Chapter 4: The Uncle Who Took Everything
Marcel stared at the name.
*Gabriel Laurent.*
For several seconds, he forgot how to breathe.
The bakery disappeared.
The rain disappeared.
Even Claire’s voice faded into the background.
All he could see was the name written on the back of the photograph.
Gabriel.
His uncle.
His father’s younger brother.
The man who had taught him how to ride a bicycle behind the bakery.
The man who used to sneak him pastries before dinner.
The man who laughed loudly, slapped his shoulder, and always said the same thing:
“Family is the only thing in this world you can’t replace.””
Marcel slowly looked up.
“No.””
Claire watched him carefully.
“You know him.””
Marcel shook his head.
“No.””
But his voice betrayed him.
Claire noticed.
“You do.””
Marcel walked away from the table.
He moved through the bakery like a stranger walking through an old house.
“My uncle Gabriel died fifteen years ago.””
Claire nodded.
“My father knew.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means Antoine Moreau spent years searching for him.””
Marcel turned.
“Why?””
Claire looked at the photograph.
“Because Gabriel disappeared after the ownership papers were changed.””
Marcel frowned.
“That makes no sense.””
“Why?””
“Because Gabriel was never interested in the bakery.””
Claire stayed silent.
Marcel laughed softly.
A painful laugh.
“He hated waking up early. He hated getting flour on his clothes. He used to say my father was crazy for spending his entire life inside this place.””
He walked toward the old counter.
“When my father offered him a job here, he lasted three days.””
Thomas, who had remained quietly near the entrance, spoke.
“I remember.””
Everyone looked at him.
Thomas stepped forward.
“Your uncle came back years later, though.””
Marcel turned.
“What?””
Thomas nodded slowly.
“After you started working here.””
Marcel stared.
“When?””
“Late evenings. Maybe once or twice.””
Marcel’s face tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“Because he told me not to.””
A cold feeling moved through Marcel.
“What did he want?””
Thomas hesitated.
“He asked questions.””
“What kind of questions?””
“About the old documents.””
The room went silent.
Marcel looked at Claire.
She already knew.
“He came looking for evidence,” she said.
Marcel’s hands curled into fists.
“No.””
Claire tilted her head.
“You still want to believe he had nothing to do with this.””
Marcel looked away.
“He was my uncle.””
“And Henri was your father.””
The words stopped him.
Because that was the impossible part.
Two people he loved.
Two people connected to the same betrayal.
Two people who had left him with a mystery he never knew existed.
Claire placed the recorder back into her bag.
“My father spent years trying to understand what happened.””
Marcel sat down.
“And what did he find?””
“Not enough.””
“Why?””
“Because Gabriel covered his tracks.””
Marcel looked at her.
“You’re saying my uncle planned this?””
“I’m saying he knew something.””
“That’s not the same thing.””
“No.””
Claire leaned forward.
“But it explains something important.””
“What?””
“Why Henri never fixed it.””
Marcel looked confused.
Claire continued.
“Because Gabriel convinced him that if the truth came out, the bakery would be destroyed.””
Marcel remembered something.
A memory he had buried.
He was twenty-two years old.
His father was standing alone in the kitchen late at night.
The lights were off except for the oven glow.
Marcel had walked in and asked:
“Papa, why do you look so sad?””
Henri had smiled.
A fake smile.
The kind Marcel only recognized now.
“I’m just tired.””
“You always say that.””
“And one day you’ll understand.””
At the time, Marcel thought his father meant the struggles of running a bakery.
Now he wondered if he meant something else.
Claire interrupted his thoughts.
“There is another reason I came today.””
Marcel looked at her.
“Not just to save the bakery?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
She reached into her coat pocket.
This time, she pulled out a small key.
Old.
Rusty.
Marcel recognized it immediately.
His eyes widened.
“That…”
Claire placed it on the table.
“My father found this hidden inside a book that belonged to Lucien Laurent.””
Marcel touched it.
The metal was cold.
“What does it open?””
Claire looked at him.
“The answer to what happened.””
Thomas stepped closer.
“Where?””
Claire hesitated.
“Under the bakery.””
Nobody spoke.
Marcel stared.
“Under?””
She nodded.
“Your grandfather built a hidden storage room beneath this building.””
Marcel frowned.
“I’ve worked here my entire life.””
“It was sealed.””
“Why?””
Claire looked at the old walls.
“Because someone wanted whatever was inside to disappear.””
A strange silence filled the bakery.
Marcel looked toward the floor.
He had walked across those tiles every day for decades.
He had never known there was something beneath them.
A hidden room.
A hidden truth.
A hidden piece of his family’s history.
The key suddenly felt heavier in his hand.
“We open it.””
Claire looked surprised.
“Now?””
“Yes.””
“Marcel—”
“No.””
His voice was stronger.
For the first time that day, he looked like the man who had spent forty years protecting this bakery.
“I spent my entire life believing I knew where I came from.””
He looked at the floor.
“I want the truth.””
They moved to the back of the bakery.
The old storage area was filled with shelves, boxes, and forgotten equipment.
Marcel pushed aside bags of flour.
Thomas helped him move an old wooden cabinet.
Behind it was a section of wall covered in dust.
Claire walked closer.
“There.””
Marcel wiped the dirt away.
At first, he saw nothing.
Then his fingers touched something.
A small metal lock.
His heart began pounding.
The key fit perfectly.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Marcel turned it.
Click.
The sound echoed through the room.
A hidden panel slowly opened.
Cold air escaped from the darkness beneath.
Thomas whispered:
“After all these years…”
A narrow staircase appeared.
Leading underground.
Claire turned on her flashlight.
“We should go together.””
Marcel nodded.
The three of them descended.
Each step creaked beneath their weight.
The smell below was different.
Old paper.
Wood.
Dust.
History.
At the bottom was a small room.
Not a basement.
A vault.
The walls were lined with shelves.
On them were boxes.
Hundreds of documents.
Photographs.
Letters.
Records.
Marcel stood frozen.
“My God…”
Claire walked toward the nearest box.
She brushed away dust.
A name appeared on the lid.
*Laurent & Moreau Partnership — Original Records*
Marcel felt tears forming.
The truth had been here all along.
Hidden beneath the bakery.
Waiting.
Claire opened the box.
Inside were dozens of papers.
She picked up the first document.
Then stopped.
Her expression changed.
“What?””
Marcel stepped closer.
Claire turned the paper toward him.
It was not an ownership agreement.
It was a letter.
Written by Henri Laurent.
Marcel recognized the handwriting immediately.
His father.
The letter was dated thirty years earlier.
And the first sentence made his blood run cold.
*“Antoine, I know what Gabriel did. I know he tried to take the bakery from us.””*
Marcel stared.
His father knew.
But then he read the next line.
And everything changed.
*“But Gabriel was not acting alone.””*
Claire looked at him.
“Marcel…”
His hands trembled.
Because beneath the sentence was another name.
A name neither of them expected.
May you like
A name that meant the betrayal went far deeper than anyone imagined.
*“The person who ordered Gabriel to destroy the partnership was…”*
