Aunt Joséphine's porcelain bowl shattered against the cobblestones, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the south-wing kitchen. "Redéveloppement?" Mémé Louise whispered, her knuckles whitening on her cane. "Ils osent?"
Lydia Shaw froze mid-gesture, a dishrag dripping onto the Louis XIII bed's carvings. "La journaliste… elle a juste dit 'vieille ville' et 'renovation'…"
"Renovation?" Uncle Marcel slammed his palm on the oak table, rattling the truffle ravioles. "C'est un nettoyage! Ils veulent chasser les pauvres!"
The Saba TV's static hissed like a serpent as France 3's anchor detailed Lyon's Plan de Sauvegarde—a "heritage preservation" initiative targeting Croix-Rousse's crumbling traboules. Lydia's heroic footage still glowed on screen, a cruel juxtaposition to the impending doom.
Mémé Louise's voice trembled as history unfolded like poisoned silk:
1958:
Post-war Lyon choked on reconstruction dust. The city seized the Bernard silk workshop at 11 Rue du Sergent-Blandan, converting it into a communal kitchen during the guerre d'Algérie rationing. Three displaced families—the Bernards, Thibaults, and Shaws—were relocated to 9 Rue des Canuts, a decaying weaver's courtyard owned by repatriated colonial Pierre Thibault.
1984:
Monsieur Thibault's son Jean-Claude—a Montreal banker—filed for repossession. "HLM squatters!" he'd screamed, sending thugs to smash the communal sink. Captain Arnaud Shaw (Lydia's father) intervened, his paratrooper brothers-in-arms breaking the eviction crew's noses.
Jean-Claude retreated; old Thibault brokered peace: "30 francs/month, no lease." A wound never healed.
Aunt Joséphine snatched her shawl. "Allons voir la Dubois."
Marcel grabbed a flashlight and a bottle of Beaujolais—the working-class currency for bureaucratic favors. They found Madame Colette Dubois (Danielle's aunt and Croix-Rousse's housing director) fanning herself on a wrought-iron balcony overlooking Place Colbert.
"Ah, les pauvres!" Colette's smile didn't reach her eyes as she accepted the wine. "Je devine pourquoi vous venez."
Inside her Haussmann-style apartment—a universe away from Rue des Canuts—Colette spread blueprints across a gilt table. "Le Plan de Sauvegarde…" She traced zones marked Démolition. "Seuls les propriétaires et les HLM auront des relogements."
Joséphine's hope curdled. "Mais nous payons le loyer depuis 1958!"
"Sans bail," Colette sighed. "Sans papiers. Vous êtes… des fantômes administratifs."
Colette leaned closer, Chanel No. 5 clashing with the courtyard's pot-au-feu scent. "Jean-Claude Thibault revient."
Marcel choked. "Le requin de Montréal?"
"Il veut vendre à un promoteur chinois," Colette confirmed. "Mais…" Her finger tapped the blueprints. "Si Thibault père vous vend les chambres maintenant—même pour un franc symbolique—vous serez propriétaires. Droit au relogement."
Joséphine's laugh was bitter. "Avec quel argent? On mange des ravioles sans viande!"
"Sinon," Colette's voice turned glacial, "obtenez un bail de 30 ans de Thibault. Mais à 82 ans…" She drew a finger across her throat. "Quand il mourra, Jean-Claude vous jettera à la rue."
Lydia watched from her dormer window as Joséphine and Marcel trudged back through the traboule, shadows clinging to them like funeral crepe. Below, Danielle Dubois' silhouette moved behind lace curtains—a panther circling wounded prey.
Mémé Louise's voice rasped from the bed. "Tu comprends maintenant? Les perles… les Dubois… tout est lié."
She opened the velvet box. Not just Captain Shaw's medal and Sophie's pearl, but brittle documents:
1958: Eviction notice from Rue du Sergent-Blandan
1984: Jean-Claude Thibault's threat: "Déménagez ou je vous brûle!"
1984: Captain Shaw's handwritten vow: "Personne ne vous chassera tant que je vivrai."
Lydia touched her father's script. He'd died six months later in Mali.
"Pourquoi Philippe Dubois a payé maman?" she whispered.
Mémé's tears fell on the documents. "Pour qu'elle se taise sur les gilets pare-balles. Ton père les a testés… ils étaient pourris. Dubois les a vendus à l'armée."
A pebble struck the window. Gavin stood in the moonlit courtyard, a dossier under his arm. Lydia crept down the servants' staircase, the stones icy beneath her bare feet.
"Tu as vu?" Gavin thrust France 3's broadcast transcript at her. "Ils utilisent ton 'héroïsme' pour justifier le déplacement des pauvres."
Lydia scanned the highlighted text: "Mlle Shaw incarne la renaissance de Croix-Rousse—une jeunesse qui mérite un cadre historique préservé."
"Préservé pour les riches," she spat.
Gavin's finger tapped a paragraph: "Sources confirmant des négociations avec Evergrande Properties (Shanghai) pour conversion résidentielle de luxe."
"Jean-Claude Thibault vend à des Chinois," Lydia realized.
"Pas seulement." Gavin opened his dossier—land deeds showing Philippe Dubois as silent investor. "Ton ennemi est mon ennemi. Alors…" He offered a pen. "On fait un vrai documentaire?"
France 3 crews film daily life at 9 Rue des Canuts
Residents retain editorial veto
All profits fund legal defense against eviction
"Pourquoi m'aider?" she demanded.
Gavin's mask slipped—raw pain beneath. "Mon père a couvert l'affaire des gilets pare-balles. Des hommes comme le vôtre sont morts." He touched Captain Shaw's medal in her palm. "Je ne peux pas le ressusciter… mais je peux sauver sa maison."
Lydia signed. The courtyard held its breath as conspiracy crystallized under the waning moon.
As Gavin vanished, Danielle's window flew open. "Tu crois qu'un garçon riche te protégera?" Her whisper carried like venom. "Son père a ruiné le vôtre. Le mien vous ruinera encore."
She dropped a folded newspaper. The headline screamed:
Evergrande achète 20 traboules - Dubois Group conseiller financier
LYON EST-IL VENDU AUX Britain?
achète 20 traboules - Dubois Group conseiller financier
Lydia retrieved it, Sophie's pearl cold in her fist. On the margin, Danielle had scrawled:
Rendez les perles ou je dis à la télé que ton père était un voleur.
The war had begun.