Chapter 5: Enough Pretending, Time to Lay My Cards on the Table

"Repeat your journey for me once more,"

Captain Adam said, seated across from him in the police station's interrogation room.

"I left Paris, then traveled to..."

Pierre began again, repeating for what felt like the hundredth time the story of how he fled France and reached Britain.

Of course, none of it was actually his experience.

The story belonged to a university classmate — a rich kid born in Rome who, after graduation, chose to backpack around the world instead of entering the workforce.

That guy had crisscrossed almost every continent: Europe, Africa — you name it.

Jealous of his friend's travels, Pierre had often followed his updates online.

He remembered well that the guy had crossed North Africa into Spain, then into France.

So, reversing that route, Pierre had pieced together his own supposed escape path.

As for the language barrier?

That wasn't a problem either.

Back in university, knowing that big corporations favored multilingual graduates, Pierre had studied French and German on top of English.

By the time he graduated, his English and French were fluent enough for conversation and formal reports.

Details?

Fortunately, his classmate had posted endless photos of food, town squares, and old churches.

Having seen so many of them, Pierre had those scenes memorized.

Given that many European towns hadn't changed in centuries, it gave him plenty of material to convincingly fill in the gaps.

Even if he stumbled occasionally,

it wasn't like Captain Adam would know the history of every random French village.

At last, after repeating his "escape story" again, and finding no obvious flaws, Captain Adam left the interrogation room, frowning thoughtfully.

"Maybe,"

he muttered to himself,

"maybe he really did escape from France."

Still, to be sure, he issued an order:

"Contact the embassy. Have them come confirm his identity."

...

49 Portland Place.

"Someone escaped from France? Sounds suspicious to me."

After all, Germany had blockaded France's coastline, and Britain had locked down their side too.

At this point, not even a fish could cross the English Channel without filing paperwork first.

Still, strange things happened every day in times like these.

As a third secretary, he wasn't particularly interested.

The ambassador was away in the United States, and the chargé d'affaires had simply sent him to check things out.

Just routine business.

When he arrived at the police station, he was quickly shown in after presenting his credentials.

Following the usual diplomatic pleasantries, he said:

"Apologies for the trouble we've caused you."

Then he added, somewhat perfunctorily:

"But sir, I must inform you —

I cannot guarantee any proof of identity.

At best, I can speak to him and see if anything seems familiar."

"We understand,"

the officer said.

"Since he has no papers, we just need you to talk to him and help us determine if he could be who he says."

"Very well, very well..."

Determine his identity?

Who can truly verify that?

And if I guess wrong, who takes the blame?

This fellow — why couldn't he just stay quietly in France and not drag us into this mess?

When he finally entered the interrogation room, He got straight to the point:

"Why weren't you staying put in France?

What were you thinking, running around like a headless chicken during wartime?"

Dropping his bag heavily onto the table, his tone was laced with impatience.

The familiar sound of the accent made Pierre feel a twinge of familiarity — but the words themselves were hardly friendly.

Looking at the man with gold-rimmed glasses and a neatly combed side part, Pierre said lightly:

"Sir, are you from the embassy?

May I ask if the Ambassador is currently in residence?"

"The Ambassador?"

He studied Pierre more carefully — and the impatience faded from his face, replaced by a cautious smile.

"You know The Ambassador?"

Of course, Pierre had never actually met him.

But he had read an article about his wife, Aurelie, and her lavish lifestyle before the war — how she had served alongside her husband as ambassador, and later transferred to Britain after France's fall.

The report mentioned their travels from France to Britain and then on to America.

If he remembered correctly, they were now in the U.S., accompanying the First Lady on a diplomatic visit.

"I once met Madame Aurelie at a reception at the Paris embassy,"

Pierre said casually.

"And," he added carefully,

"our family has had some business dealings with the Leveau family."

More importantly:

Tying himself to the Leveau family gave him the best shot at real help — and legal status.

Otherwise, based on the embassy official's earlier attitude, he wouldn't have lifted a finger for him.

"Oh, I see!

My apologies!"

Louis's demeanor shifted completely, growing much more respectful.

No wonder he escaped France — he comes from money!

Almost reflexively, his tone grew even more deferential.

In this world, connections mattered — and Pierre had just played his cards right.

"Louis sir, you might not know —

The Ambassador and Madame Aurelie are currently in America

"Oh... what a shame,"

Pierre said, feigning regret.

"If Madame Aurelie were here, she could easily vouch for me.

Now, with the British suspecting me of being a spy, how can I possibly prove my innocence..."

Before he could finish, Louis interrupted, his voice righteous and loud:

"Those British bastards!

How dare they treat a fellow French like a German spy?

Unbelievable!"

"Don't worry, Louis sir — even if you weren't a family friend, even if you were just any ordinary countryman, I would never stand by and let the British humiliate one of our own!"

He slapped the table dramatically, stood up, and pounded on the iron door.

"Open up! Open up!"

he shouted in English.

When Captain Adam appeared,

Louis, no longer meek and diplomatic, demanded in a booming voice:

"Captain Adam, what is the meaning of this?"

"What?"

"How dare you detain an ally's citizen?

Our people already suffer under German oppression,

and now — here, in Britain — we're accused of being spies and locked up like criminals?!"

"I'm going straight to the Foreign Office to file a protest —

I'll go all the way to Downing Street if I have to!

Is this how Britain treats its allies?"

Flustered by the barrage of accusations, Captain Adam stammered:

"But Secretary Louis — didn't you just say you couldn't confirm his identity?"

"Confirm?"

Louis said indignantly.

In an instant, Captain Adam understood:

This kid wasn't just anyone — he had serious backing.

There was only one thing left to do.

Release him.