Shadows of Scandal: The Sordid Past of Jacques Moretti, Owner of the Doomed Le Constellation Bar in Crans-Montana’s Deadly New Year’s Inferno

Flames devoured the night, turning a haven of youthful exuberance into a chamber of horrors. In the opulent Swiss ski resort of Crans-Montana, where the elite carve pristine slopes by day and chase thrills by night, Le Constellation—a basement bar pulsing with energy—became a tomb for 40 souls on New Year’s Day 2026. Champagne bottles, crowned with sparkling pyrotechnics, ignited a ceiling inferno that spread like wildfire through flammable foam, choking the air with toxic smoke and sealing fates in seconds. Over 119 survivors emerged scarred, physically and emotionally, from the crush of panic and heat.

But as investigators sift through the charred remnants, a darker narrative emerges—not just of preventable tragedy, but of a proprietor whose criminal underworld ties cast long shadows over the venue’s safety. Jacques Moretti, the 60-something French-Corsican owner, stands accused not only of negligence in the blaze but carries a rap sheet stained with pimping, fraud, kidnapping, and false imprisonment. His wife, Jessica, co-owner and a fixture at the bar that fateful night, escaped with burns to her arm, but the couple’s empire of alpine nightlife now teeters on the brink of ruin.

Crans-Montana, nestled in the Valais canton with panoramic views of the Matterhorn and Rhone Valley, is no stranger to glamour. World Cup ski races draw crowds, luxury chalets host celebrities, and bars like Le Constellation cater to a mix of locals and tourists—often underage teens slipping in for affordable drinks and vibrant vibes. On December 31, 2025, the bar brimmed with hundreds of revelers, many minors from Switzerland, France, Italy, Belgium, Portugal, and beyond. Bottles of bubbly, topped with those fateful sparklers—fountains of sparks meant to dazzle—were waved high in toasts to 2026.

Videos captured the tipping point: sparks brushing the low ceiling, flames erupting, a young patron futilely swatting with a towel as laughter turned to screams. The fire, fueled by soundproofing foam, achieved “flashover” in moments, igniting everything combustible. Oxygen vanished, smoke billowed black and lethal. The single main exit bottlenecked into a deadly stampede; emergency doors, reportedly inadequate or locked, offered no salvation. “It was rapid, violent, and over in minutes,” survivors whispered, their voices haunted by the multilingual cries for help.

Amid the chaos, heroes rose. Paolo Campolo, a 55-year-old Swiss-Italian banker living nearby, received a frantic call from his 17-year-old daughter Paolina, who arrived late and witnessed the outbreak from outside. Racing to the scene with a fire extinguisher, he and a stranger shattered a rear window and door, pulling nearly a dozen burned, gasping teens to safety. “Their eyes—the desperation of those knowing death,” Campolo later said, hospitalized for smoke inhalation. His fiancée, too, was injured in the melee.

Tragically, not all escaped. Among the dead: 15-year-old Charlotte Niddam (or Needham in some reports), a British-Israeli schoolgirl described as “beautiful” and full of promise; Jewish sisters Alicia and Diana Gunst, 15 and 14, on a family holiday; and 18-year-old Belgian boxer Benjamin Johnson, who perished shielding a friend from the flames—a final act of valor in his young life. Identification dragged on for days, DNA tests confirming the grim toll as families clung to hope amid unanswered calls.

As memorials bloomed—candles flickering, flowers piling, teddy bears hugging the cordoned site—attention turned to accountability. Swiss prosecutors eyed “arson by negligence” and “manslaughter by negligence,” questioning the Morettis. Jacques, absent from the bar that night (tending another property), and Jessica, who suffered arm burns, cooperated but faced scrutiny. The venue, inspected only thrice in a decade despite laws mandating annual checks for public spots, raised red flags. “We followed all regulations,” Moretti insisted, but whispers of corner-cutting echoed louder.

