MGN | Chapter 19

After precisely calculating the consultation fee, Maël got out of the car.

It wasn’t because the offered conditions were lacking; he just disliked lies and fakes. Such a typical, laughable thing to say.

“Ha.”

A sudden chuckle escaped. Yves’s car remained still, trying to contain the rising irritation. Meanwhile, Maël, standing against the backdrop of the bright yellow submarine and ticket booth in front of the oceanographic museum, knocked on the window.

Knock, knock.

When Yves lowered the window, light poured in. The pale lawyer blended with the sunlight. Yves squinted, as if even his sunglasses couldn’t shield him from the brightness.

“Yves, just out of curiosity, I have a question.”

Why are you still here? What can you offer? What’s the range of information you can provide?

These were the questions Yves expected. Answering any of them wouldn’t be difficult.

“Did you take the dinner money I gave you?”

But Maël asked an unexpected question.

“The one you threw away in a fit.”

The envelope, stark white against the dusty, dirty floor, was a vivid image that hadn’t faded. Yves, trying to gauge the unknown intent, spoke.

“It’d be too late to go back and get it.”

“If you didn’t take it, I thought I’d give it back. There was an issue with how I delivered it that day.”

Faced with such nonsense, Yves could only ask back.

“Do I look that needy?”

“No, I just thought it should be clear. It was bothering me.”

The belatedly dignified pride, after not hiding his temper, was amusing. Yves laughed, looking at the transparent light brown eyes.

“A lawyer who’s not shrewd is no good.”

With that, he hit the accelerator. The last look Yves saw was a face scrunched up in annoyance.

Wanting to be spotless, huh. Yves wondered how a family law lawyer, dealing mostly with messy divorces, could manage with such a personality.

Well, not that he was really curious.

Yves turned the steering wheel and tapped the touchscreen. As soon as the call connected, he spoke.

“Wasn’t there a meeting about sponsorship today?”

Because of the crown prince’s impromptu summons, he had to cancel a prior engagement. And he had postponed the prince’s call with a six-minute consultation that wasn’t even a consultation.

Mikola, who would fidget with his wrist if he knew the whole story, paused before answering.

― The director of the Monaco Oceanographic Museum requested a meeting.

“I’m nearby.”

― I’ll check if today is possible and get back to you.

There was no refusal from those eager to receive money. Knowing the answer, Yves looked for a place to park nearby.

Monaco was a tightly packed place squeezed between mountains and the sea. The only things money couldn’t buy in this capitalist paradise were the yacht docking docks and exclusive parking spots on the ground.

To park, Yves had to drive around and head to the coastal road connected to the underground parking of the oceanographic museum.

The whole town resembled a revolving parking lot with cliffs and the sea as its backdrop. Just before entering the tunnel leading to the parking lot, the cars in front weren’t moving, as if there had been an accident.

“What a day.”

Yves put away his sunglasses and rubbed his temples. Then he spotted the man who had gotten out of his car just five minutes ago, walking along the sidewalk.

He followed him with his gaze out of boredom.

Maël walked slowly, pushing open a part of the stone wall that reached his waist. Then he moved through it.

As if diving off a cliff with nothing but the sea below.

For a moment, Yves gripped the steering wheel tightly. But it was a mistake. Though not visible from his angle, there must have been stairs, as Maël gradually disappeared from view.

Just as Maël’s head vanished from Yves’s sight, the car behind honked loudly.

Yves chuckled again, this time without knowing why.

* * *

“Our roadmap is quite clear.”

Inside the oceanographic museum, red walls were adorned with octopuses, and squid hung in the air.

With every step, the director of the museum passionately talked about sharks, jellyfish, turtles, and Atlantic bluefin tuna, even as he opened the door to his office.

“You might think we’re just a museum under the association, but we work closely with the UN Ocean Envoy and the International Mediterranean Science Exploration Committee.”

Sipping coffee on a plush sofa, Yves listened silently, scanning the surroundings instead.

The space was a reflection of strong personal taste. From various seashells to paintings by the great marine artist Aivazovsky, photos and essay collections of famous ocean explorers, wetsuits on mannequins, and vintage phonographs. The director’s office was as cluttered as its owner.

