My daughter…" he murmured. "My little Salomé…"
What happened next changed everything.
Salomé let go of the social worker's hand and slowly approached her father.
She didn't run. She didn't shout.
Each step seemed measured, as if she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her mind.
Julien held out his handcuffed hands towards her.
The little girl approached and hugged him.
For a full minute, neither of them spoke.
The guards watched from the corners of the room.
The social worker looked at her phone, paying no attention.
Then Salome approached her father's ear and whispered something.
No one else heard his words, but everyone saw their effect.
Julien turned pale.
His whole body began to tremble.
The tears that had been flowing silently became sobs that shook his chest.
He looked at his daughter with a mixture of horror and hope that the guards would never forget.
"Is that true?" he asked, his voice breaking. "
Is what you're saying true?"
She nodded.
Julien stood up so abruptly that the chair fell to the ground.
The guards rushed over, but he made no attempt to flee.
He was shouting. He was shouting with a force he had never shown in five years.
— I am innocent!
I always have been!
Now I can prove it!
The guards tried to separate the girl from her father, but she clung to him with unexpected strength for her age.
"It is time for the truth to be known," declared Salome in a clear and firm voice.
The room remained frozen. Even the old neon light on the ceiling seemed to have stopped flickering.
Colonel Bernard took a step forward.
"What truth?" he asked, his voice low.
Salome turned towards him without letting go of her father's handcuffed hand.
— The night Mom died… I was awake. I was hiding behind the stairs. I saw someone come in after Dad.
A murmur rippled through the room.
Julien closed his eyes, as if each word were a painful release.
"Tell them, darling," he whispered.
"It wasn't him," the child continued. "The man was wearing black gloves. He had a scar here."
She touched her own right cheek.
Bernard exchanged a glance with the older guard. In the file, the witness had mentioned a man seen in the shadows, but no physical details had been recorded.
"Why didn't you ever say so?" the colonel asked gently.
Salome lowered her eyes.
— Because he saw me. He told me that if I spoke, Dad would still die… and so would I.
A heavy silence fell.
The social worker brought a hand to her mouth, distraught.
"And why now?" Bernard asked again.
The child gazed into the man's eyes.
— Because he came yesterday.
They all stiffened.
- Who ?
— The same man. He told me that it would all finally end today… that no one would ever discover the truth.
Bernard's heart sank.
— Did you recognize him?
Salome nodded.
— He works here.
The oldest guard suddenly turned pale.
— That's impossible…
But Bernard understood. A forgotten detail, a forged signature in an old report, a name that came up too often in the proceedings related to the case.
He turned slowly.
