Page 20 of Client Privilege
“And how do you know Alex Lajeunesse?”
Claude straightened slightly. “Alex was my student in his first year at the academy. One of the most promising young artists I’d encountered in many years. ”
“Could you elaborate on that assessment?”
“Certainly.” Claude’s hands moved expressively as he spoke. “Most first-year students are still finding their voice, experimenting with techniques. Alex arrived with technical proficiency, but more importantly, with something to say. His work showed unusual emotional depth and authenticity.”
“What happened to this promising student?”
Claude’s expression darkened. “Alex stopped attending classes midway through his second year. This was shortly after he began an internship at the Gardiner Gallery in Toronto, a position for which I had recommended him for.”
“Did you attempt to contact him about his absence?”
“Multiple times.” Claude looked directly at me. “I called, emailed, even flew to Toronto and went to his apartment once. I was concerned. It was completely out of character for him to abandon his studies, especially given his talent and dedication.”
“And were you able to reach him?”
Claude shook his head. “No. Eventually, I received a formal letter from a law firm representing Marcus Delaney, instructing me to cease all contact with Alex. It stated that my ‘harassment’ was unwelcome and threatened legal action if I persisted.”
Murmurs rippled through the courtroom.
“Was this normal procedure for a student dropping out?”
“Absolutely not.” Claude’s indignation was clear. “In twenty-three years of teaching, I’ve never received a cease and desist letter for checking on a student’s welfare.”
“What was your reaction to this letter?”
“I was deeply concerned. I brought it to the dean’s attention, but ultimately, there was little we could do. The letter came from a prestigious firm, and the school didn’t want legal complications.”
“Did you have any further contact with Alex after receiving this letter?”
Claude hesitated, glancing toward Marcus before answering. “Yes. Over a month ago, Alex called me in the middle of the night. He was clearly in distress, said he’d just left a hospital and needed help.”
“And what did you do?”
“I drove to Toronto immediately. When I found him…” Claude’s voice wavered slightly. “He was still in hospital scrubs, injured, terrified. He wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened, but I could see he was in a desperate situation.”
“How did you assist him?”
“I gave him what cash I had on hand, helped him find a cheap used car—an old Honda—and loaned him enough money to secure temporary accommodation.” Claude’s eyes found mine again, filled with regret.
“I wanted him to come back to Montreal with me, where I could properly help him, but he was adamant that wasn’t safe for me. ”
“Did Alex explain why he contacted you specifically after all this time?”
Claude nodded solemnly. “He said he didn’t think Mr. Delaney would suspect me of helping him.
According to Alex, Mr. Delaney had dismissed me as a threat years ago after the cease and desist letter, assuming I would never risk my career by defying it.
Alex believed I might be the only person he could turn to without immediately raising Marcus’s suspicions. ”
“Did you maintain contact after providing this assistance?”
“Minimal contact. Alex insisted it wasn’t safe for either of us. He called from different numbers occasionally, just to let me know he was alive. The last time I heard from him was when he told me he’d finally found legal help.”
“No further questions, Your Honour.”
Judge Patterson nodded. “Mr. Blackwood, your witness.”
Blackwood approached the stand with the confidence of someone who believed he held the upper hand.
“Professor Mercier, isn’t it true that students drop out of art school regularly?”
“Some do, yes.”
“And isn’t it also true that many promising artists never complete formal education?”
“That happens, certainly.”
“So there’s nothing particularly unusual about a student deciding art school isn’t for them?”
Claude frowned. “In general, no. In Alex’s specific case, yes. His abrupt disappearance was completely inconsistent with his character and trajectory.”
Blackwood smiled thinly. “But you hadn’t known Mr. Lajeunesse very long, had you? Less than two years.”
“Long enough to recognize genuine talent and dedication.”
“Were you aware that Mr. Lajeunesse was struggling financially during this period?”
“Many art students face financial challenges.”
“Please answer the question, Professor.”
“Yes, I was aware he had limited resources.”
“And isn’t it possible that he simply found a better opportunity—financial security with a successful partner who could support his artistic development without the burden of student loans?”
Claude’s eyes flashed. “If that were the case, why would he need a legal barrier between himself and his former professor?”
Blackwood’s smile tightened. “Perhaps because certain professors develop inappropriate attachments to young, vulnerable students?”
Damian was on his feet immediately. “Objection! Counsel is making unfounded insinuations about the witness’s character.”
“Sustained,” Judge Patterson ruled. “Mr. Blackwood, restrict your questions to relevant matters. ”
Blackwood nodded, unperturbed. “Professor Mercier, you’ve just testified that you gave Mr. Lajeunesse cash and helped him purchase a vehicle. That’s quite generous for a former professor, isn’t it?”
“It was an emergency situation. He needed help.”
“And you drove all the way from Montreal to Toronto in the middle of the night based on a phone call from a student you hadn’t taught in years?”
“Yes. I was concerned for his welfare.”
“Did you report his injuries to the police?”
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 sat primly 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. Delaney answered. 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.”
“So you felt pressured to avoid contact with Alex?”
“Objection,” Blackwood called. “Leading the witness.”
“I’ll rephrase,” Damian said smoothly. “What was your understanding of Mr. Delaney’s expectations regarding Alex after his resignation?”
Elizabeth straightened. “That we were not to contact him directly. All communications regarding his work or potential exhibitions would go through Mr. Delaney.”
“And did you comply with this understanding?”
“Yes.” She looked directly at me. “I’m sorry, Alex. As a small gallery, we couldn’t afford to lose Mr. Delaney’s patronage. It was wrong, and I regret it deeply.”
Tears stung my eyes at her unexpected apology. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place—how thoroughly Marcus had isolated me, how many paths back to my former life he’d blocked.
Blackwood’s cross-examination attempted to re-frame Elizabeth’s testimony as standard practice in patron-artist relationships, but her clear regret undermined his efforts. When she stepped down, I felt a small victory in the truth finally emerging.