A Gamble Called Marriage - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Litigation isn’t gambling.”

I regretted it the moment I said it. The man might have been a brute at the casino, but here, he was a client. Maël debated whether to apologize but instead just took a seat. Almost simultaneously, the man spoke.

“I did get some recommendations. They said Maël Mormatié is a good luck charm at the casino and the only knight for Cinderellas in court.”

“It’s Maël Mormatié. Please just call me Maël.”

Though I completely chopped off the latter half of my last name, the man didn’t press further. Instead, he handed over no business card, simply saying his name slowly.

“Yves Hervé Valois.”

“Then, Mr. Valois.”

“Yves.”

A rascal so economical with words it bordered on rudeness. Without realizing it, Maël relaxed the muscles around his eyes and slipped on his social mask.

“All right, Yves. You’ve requested a consultation for a paternity suit, correct? I’ll listen to your story and let you know how I can assist. Did you bring any notes, statements, or DNA test results?”

“I wanted to take my time with the consultation.”

From the moment he walked in, the man had been empty-handed, so the answer wasn’t particularly surprising.

Instead of pointing out that this consultation was 1,000 euros an hour, Maël opened a notebook and picked up a pen.

“Take your time, then. Did an issue arise with the child you’re raising?”

Maël jotted down his name and looked at Yves. In paternity suits, men typically approached lawyers with bloodshot eyes, clutching DNA test results.

“Doesn’t suit him.”

There was no anger or sense of betrayal typical in such clients. Even so, the man didn’t seem like someone raising a child. Especially lacking was that unique air of someone providing for a child’s basic needs.

“I don’t have a child I’m raising.”

So, was it a pregnant woman who had approached him? His dissolute appearance seemed to align better with that scenario.

“I’m an illegitimate child myself.”

What seemed like an accurate guess was again way off.

Silently lifting his pen to take notes, Maël gently, and in a composed manner, broached what was most valued in these situations.

“You’re referring to a paternity recognition suit. Filing one would legally dissolve any prior parental relationship. While laws vary by country, such cases typically reopen issues of inheritance taxes or other financial matters…”

“I’ve received nothing worth worrying about. They’re all dead already.”

Perhaps three or four years older than Maël, he wasn’t at the age to be accustomed to death. Yet the man, speaking of it, looked bored. A few words from the casino surfaced in Maël’s mind, words exchanged among aggressors and their associates regarding this man.

A man who had built his wealth on Eastern European real estate and was the head of the Riviera hotel chain. A man who could casually toss around sums large enough to buy a small apartment, as if it were pocket change or gambling money.

“Not inherited wealth?”

Maël briefly marveled at the man’s business acumen but only to that extent. As a lawyer, the primary thought was that fewer documents to process meant less work.

“I see. Have you spoken with the person you believe to be your father? If they remember and acknowledge their past relationship with your mother…”

“He refused to meet.”

“In that case, we’ll have to compel a meeting. Who are you planning to sue for paternity recognition? Please provide their name, and if you know, their address or contact information.”

The work itself wasn’t difficult, apart from the client’s unsettling presence—at least, so far. At Maël’s words, Yves finally straightened up.

“The name is Lucien Alexandre Maxence de Broglie.”

“……”

“The address is the Monaco Royal Palace.”

The pen, mid-word at “de Broglie,” came to a halt. When Maël looked up, their eyes met.

“So, you’re saying Lucien III… is who you’re referring to?”

Even as he repeated the words, Maël hoped for an answer indicating it was a joke—a millionaire’s jest worth a few euros in a thousand-euro consultation.

But instead of laughing, Yves smirked.

“That’s what they call him. The Sovereign Prince of Monaco. The king of this little patch of land.”

If Yves’s alleged father was Lucien III, there was no way this paternity suit would end simply. Judgments kept going awry in front of this man.

“What evidence do you have…”

“Photos, diaries, DNA test results with half-siblings.”

He had brought none of it, but his voice was firm.

“Were these obtained legally? The test results, I mean. Do they… know the tests were conducted? Wait, hold on. Don’t answer that. Just a moment.”

After that, silence filled the room, and the consultation time ticked away. It was the first time since becoming a lawyer that Maël had experienced such a thing. Normally, consultations at least involved reviewing evidence or contracts, listening, or speaking. Here, seconds were worth money, and a minimum level of courtesy was expected.

But this time, Maël was truly at a loss for words.

“What’s wrong? Can’t do it?”

“……”

“Afraid if you take the case, your sister’s fiancé’s father will put a mark on her?”

