Although separated by just a channel, the weather in France is undeniably better than in England. At the very least, Paris doesn't experience the frequent, days-long rain that London does. Despite it still being winter, strolling down the Champs-Élysées under the sunlight didn't feel cold at all.
After staying at the Flint mansion for two days, Catherine followed her parents to the final stop of their New Year's European tour: Paris. The Watsons, who were with them, were originally from the UK but worked in Paris. Mr. Watson handled legal affairs for some of the Albert family's businesses in the city, while Mrs. Watson had her own law firm there. For them, this was just a return home.
Catherine felt both happy and puzzled about the little one named Emma. Judging by the Watsons' work and family background, the child's identity seemed confirmed. But wasn't this too much of a coincidence? Could there be some invisible hand controlling her life?
"Hi, dear Emma, you might become very famous someday," Catherine teased the baby in the stroller as she sat at a round table in an outdoor café. The little one babbled incoherently, her chubby face full of smiles, clearly delighted. But was she happy because Catherine had let her nibble on her ear again today? That was anyone's guess.
"But don't get too cocky. This butterfly of mine might just flap you into a different future," Catherine added, putting on a mock fierce expression as she leaned toward the little one.
Completely unfazed, Emma only laughed harder, even trying to bite Catherine's nose. "Hey, you little rascal, have you gotten addicted to biting?" Catherine dodged quickly, feeling a bit exasperated.
She sighed, a little melancholic, as she glanced at her parents chatting with the Watsons nearby. Standing up, she walked over to the street, stretched lazily, and took a deep breath, then clasped her hands behind her back and tilted her head slightly to squint at the distant Arc de Triomphe. Though the gentle breeze brushing her cheeks was wonderfully soothing, evoking a sense of spring's impending arrival, Catherine suddenly felt a bit melancholic. She didn't know why, but she didn't want to interrupt the feeling. Maybe if she followed it, she'd find something out.
Unfortunately, her wish was doomed to remain unfulfilled. Just as she was starting to feel something, a voice suddenly came from beside her: "Hello, Miss, would you be interested in acting in a movie?"
Catherine was startled, abruptly snapping out of her thoughts. She turned nervously to see a white man, around thirty, with a southern French accent, smiling pleasantly at her.
Perhaps noticing her unease, the man quickly pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her, explaining, "I mean no harm. I'm a talent scout for Montague Productions. We're looking for a ten-year-old girl to star in an upcoming film, and I think you'd be perfect for the role. Would you be interested in auditioning?"
Catherine took the card. The name on it read Roger Zoé, and the card looked legitimate enough. But what was Montague Productions?
"Sorry, I'm not interested," Catherine shrugged and turned to leave. Honestly, unless she could work with Sophie Marceau, she wasn't interested in coming to France to shoot a film.
"Please wait, Miss," the man called after her. "This is a movie directed by Luc Besson, we…"
"What did you just say?!" Catherine spun around, staring at him in shock. "Luc Besson?!"
Roger was momentarily stunned, then quickly nodded. "Yes, this is a film directed by Besson…"
"I remember you mentioning Montague Productions earlier!" the little girl interrupted bluntly.
"Montague Productions is just another name for Luc Besson's studio. I thought everyone knew that," Roger replied, puzzled.
Catherine took a deep breath and offered a wry smile. A ten-year-old protagonist… She looked at the man and asked, "Is the movie Besson is working on called Léon: The Professional by any chance?"
"Yes, but how did you know?!" Roger was taken aback and hurriedly asked. But Catherine didn't answer. Instead, she slapped her forehead in frustration. "Damn it, so Jean Reno really did give him my script…"
But before she could finish, the little girl, realizing she had let something slip, quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, shot a panicked glance at the talent scout, and dashed back into the café, leaving Roger standing there, utterly bewildered.
...…
Around 5 p.m., Roger Zoé returned to his apartment. By then, his live-in girlfriend, Miranda, had just woken up and was getting ready for her shift at the nightclub. Seeing his downcast expression, she couldn't help but ask, "Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing, Miranda. I'm fine," Roger said, shaking his head as he slumped onto the sofa.
"Come on, you look like someone who's sexually frustrated," Miranda teased, snuggling up to him and giving his ear a playful nibble.
"Alright, Miranda," Roger laughed, returning his girlfriend's kiss, then sighed, "Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a talent scout. So far, I haven't signed a single actor. I might get fired soon."
"I've told you before, darling, if you introduced me, I'd definitely become a star," Miranda joked.
"Alright, the boss's new film needs a lead actress between ten and fourteen years old. Want to give it a shot?" Roger quipped, his mood lightening a bit.
