Designer Cloack and Dagger
The French intelligence apparatus was used to serve vested interests, those of the head of LVMH. A criminal conspiracy that, according to the judiciary, does not involve Bernard Arnault.
Translation of the article published on nov. 20, 2024.
The Squale
Since November 13, several individuals have been on trial for a series of crimes, including influence peddling, breach of trust, forgery of public records, violations of professional secrecy and judicial confidentiality, and compromising national defense secrets, among other charges. The defendants include Bernard Squarcini aka the Squale, former head of domestic intelligence (DGSI) under Nicolas Sarkozy; the deputy head of the National Intelligence Council; a judge who later became LVMH’s general counsel; as well as former cops and spooks agents now working in the private sector. Their actions exemplify a textbook case of criminal conspiracy as defined by Article 450-1 of the French Penal Code.
All the defendants claim innocence, asserting that their actions were carried out in the interest of the French Republic as part of a "mission to protect national economic assets." Bernard Squarcini, in particular, stated during the investigation that he saw no distinction between his private sector activities and those he performed as the head of France’s domestic intelligence agency. However, this distinction is critical. While it is legitimate for a sovereign state to conduct special operations to safeguard national security, it is neither legal nor appropriate for a private enterprise to engage in such activities for the benefit of its business interests.
The DGSI (General Directorate for Homeland Security), like its predecessor, the DST (Directorate of Territorial Surveillance), does have a division tasked with protecting economic and scientific assets. However, its mandate does not extend to illegally shielding the head of a large corporation from blackmail by a former chauffeur demanding €300,000 in exchange for not releasing photos allegedly showing Bernard Arnault with his mistress.
This is precisely what Bernard Squarcini did during his tenure leading the DCRI (now DGSI). In 2008, Squarcini unlawfully directed intelligence resources—without due process or judicial oversight—to track down the blackmailer targeting Arnault. The situation was discreetly managed by former divisional police commissioner Charles Pellegrini and LVMH's then-deputy CEO Pierre Godé.
Bernard Arnault is a citizen like any other. When faced with blackmail, he should follow the legal process: file a complaint and press criminal charges. None of LVMH's activities are strategic in nature, unlike those of Dassault, for example. In fact, the Hermès group, which also operates in the luxury sector—producing leather goods, clothing, and perfumes—holds greater economic significance than LVMH. Hermès manufactures in France, creating jobs in rural areas, whereas LVMH’s Christian Dior suits, though expensive, are produced abroad.
Hermès, a company targeted by LVMH in a hostile takeover, became a victim of Bernard Arnault’s infamous methods. In 2010, LVMH secretly acquired shares in Hermès—a move that violated financial regulations. As a result, the French financial markets authority imposed the largest fine in its history on LVMH. Hermès subsequently filed a complaint, leading to a criminal investigation. Bernard Squarcini, in breach of judicial secrecy, unlawfully shared confidential details of this investigation with LVMH, thus Bernard Arnault.
Another glaring abuse of power involved an outrageous operation directed by Squarcini on behalf of LVMH against the newspaper Fakir and its editor, François Ruffin, now a menber of Parliament. This operation also saw the illegal use of state intelligence resources.
While Squarcini is central to the trial, he is not the mastermind behind these cases. He is, however, emblematic of a type of figure who thrives in the murky intersections of state and private interests. A product of the "Pasqua system," Squarcini's career was shaped by a network of real police officers, Corsican gangsters, casinos, private investigation firms, Françafrique dealings, and elements of the Interior Ministry. Despite his shadowy reputation, Squarcini was not a “master spy.” He was a police officer, bound—like all domestic intelligence agents—to operate within the law.
The Whale
The central figure in the trial of Bernard Squarcini and his co-defendants—what is undeniably a criminal conspiracy under Article 450-1 of the Penal Code—is none other than Bernard Arnault. Yet, Arnault is conspicuously absent from the defendants' bench. This is because LVMH, the company he leads, reached a deferred prosecution agreement (convention judiciaire d'intérêt public, or CJIP) with prosecutors, agreeing to pay €10 million. However, CJIPs apply only to corporate entities, which cannot face imprisonment. They do not absolve individuals, including corporate executives. By any logical standard, Arnault should have been indicted for complicity and concealment of the offenses carried out by the operatives he engaged.
In other countries, such as Italy, Arnault would likely have faced harsher consequences. Consider the case of Marco Tronchetti, the head of Pirelli, who was sentenced to 20 months in prison for economic espionage linked to the Telecom Italia wiretapping scandal. That case involved Kroll & Associates, an American investigative firm that Arnault himself has frequently used since the 1970s, as will be discussed later.
Arnault attempts to deflect responsibility onto Pierre Godé, his former deputy, who passed away in 2018, claiming he was unaware of the rogue operatives’ activities. However, this narrative crumbles under scrutiny. Arnault's consulting firm paid Squarcini €2.2 million, and police wiretaps of Squarcini’s conversations in 2013—later published by Mediapart in 2020—contradict Arnault’s claims of ignorance. The evidence strongly suggests that Arnault was well aware of the illegal actions undertaken on his behalf.
Below is podcast by Mediapart where damning wiretaps can be listened to.
Bernard Squarcini maintained regular contact with Bernard Arnault's personal assistant, whose primary role appeared to be of crouse keeping her boss in the darl with regards to questionable activities his company ordered … However, intercepted communications reveal otherwise. In one such exchange, Bernard Arnault personally congratulated the former head of domestic intelligence for preventing François Ruffin and his group of activists from attending LVMH’s 2013 general assembly. These wiretaps indicate that Squarcini frequently met with Arnault to provide updates. When not dealing directly with Arnault, Squarcini’s primary contact was Pierre Godé, who even suggested infiltrating Fakir. Could Godé have made such a proposal without Arnault’s knowledge or approval?
