"Pour le cas où il m’arriverait quelque chose,” Jean-Claude Méry explained in his sudden confession that day in May 1996. The fallen fundraiser, ailing and embittered, was consigning to videotape rich recollections, professional secrets so generally embarrassing that their revelation could only assure his own peace of mind. Or was he plotting posthumous revenge on the Hôtel de Ville occupants who had disowned him? For last fall, there they emerged on the television screen, their most questionable sources of revenue divulged in the mummified spite of a dead financier.

Article Information

Issue Table of Contents

Google Scholar