Yet, the real bombshell detonated in European media: Moretti’s criminal underbelly. Born in Ghisonaccia, Upper Corsica, this enigmatic figure in his 60s is no novice to the gavel. French outlets like Le Parisien painted him as “no stranger to the justice system,” with pimping allegations stretching back two decades. In 2005, he landed behind bars in Savoie, the French Alpine department neighboring Crans-Montana, for a cocktail of crimes: fraud, kidnapping, false imprisonment, and pimping involvement.

Details remain murky, shrouded in the opacity of old cases, but reports suggest a 2005 kidnap plot in Savoie—perhaps a botched extortion or rivalry gone awry—led to his incarceration. Belgian RTL, citing legal sources, expanded the dossier: “The Corsican-born man… was imprisoned… for pimping, fraud, kidnapping, and false imprisonment.” Whispers of organized crime ties, common in Corsican circles, swirl, though unproven. Before Switzerland, Moretti ran a bar in Bonifacio, Corsica’s picturesque port town in the late 2000s, where mayor Jean-Charles Orsucci recalled “good relations” but no scandals.

Jessica, in her 40s from the glitzy Cote d’Azur, joined forces with Jacques in 2015 to acquire Le Constellation. Their portfolio grew: Le Senso cafe-restaurant in 2020, and the renovated Le Vieux Chalet inn in 2023, all in the Crans-Montana vicinity. To locals, they appeared as savvy entrepreneurs blending French flair with Swiss precision. But the fire peeled back the facade, exposing potential negligence rooted in a checkered past. Did Moretti’s history influence lax safety? Sparklers, banned in many venues for fire risk, were permitted; capacity limits, perhaps ignored in the holiday crush.

The community’s grief morphed into outrage. Silent vigils morphed into demands for justice. “How could someone with such a background own a place frequented by kids?” one parent fumed anonymously to Swiss media. Flags at half-mast nationwide symbolized collective mourning, while international headlines amplified the scandal. In Corsica, old acquaintances expressed shock; in France, prosecutors dusted off files, pondering cross-border implications.

This tragedy echoes infamous nightclub fires: the 2003 Station nightclub blaze in Rhode Island, killing 100 via pyrotechnics; Brazil’s 2013 Kiss club inferno, claiming 242 lives from foam ignition; Romania’s 2015 Colectiv fire, exposing corruption and costing 64 souls. Each spotlighted oversight, flammable materials, and inadequate exits—parallels haunting Le Constellation.

As airlifts ferried the injured to burn units in Basel, Lausanne, and beyond, stories of survival inspired. Teens, many intoxicated and disoriented, credited strangers’ aid. One Portuguese survivor recounted crawling through smoke, guided by a voice: “This way!” Medical teams battled smoke poisoning, burns covering bodies, and crushed limbs from the stampede.

Moretti’s defense? Insistence on compliance. Yet, under Article 8 of Valais fire codes, annual inspections are mandated for high-risk public venues. Three in ten years? A glaring lapse, critics argue. Prosecutors, led by Beatrice Pilloud, pinpointed the sparklers: “Incandescent candles… brought too close to the ceiling.” But who allowed them? Who overlooked the foam’s flammability?

The Morettis remain free, cooperating, but the noose tightens. If liability sticks, charges could escalate. For victims’ families, justice means more than convictions—it’s systemic change: stricter inspections, pyrotechnic bans, better emergency designs.

In Crans-Montana’s wintry hush, the resort’s sparkle dims. Ski lifts hum, but bars echo emptier. Moretti’s empire, once thriving, faces boycott calls. His past, once buried in Alpine snow, now avalanches into public view, a cautionary tale of how shadows from yesterday can ignite tomorrow’s disasters.

Yet, humanity persists. Campolo’s heroism, Johnson’s sacrifice—these illuminate the darkness. As investigations unfold, one truth endures: in celebration’s fragile glow, vigilance is the ultimate safeguard.