"Are you calling me immature?" Miranda's eyebrows shot up.
"No, no, no, I'm saying you're just as cute as a fourteen-year-old," Roger quickly raised his hands in surrender.
Miranda huffed, grabbing her coat as she headed for the door. "We'll talk about this later."
"Sure, I'll be waiting," Roger called after her, then burst out laughing, feeling a bit better at last.
He ripped off his tie, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and poured himself a drink before collapsing onto the sofa. What a pity. The girl he saw today would have been perfect for the new movie. The sense of weariness she exuded as she gazed at the Arc de Triomphe was incredibly captivating. If only he could have convinced her. But how did she know the name of the film? That was strange. And what did her last words mean? Did Jean Reno give the script to someone? Wait a minute, what did she mean by "mine"?
Roger sat up suddenly. He was certain he hadn't misheard—she definitely said the words "mine." He remembered very clearly that one of the studio managers, Éric, had once mentioned in passing that the script for the upcoming film had been brought in by Jean Reno, and that the original author of the script was still unknown.
But could that little girl really be the screenwriter? Roger almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. What if it was really her? He couldn't understand why such an absurd and ridiculous thought had popped into his head, but she had indeed said the word "mine"!
Roger hesitated, standing up, then sitting down, then standing up again, repeating this several times. He picked up the phone, only to quickly put it down, but a few seconds later, he picked it up again. After several such attempts, he finally dialed the number. I must be crazy, he thought as he listened to the ringing on the other end.
Soon, the call connected, and a woman's voice answered. Roger eagerly said, "This is Roger Zoé. Is Manager Éric still there? I have an urgent matter to discuss with him."
Shortly after, Éric's voice came on the line. "Roger, what's up? It's almost quitting time."
"Well, Mr. Éric, I wanted to ask, is it true that the script for Léon: The Professional was originally brought in by Jean Reno?"
"Yes, that's correct. Why?"
"And the original author of the script is still unknown, right?"
"Hey, Roger, just spit it out—what are you trying to say?"
"Alright, alright," Roger hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I think I may have found… the original author of the script."
He then quickly recounted everything that had happened today, holding the phone tightly afterward, bracing himself for mockery and ridicule. But to his surprise, Éric only said, "Give me a few minutes, don't go anywhere!" Then, there was silence on the other end.
After what felt like an eternity, Éric's voice finally came back on the line. "Roger, come to the studio immediately. Right now, do you understand? We're waiting for you."
With that, he hung up. Roger didn't waste any time either. He hurried downstairs, jumped into his car, and sped toward the studio, unable to suppress a grin as he drove. However, his excitement turned to shock when he arrived at the studio's conference room. He had expected only a few managers to be there to get the details from him, but to his surprise, several big names, including Luc Besson and Jean Reno, were present.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Zoé. We're just in a bit of a hurry," Besson said with a smile, gesturing for him to sit down.
"Thank you, Mr. Besson," Roger nodded and took a seat.
"I've reviewed your resume. You've only been in this line of work for a month, but you're diligent and capable. You might not be well-suited for talent scouting, though. Perhaps you could try your hand at planning instead. But before that, we have a few questions to ask." Besson glanced at the documents in his hand as he spoke.
"Of course, sir," Roger took a deep breath, trying his best to remain calm.
"Does she speak French?"
"Yes, but there was no detectable accent. However, she didn't know what Montague Productions was, so I think she might not be French."
Besson exchanged a look with the others, and then one of the managers slid a colored pencil sketch in front of Roger. "Does she resemble the girl in this drawing?"
It was a beautiful sketch of a girl sitting on a windowsill, hugging her knees with a sorrowful expression. But Roger shook his head. "No, she doesn't look like this. She has long, curly blonde hair, not short, straight brown hair. And her eyes are green. I'd say it's hard to forget her eyes once you've seen them."
Roger thought for a moment, then added, "Now that I think about it, she does seem familiar somehow."
At this point, Jean Reno suddenly leaned in to whisper something to Besson. Besson then called over an assistant and whispered something to him. The assistant quickly left the room and returned a few minutes later, saying something quietly to Besson, who in turn spoke to Reno again, occasionally glancing at Roger.
Finally, another assistant hurried out, and this time it was over an hour before he returned, holding a videotape.
"I'm sorry, sir, but "The Parent Trap" isn't currently available on video in Paris. The best I could find was a pirated copy," the assistant said apologetically.
Besson didn't comment on it. The tape was played in the conference room, and although the picture quality wasn't great, the characters were still clearly visible. So when the girl appeared on screen, Roger didn't need anyone to prompt him—he stood up immediately. "That's her!"