“Of course, all this is possible thanks to the support of the late Grand Duke and the Grand Palace, but to continue research for the marine environment…”

The talk about needing money was long.

Yves wasn’t particularly curious about the extended conversation. He wasn’t stingy with donations either. Are there still people in the world who interpret the donations of the wealthy as goodwill? It’s just about filling the necessary gaps, from tax savings to image management, with a cup of water from the sea.

And in Yves’s case, it was closer to image management. More precisely, to plant a line in an article later, saying he was like the late Grand Duke, who was genuinely passionate about the ocean.

“The sea is important.”

Cutting in appropriately, Yves took out his checkbook, and the director quickly handed over a fountain pen.

Numbers and a black signature slid across the checkbook. The director, smiling broadly as he accepted the torn check, headed to his desk.

“Mr. Valois, did I mention that the donation is eligible for tax deductions? I think I received your secretary’s contact before, so if I send the tax invoice documents there… Oh, just a moment.”

The director busily looked for something to press down the check. Then he picked up a paperweight that had been supporting LP records next to the phonograph, causing a few LPs to slide down under the desk.

Yves, who had stood up to leave, paused while picking them up. It was because of an LP with a woman’s face on it. The director spoke again, perhaps because Yves’s gaze lingered.

“Milica Milošević, an old opera singer. She was truly amazing in a work called Medea. A stunning beauty with a resonant soprano voice.”

On the black-and-white LP cover, a woman with black hair was casting a mocking glance. As Yves handed it over, the director continued to chatter.

“She used to perform often in Monaco, but I wonder what she’s doing these days. Maybe she returned to her country. She was from Eastern Europe, and she was very popular. After performances, the stage would be covered with roses thrown from the audience. It was a romantic time. Do you like opera, Mr. Valois?”

“Not at all.”

Yves replied, giving the director no time to feel awkward, and continued speaking.

“My secretary will contact you again regarding the documents.”

Outside, Yves loosened the tie that had been choking him. He knew he could go straight down to the underground parking from the museum, but he wasn’t in the mood to get back into the cramped car right away. He headed for the long promenade behind the oceanographic museum.

A fearless seagull perched on the stone wall and then disappeared, and Yves squinted at the bright Mediterranean spring weather.

Despite the sunny day, the salty, cold wind mercilessly tousled his hair. But he kept walking, reaching the dark tunnel leading into the parking lot, and gazed at the endless blue sea.

As he took a deep breath and lowered his gaze.

There was Maël.

Sitting midway on the stone steps, Maël was endlessly checking something on his phone while on a call. When the waves crashed hard, the seawater left white foam, lapping at the edge of the steps.

“Samira, this isn’t betraying your husband. It’s protecting yourself and your daughter. You got the diagnosis, right? Just take a picture and send it to me now. Just that one thing, please.”

He spoke earnestly, adjusting a slightly loose wireless earphone.

“I’m always on your side, Samira. It’s okay if you do it a bit later if it’s hard. No need to apologize for crying. No, I told you it’s okay to call me anytime. I have plenty of time.”

His voice, mingled with the sound of the waves, was full of appeal.

Throughout Yves’s listening, Maël kept his gaze fixed on the phone screen, not looking up. Seeing that hunched, slender figure reminded Yves of the unpleasant disgust he felt at the Grand Palace.

“Enough already!”

Maël, who had stepped forward in front of Yves. Yves knew it was the lawyer’s silly sense of justice.

At first, it was amusing, then it became irritating. Not because of the freely barking blond hair, but because of the Cinderella’s knight standing in front.

“Ridiculous.”

Yves disliked people like that. Those who jump in without considering the situation. People who are straight and unyielding. Those who, despite not being young, believe in justice and fairness, think they should help what’s right, and become strong in front of what they must protect—exactly the kind of person Maël was.

Every time Maël acted that way, Yves wanted to grab that pale nape and throw him into the hell he lived in.

How long could that innocent face endure there, and how straight could it remain? If what he had to protect was so great, what could he do for it?

In a garbage dump where there’s nothing to side with or protect, there were only piles of trash to step on and climb over.

He should just protect himself. Who’s protecting whom, anyway?

Yves sneered. The wind swept through his hair. It was clear that any attempt to lift his mood was doomed.