One of Abraham Lincoln’s biographers wrote that his “ambition was a little engine that knew no rest.” The same could be said of Nicolas Sarkozy, except that in his case the little engine was a turbocharger. Like the diminutive Corsican Napoleon Bonaparte, Sarkozy, the son of a Hungarian immigrant, was an outsider who wanted desperately to break into France’s political power elite and rise to its summit. Unlike most French political leaders, he did not graduate from the elite École nationale d’administration or the Institut d’études politiques de Paris (Sciences Po). Armed with a simple law degree—he financed his studies by working as an ice-cream vendor and gardener—Sarkozy made his way up the ladder not through the usual old-boy network but by his own relentless drive and ruthless calculation. It was said of him early on that, according to a popular French expression, he had des crocs qui rayent le parquet—fangs so long they scratched the floorboards.
Sarkozy started out in politics as a student activist handing out tracts for candidates of the conservative Gaullist movement. His method was to attach himself to powerful senior members of the party, advance on their coattails, and then, in more than one case, betray them. In 1983, at the age of twenty-eight, he outmaneuvered the Gaullist heavyweight Charles Pasqua, his erstwhile mentor, to get himself elected mayor of the affluent Paris suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine. From that perch, he made it a point to get to know his most prominent constituents, particularly the wealthy ones who could be relied on for votes, influence, and especially campaign contributions. And his wealthiest constituents by far were André and Liliane Bettencourt.
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Though Nicolas Sarkozy was never an intimate friend of the Bettencourts, he cultivated the relationship during his years as mayor of Neuilly and later as a member of Parliament and cabinet minister. It was not always easy. At one dinner at chez Bettencourt, while he was still mayor, Sarkozy was seated next to Liliane and struggled to converse with her in spite of her deafness. She remarked that she liked to swim. He replied diplomatically that he also liked to swim. She demanded that Monsieur Sarkozy be served again because he said he liked to eat. She had mistaken nager, “to swim,” for manger, “to eat.” For her part, Liliane was put off by the fact that Sarkozy’s then wife, Cécilia, spoke on her cell phone throughout the meal.
Sarkozy became a faithful lieutenant of Jacques Chirac, another famously ambitious politician, and helped organize his losing presidential campaign against Mitterrand in 1988. When Chirac’s ally Édouard Balladur became prime minister in 1993, he named Sarkozy Budget Minister then enlisted him in his own bid to eclipse Chirac as the Gaullist presidential candidate two years later. Balladur lost, and Sarkozy, considered a Brutus-like traitor by the victorious Chirac, was frozen out of the government until Chirac’s reelection in 2002. Named Minister of the Interior, then Minister of Economy and Finance, he took over the leadership of Chirac’s Union pour un mouvement populaire (UMP) Party in 2004 and emerged as the heir apparent.
To finance his 2007 presidential run, Sarkozy turned to his friend Éric Woerth. A former financial consultant and tax specialist with Arthur Andersen, Woerth was well versed in the game of political fund-raising: He had been named treasurer of the UMP in 2002 and financial director of Chirac’s successful reelection campaign the same year. As Sarkozy ramped up his own presidential run, Woerth organized an elite group of wealthy contributors called the Premier cercle. The cost of membership was a donation of €3,000 to €7,500, the legal limit for individuals. In exchange for their support, members were invited to monthly meetings at the five-star Bristol and other luxury hotels, often with Sarkozy himself in attendance. The group also held private dinners at the sumptuous homes of some of its wealthiest backers and hosted discreet fund-raising events as far afield as Geneva and New York.
Woerth was a man who wore many hats. In addition to his jobs as party treasurer and chief fund-raiser for Sarkozy, he was mayor of the affluent horseracing town of Chantilly and a member of Parliament. His dour mien, perpetual five o’clock shadow, and penchant for drab gray suits won him the nickname of “Croque-mort” (“The Undertaker”) among his colleagues. But what he lacked in charisma he made up for in the persistent and methodical pursuit of his goals—not surprising for a man whose private passion was mountain climbing. Thanks largely to Woerth’s efforts, the Sarkozy campaign received €9,125,105 in private contributions in 2007—modest by US standards, but more than ten times the take of his Socialist challenger Ségolène Royal.
One of the Premier cercle’s five hundred or so members was Patrice de Maistre. A descendant of Joseph de Maistre, the eighteenth-century antirevolutionary philosopher, he had served as an external auditor for L’Oréal before replacing Castres Saint Martin as Liliane Bettencourt’s wealth manager in 2004. As such, he presided over the two companies that comprised the so-called family office: Thétys, which managed Liliane’s L’Oréal stock; and Clymène, which received her dividends and handled her personal investments (one of which, a €30 million stake in Bernie Madoff’s notorious Ponzi scheme, went up in smoke in 2008). In addition to those institutional roles, de Maistre acted as Liliane Bettencourt’s financial adviser and managed little by little to insinuate himself into her personal affairs, including the hiring and firing of employees, legal matters, and tax strategy.
