The air in Simone Dubois’ Parisian apartment, still filled with the faint lingering scent of her signature rose perfume, crackled with a tension Eleanor herself had carefully orchestrated. She stood by the grand window overlooking the twinkling lights of the city, a glass of champagne – ironically, Jean-Luc's favorite brand – swirling gently in her hand. Jean-Luc, unaware of the meticulously laid trap closing around him, paced nervously.

"Simone, darling," he began, his voice a carefully calibrated blend of concern and impatience, "are you feeling alright? You've been...different lately."

Eleanor, channeling Simone's elegant hauteur, turned to face him, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "Different? Perhaps I am, Jean-Luc. Perhaps I've simply grown tired of being… the quiet, unassuming widow."

He chuckled, a sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nonsense. You are perfect as you are." He moved to take her hand, but Eleanor smoothly sidestepped him, taking a deliberate sip of champagne.

"Perfect for what, Jean-Luc? Perfect to be easily manipulated? Perfect to be quietly… forgotten?" The subtle venom in her voice was undeniable now.

His smile faltered. "Simone, what is this about? I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Eleanor set down her glass, the delicate clink echoing in the sudden silence. "Let's talk about your understanding, shall we? Let's talk about your… understanding of my late husband’s will."

She watched as a flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly masked by his practiced charm. "The will? Of course. Everything was perfectly legal and above board."

"Was it, Jean-Luc? Because I seem to recall a certain… discrepancy. A missing painting, perhaps? One that conveniently disappeared just before my husband's… unfortunate demise."

Jean-Luc’s facade began to crack. He stammered, "A painting? I… I don't know what you're talking about."

Eleanor pressed on, her voice gaining strength, fueled by Simone's righteous anger and her own thirst for justice. "And what about your… business dealings, Jean-Luc? Your… connections to certain… unsavory individuals? Perhaps someone who goes by the name 'Viper'?"

The blood drained from his face. He took a step back, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. "Viper? That's ridiculous! I have no idea who you're talking about."

Eleanor knew she had him. He was a cornered animal, his carefully constructed world crumbling piece by piece. "Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly who I’m talking about. A man who specializes in… eliminating problems. A man who takes a percentage of profits in exchange for… services rendered. Like, say, disposing of a troublesome wife and conveniently acquiring her fortune."

The color returned to his face, this time a furious red. "You… you are accusing me of murder?"

"Not accusing, Jean-Luc. Exposing." She reached into her purse, pulling out a slim folder. "I've been doing some digging. I’ve found quite a few interesting documents. Bank statements, wire transfers… even a few rather… incriminating emails."

She opened the folder, allowing him a glimpse of the damning evidence. His eyes widened in disbelief and terror.

"Where did you get these?" he hissed.

"Let's just say I have… friends in high places," Eleanor said, thinking of Inspector Davies and his network of informants. "Friends who are very interested in bringing Viper and his associates to justice."

Before Jean-Luc could formulate a response, a shrill ringtone pierced the air. It was Jean-Luc’s phone. He fumbled with it, answering with a shaky "Bonjour?"

Eleanor watched with detached amusement as his face went from pale to ashen. The conversation was short, clipped, and clearly not going his way. He hung up, his hand trembling.

"Who was that?" Eleanor asked, already knowing the answer.

He stared at her, defeated. "It was… Camille."

Camille, his wealthy and influential mistress, the woman he was planning to run away with using Simone's money.

"Camille," Eleanor repeated, feigning surprise. "And what did she have to say? Did she happen to mention that she just received… photographic evidence of your little rendezvous with Viper's associates? Evidence I conveniently leaked to her anonymous source, of course."

His shoulders slumped. "She's… she's canceled everything. The trip, the investment… everything."

"How unfortunate," Eleanor said with a perfectly straight face. "It seems your carefully laid plans have… unraveled."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Jean-Luc jumped, his eyes wide with panic. "Who is that? What's going on?"

Eleanor smiled, a genuine smile this time, the smile of a Justice Weaver who was about to deliver the final blow. "That, Jean-Luc, would be the police. I took the liberty of informing them of your various… transgressions. Fraud, conspiracy… and yes, even murder."

The police officers burst through the door, two uniformed men followed by Inspector Davies, who nodded grimly at Eleanor.

"Jean-Luc Dubois," one of the officers announced, "you are under arrest for the murder of Simone Dubois, fraud, and conspiracy."

Jean-Luc didn't resist. He simply stared at Eleanor, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and despair. As they led him away, he spat out one word: "Bitch."

Eleanor simply smiled. Justice, even when cloaked in the guise of vengeance, had been served.

Inspector Davies approached her, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. "You are a dangerous woman, Simone… or should I say, Eleanor?"

"Just call me a friend of justice, Inspector," she replied. "Someone who believes that everyone deserves a fair chance, even if they have to fight for it in a world that often stacks the odds against them."

Davies nodded. "Viper is still out there. He won't take this lightly."

"I know," Eleanor said, her gaze hardening. "But I'll be ready for him. And until I am, I am being transferred to another world."

Davies watched as she was being transferred from her current world. "Until we meet again, Eleanor Vance. May justice guide you."

Eleanor felt the familiar disorientation of the Weaver's shift, the tearing and reforming of reality around her. She knew she would likely never see Inspector Davies again. But as she vanished from Parisian apartment, she carried with her the satisfaction of a case closed, a life avenged, and a small but significant victory against the forces of corruption and evil.

Her task in France was done and the arbitrator had moved on to another world. She knew she would be helping more people, and maybe she would be able to have a new perspective of the system, and what she could do to change it. This new mission she was on, seemed very important and it was going to change her perspective on how people should be treated, and what justice is.