Julian’s Thursday lunch at Le Chalet Central was supposed to be completely unremarkable: a plate of veal cutlet, a glass of Pinot Noir, and forty-five minutes of staring blankly at his phone.

Then he went to wash his hands.

Sitting on the pristine white marble sink, directly between the lavender hand soap and a stack of folded linen towels, was an unzipped leather duffel bag. Peeking out from the top were thick, immaculate bricks of purple paper.