Claude shifted uncomfortably. “No. Alex begged me not to. He was terrified of the consequences.”
“So instead of contacting authorities about these alleged injuries, you gave him money and helped him disappear?”
“I helped someone in crisis who had nowhere else to turn.”
“Professor Mercier, have you ever given substantial financial assistance to other former students?”
“Not in this manner, no. But I’ve never had another student in such desperate circumstances.”
“Just to be clear—you defied a legal cease and desist order, drove across provincial lines in the middle of the night, and provided funds to a former student with whom you admit to having a special interest. Is that correct?”
Claude’s jaw tightened. “I helped a young man who was clearly injured and frightened. I would do it again without hesitation.”
“No further questions, Your Honour.”
As Claude stepped down, his eyes met mine again. The sorrow and regret in them made my throat tighten, but I could also see his unwavering support despite Blackwood’s insinuations.
“The plaintiff calls Elizabeth Tremblay,” Damian announced.
A woman in her fifties entered, her elegant appearance matching her role as the Gardiner Gallery’s owner. After being sworn in, she satprimly in the witness chair.
“Ms. Tremblay, could you tell the court about Alex Lajeunesse’s employment at your gallery?”
“Alex joined us as an intern in 2020, on Professor Mercier’s recommendation. Within three months, we offered him a part-time position as an assistant curator.”
“Was this a common progression?”
“Not at all. Most interns complete their term and move on. Alex showed exceptional insight and a natural ability to connect with artists and patrons alike.”
“How would you describe his work performance?”
“Exemplary. Creative, diligent, professional beyond his years.”
“Did you ever exhibit his artwork?”
“Yes, in our emerging artists showcase. His pieces received significant attention, including from several collectors.”
My heart ached remembering that exhibition—how proud I’d felt seeing my work displayed, how quickly Marcus had stepped in to “manage” the resulting interest.
“What happened to his employment at the gallery?”
Elizabeth’s expression tightened. “Approximately eight months after he started, we received his resignation letter. It was delivered by Mr. Delaney personally.”
“Not by Alex himself?”
“No. Mr. Delaney explained that Alex had decided to focus exclusively on his own artistic development under Mr. Delaney’s patronage.”
“Did this seem consistent with your knowledge of Alex?”
She hesitated. “It seemed… sudden. Alex had been enthusiastic about curating, about building connections in the art community.”
“Did you speak with Alex about this decision?”
“I attempted to. I called the number I had for him, but Mr. Delaneyanswered. He said Alex was unavailable but assured me the decision was final.”
“Did you have further contact with Alex after that?”
“No. Shortly after, Mr. Delaney made a substantial donation to our exhibition fund. He made it clear—not explicitly, but in the way these things are communicated—that our continued relationship depended on respecting Alex’s privacy.”