De Maistre was a distinguished-looking patrician with a fringe of silver hair, well-cut banker’s suits, and an unctuous manner. He practiced the aristocratic hand kiss and identified himself on his business cards as “Count Patrice de Maistre.” An avid yachtsman and hunter, he played golf and tennis with L’Oréal CEO Owen-Jones, stalked big game in Tanzania and Siberia, maintained a villa in Saint-Tropez, and belonged to the select Jockey Club and the Automobile Club de France. He also maintained a murky African network, with investments in Algeria, Cameroon, and Gabon. A millionaire in his own right, he was married to Anne Dewavrin, a wealthy heiress and ex-wife of LVMH president Bernard Arnault, one of the world’s richest men.
“With high-placed people, or those who had money, he was affable and obsequious,” says a woman who formerly worked with de Maistre. “With those he considered beneath him, he was haughty and scornful.” His disdain even applied to André Bettencourt, whom he considered (not incorrectly) a mere prince consort. One day, de Maistre walked right past André without speaking to him. Liliane cut him dead. “You could at least say hello to my husband.”
The Bettencourts themselves did not belong to the Premier cercle—the €7,500 entry fee was way below their level—but their wealth manager served as a willing intermediary. And in Woerth’s eyes, de Maistre was a source worth cultivating. “Patrice de Maistre quickly attracted notice at the meetings that I hosted along with other political officials,” Woerth wrote. “He was passionate about politics and obviously wanted to pursue a friendly relationship with me.”
When they first met for coffee in January 2007, their discussion inevitably revolved around money and politics. According to de Maistre, André Bettencourt had asked him “to find out in what conditions the couple could finance the UMP and the future presidential campaign of Nicolas Sarkozy.” On de Maistre’s advice, they legally gave €30,000 to the campaign: €7,500 apiece to the party and €7,500 apiece to Sarkozy’s campaign. But that was peanuts compared to the Bettencourts’ means—and André’s usual levels of support. By now, André, weakened by age and illness, had handed over his brown-paper-envelope functions to de Maistre. There were strong suspicions that at least one envelope handed to Woerth contained substantially more than the legal limit. What is not in doubt is that in March 2007, Éric Woerth wrote personally to candidate Sarkozy, then the interior minister, to recommend that Patrice de Maistre be awarded the Légion d’honneur—a coveted citation dating back to Napoleon I, awarded for “eminent merits” in the service of the nation. The request was approved on July 14, 2007. Woerth personally pinned the decoration on de Maistre’s lapel on January 23, 2008.
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On May 6, 2007, Sarkozy handily defeated the Socialist candidate Ségolène Royal to win the presidency. He celebrated his victory with a gala dinner at the glitzy Fouquet’s restaurant on the Champs-Élysées, a traditional gathering place for film stars whose framed photos line its wood-paneled walls. The guest list was a star-studded mix of celebrities and wealthy friends, including venerable rocker Johnny Hallyday, actors Jean Reno and Christian Clavier, industrialist Martin Bouygues, aviation magnate Serge Dassault, luxury-goods mogul Bernard Arnault, and reality-TV promoter Stéphane Courbit—a pal of Sarkozy’s who would later be ensnared in the Bettencourt Affair. This high-profile partying just when he had taken over the helm of the Fifth Republic played badly in public opinion and set the tone for his presidency. It did not help matters when he and his family immediately embarked on a three-day Mediterranean cruise aboard a yacht belonging to wealthy industrialist Vincent Bolloré, leading critics to brand him as “the president of the rich.”
Sarkozy’s penchant for Rolex watches, gold neck chains, and Italian designer suits—not to mention his stormy divorce and subsequent marriage to singer-model Carla Bruni, ex-girlfriend of Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton—sealed his image as the “bling-bling” president. He was apparently sensitive about that label. Sociologist Michel Wieviorka recalls attending a private dinner during which the president pulled up his cuff and showed a new wristwatch to his guests. “Look at my watch,” he said. “It’s not bling-bling. Carla gave it to me. It cost four times more than the one I had before.” Carla, though, reinforced the image by appearing in Bulgari ads with flashy emerald and diamond jewelry dangling around her neck. (Her Bulgari contract was reportedly worth €2 million.)
Among Sarkozy’s first cabinet choices was Éric Woerth, named Minister of the Budget and Public Finances on May 18. Four months later, in what many saw as a payback for the Légion d’honneur, de Maistre hired Woerth’s wife, Florence, as a financial analyst for Clymène. Starting annual salary: €140,000 with a €60,000 bonus. At that time, apparently no one involved saw a possible conflict of interest in the fact that a high official involved in tax collection was married to a woman who was handling investments for one of the country’s biggest taxpayers. If there was ever a French version of House of Cards, Woerth’s pas de deux with de Maistre would make a gripping episode.