The question struck right at the heart of it. It was impossible not to think of that first.

Unwilling to admit it, Maël closed the barely written-on notebook and asked in return.

“May I know why you specifically requested me for this case?”

“I told you. This lawsuit requires luck.”

Fair enough. That was true too.

‘Even if the lawsuit proceeds, their lawyer will ask for a dismissal citing the prince’s immunity.’

A lawsuit against the aging prince required more than mere initiation. The process itself was arduous, with legal maneuvering taking precedence over the attorney’s skill at argumentation.

What this lawsuit needed was strategy, public opinion, and above all, luck.

The key was whether they could orchestrate a situation where the Sovereign Prince of Monaco would have no choice but to take a DNA test—for this man who claimed to be his illegitimate son.

By any measure of common sense or moral obligation, Maël could not take this case. From the start, it was strange that this man had sought him out specifically. Ignoring the advice from Dian to not turn away this particular client, Maël pressed down his unease and spoke deliberately.

“You don’t need me to represent you for this case. You don’t even need our firm, and to be honest, filing the suit abroad, where there’s less pressure from the royal palace, would be much more advantageous. If your mother is a foreigner, then file the suit in her country; if not, choose the country where they were together or where you were born…”

Ha. His polite explanation, given to justify the consultation fee, was interrupted by a low laugh. After what felt like thirty euros’ worth of laughter, the man finally spoke.

“I’ve heard about you. About how you turn people away like that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Abusive businessmen, alcoholic artists, cheating sports stars… all the Cinderella types who want divorces from them.”

“…”

“You tell them that divorcing in Monaco is disadvantageous and advise them to file lawsuits in their home countries instead.”

A paradise for millionaires.

It wasn’t without reason that wealthy individuals sought residency in Monaco. The laws here unabashedly favored the rich.

The banks demanded prenuptial agreements from couples planning to marry to shield clients’ assets from potential divorce battles.

Those prenuptial agreements protected the wealthy in ways unimaginable to people who had never encountered such terms.

Even those lucky enough to marry without a prenuptial agreement and file for divorce found that Monaco’s rulings always favored the wealthy. There was no concept of equitable distribution of assets, and alimony was shockingly meager. The most recent alimony ruling had awarded just five years of living expenses. Compared to other European nations, where up to half of an estate could be claimed through divorce, it was pitiful.

‘If you divorce here in Monaco, you’ll be at a huge disadvantage.’

Maël had turned away countless “Cinderellas” by offering such advice. The worse the situation, the quicker and shorter his consultations were.

“Because of your chivalrous spirit, that blonde seems to be in a bit of trouble.”

Yves was someone who had seen through Maël’s facade. His cheeks burned with shame. The man tilted his head slightly, as if not expecting a response.

“Don’t you need at least one sucker who drags out lawsuits to make these consultations worthwhile?”

“I’m fine, thank you. It’s not the kind of lawsuit that takes very long anyway.”

“If you were my lawyer, I wouldn’t mind waiting a year to file.”

“Are you seriously saying you’d delay such an important lawsuit just for my so-called luck?”

It was absurd. Maël was paid by the hour. Even with the time needed for preparation, why hire an attorney now for a lawsuit you’d file a year later?

The man smiled slowly. That enigmatic smile set off warning bells.

It wasn’t just Maël’s inexplicable reputation for luck that had led this man to sit across from him. Maël’s intuition told him there was more, and he spoke again.

“You don’t need to do that. No matter when you file the suit, you’ll never fully trust me because of potential conflicts of interest. My sister will soon become part of that family, and you might think I’d let personal feelings…”

“You and your sister both seem to have their heads on straight.”

It wasn’t a compliment or criticism, just a matter-of-fact statement. Before Maël could respond, Yves continued.

“Wait until the family falls apart within the year. Once the baby she’s carrying is born and she starts regaining her senses, you’ll want to help then. It won’t matter anymore.”

“The baby…”

The words slipped out before Maël could stop himself, leaving him startled.

Manon’s pregnancy.

Only direct family members, Charles, and a few people working for the royal palace knew about it. To avoid adding fuel to the gossip surrounding the marriage, the royal palace had suggested keeping it quiet.

But how did this unwelcome visitor know?

And what did he mean by “falling apart”?

“I don’t understand what you mean by that last comment.”

“It’s simple. I know more about your soon-to-be family than you do.”

As he stood, that was all he said in reply.

“You seem to need time to think. Let’s schedule the next consultation.”

All Maël could do was nod in response.