Pierre Godé was no ordinary subordinate. A lawyer by training, he was recruited in the early 1970s by Jean Arnault, Bernard’s father, to work at Ferret-Savinel, the family’s construction and real estate business. Notably, Bernard Arnault sold this company to the Société Nationale de Construction, owned by the Rothschilds, without informing his father. In the 1980s, Arnault tasked Godé with identifying acquisition targets, leading to the purchase of Boussac, the struggling conglomerate that owned Christian Dior. Godé orchestrated the deal with substantial state support: a 745-million-franc subsidy from then-Prime Minister Laurent Fabius, despite Arnault lacking the required 400 million francs in personal contributions—his family fortune at the time was only 90 million francs.
This financial gap posed no obstacle. Antoine Bernheim, a key figure in France’s crony capitalism, swiftly arranged financing through Lazard Bank, Worms Bank (notorious for its actions during the Nazi Occupation), and public oil companies Total and Elf Aquitaine, which provided more than three-quarters of the funds. Further assistance came from nationalized banks, which forgave debts. Once the deal was secured, Arnault dismantled Boussac, laying off over 8,000 workers and selling off its assets piece by piece. The only remnants he retained were the luxury goods brands that now form the core of his empire. Within five years, he had profited nearly 4 billion francs (over 500 million euros), effectively leveraging the French state—and taxpayers—to build his wealth.
By the time of the Fakir operation, Pierre Godé had served as Arnault’s strategist and confidant for 43 years. Given their close relationship, it is hard to believe Arnault was unaware of Squarcini’s methods. Arnault’s trust in Godé extended beyond business: in 1991, he hosted his wedding to Canadian pianist Hélène Mercier at Godé’s home in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. This long-standing partnership suggests that Arnault was far more involved in—or at least aware of—the dubious strategies employed on his behalf than he claims.
Bernard and The Spooks
Bernard Arnault has consistently relied on underhanded tactics as a cornerstone of his empire building. He was one of the first clients of the American investigation firm Kroll & Associates, which he employed to orchestrate the removal of Henry Racamier, one of LVMH’s founders. Racamier faced baseless accusations of embezzlement, dismissed by the courts, and became the target of a smear campaign in the press. Articles falsely alleged that Racamier excluded Jews from his businesses during the Occupation, that his grandchildren marched in goose-step fashion on the family estate, and that he supported far-right politician Jean-Marie Le Pen. None of it was true.
Arnault seized control of LVMH through covert accumulation of shares, using tactics similar to those in his later attempted takeover of Hermès. He exploited tensions between the company’s founders, Racamier and Alain Chevalier, with help from Lazard Bank. Chevalier, head of Moët-Hennessy, sought to protect the company from hostile takeovers by having its distributor, Guinness, acquire 20% of LVMH. Racamier, head of Louis Vuitton, feared this would disrupt the shareholder structure and sought his own investor, turning to Bernard Arnault. In a twist, Arnault struck an agreement with Guinness, brokered by Lazard, and both founders were subsequently ousted.
In 1999, Arnault employed a similar playbook in his battle against François Pinault (another French tycoon) for control of Gucci. He attempted to gain creeping control of the Italian fashion house by acquiring enough shares to dominate the board without making a formal takeover bid. This maneuver, designed to bypass shareholder protections, is now illegal. Once again, Kroll was enlisted. Tom Ford, Gucci’s artistic director, accused Arnault of placing him under surveillance. Arnault also attempted to bribe Gucci’s CEO, Domenico De Sole, offering a significant salary increase during a meeting at Morgan Stanley Dean Witter’s Paris office while threatening him with legal battles: “LVMH is a powerful company in France, with significant resources to litigate,” Arnault reportedly said, according to legal documents in a Dutch lawsuit he lost against De Sole.
Instead of capitulating, De Sole turned to Pinault, who acquired 42% of Gucci with plans to merge it with other luxury brands in his portfolio, including Yves Saint Laurent and Fendi. Pinault’s decisive move marked the foundation of Kering, now the world’s second-largest luxury group behind LVMH. For Arnault, this was a humiliating defeat, one he sought to avenge with further underhanded methods.
Arnault’s involvement in murky schemes extends to the Crédit Lyonnais debacle, one of France’s largest financial scandals. In the early 1990s, the state-owned bank circumvented U.S. laws prohibiting banks from owning insurance companies by orchestrating a purchase of Executive Life, California’s largest life insurer, through a scheme known as portage (other investors are hodling the shares that will bebought back at a later date for an agreed price). Although François Pinault’s holding company, Artémis, did not participated in the portage legally profited from the resale of Executive Life’s risky bonds and assets. Nonetheless, Artémis faced legal challenges in the U.S., partly fueled by information from Kroll, which Arnault had hired to scrutinize Pinault’s dealings. Artémis was ultimately exonerated, but the legal battle cost the company €170 million in non-refundable penalties.
Arnault’s methods are far from gentlemanly. They include illegal financial raids, covert operations to discredit opponents, and relentless legal battles designed not to assert his rights but to intimidate and exhaust his adversaries. These tactics are bolstered by his growing media empire, which has amplified his influence over the past three decades. Arnault’s legacy is marked by thuggish strategies that prioritize domination at any cost.