingly repeats a false accusation should consider the consequences.”
Stella’s face tightened. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am reminding everyone in this room that dirty tricks leave records.” His tone remained courteous, which made the warning more dangerous. “People who manufacture scandals usually discover that the truth is less forgiving than their victims.”
Sophie watched uncertainty spread across Stella’s face. For the first time, her sister could not tell how much Justin knew or what resources stood behind his promise.
Justin turned toward the displayed painting. “Now, about the artwork for which you received this award.”
Stella followed his gaze and went still. “What about it?”
“Was your inspiration, by any chance, drawn from a graduation exhibition at the University of Paris five years ago?” Justin asked. Several critics nearby began studying the canvas more closely.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Lake.” Stella emphasized the name with forced respect, though confusion flickered across her features. She still did not understand why a man Sophie had hired possessed such authority.
Justin stepped closer to the painting. “You should be very certain before you deny recognizing that exhibition. Programs, photographs, and ownership records do not disappear merely because five years have passed.”
The room’s mood shifted from celebration to scrutiny. A judge near the stage asked quietly whether the Monet committee had reviewed the work’s provenance. Stella’s triumph began collapsing under questions Justin had not yet fully answered.
“Might I remind you who you are dealing with?” Justin asked. He no longer sounded like Sophie’s assistant or the man Stella mocked as a call boy. “The artwork you were awarded for was copied.”
Stella opened her mouth to deny it, but Justin faced the guests and delivered the truth she had drugged Sophie to conceal. “The original painting is mine.”