This book does not claim to say everything.

It would have neither the space, nor even the strength, to do so.

So many faces, pacts, encounters and secrets still remain in the shadows. Some stories need time before they can be told. Others require distance. Others may remain forever in silence, out of respect, out of caution, or because not everything can be delivered all at once.

This book is a first crossing. Not the whole journey.

Along my path, I crossed controversial figures, men of power, figures from the shadows, influential families, brothers of the road, unexpected protectors and men whom official history does not always name.

I was welcomed, sometimes almost adopted, by families, mainly African families, who opened their doors to me as if I were one of their own.

I knew the European and international underworld: the Corsican mafia, including a major name linked to the history of the French Connection; a former Parisian godfather from the seventies, who became like a street uncle to me; networks from the Paris region, Marseille, Lyon, Grenoble and elsewhere. Men with paths that were sometimes violent, sometimes fascinating, always complex.

Among the men I crossed on the road, some were like older brothers. Strong figures, sometimes protective, sometimes dangerous too, whose trajectories later went far beyond anything I could have imagined.

One of them, from Morocco, was implicated many years later in one of the most publicized terrorism cases. This is not a source of pride, nor a trophy, nor a story told to impress. It is, on the contrary, a reality difficult to put on paper, so unreal it feels when I think back to the man I knew, the moments shared, the roads crossed, the bonds from before.

There are destinies that fall so far into darkness that they become almost impossible to understand. One then looks back at the past with a silent question: how can certain paths lead so deep into the shadows?

Internationally, I became the nephew of the heart of the boss of the central High Rif, in Ketama, the world capital of cannabis. With him, I undertook several initiatives, especially in recent years within a legal framework, around the recognition and protection of the plant for medicinal use.

A Turkish brother, former European boss of the Grey Wolves, opened the doors of Turkey to me in certain matters. I was also close to the Hells Angels of Quebec through my brother J., always present when the sky darkened.

In Africa, the story is long. Very long.

My first partner, the mother of my children, came from a major influential family in several countries. I was welcomed by a royal family in Ivory Coast, where my children were made prince and princess. I was also adopted by a Togolese royal family. I have a Congolese family whose patriarch was one of the founding fathers of Congo-Brazzaville. And I was involved in two coups d’état in Africa.

I accompanied one of the largest Russian companies, chaired by Vladimir Putin, before the Russian-Ukrainian conflict reduced the initiative to nothing. I approached members of the royal families of the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia. Friends connected me to closed circles in oil, arms, gas and other strategic sectors.

I often moved surrounded by bodyguards and former members of special forces from several countries, including a former member of Putin’s close protection team. I encountered politics in several states, up to First Ladies, Presidents and the most influential generals.

I advised senators, police chiefs, generals and leaders of international companies. I was also an honorary correspondent for several years, ambassador for peace within an international organization, special adviser to the Pontifical Foundation of the Vatican, and a civil diplomatic member, as an officer, of the ICA — Interpol Center USA — attached to the IHRC, the International Human Rights Commission.

These titles, functions, encounters and contradictions tell one thing: my life has never followed a straight line. It was built between worlds that do not speak to one another, between men of the shadows and institutions, between the wounds of the street and the corridors of power.

All of this could not fit into this volume.

This book is therefore not an ending. It is a milestone. A first stone laid on the road of memory.

Other pages may come. Other truths. Other faces. Other areas of shadow to bring into the light.

The rest will be written tomorrow.