They’re Finally in Handcuffs. But Is This the Whole Truth? Swiss Bar Death Trap: French Power Couple Arrested as 40 Victims Are Sent Home in Coffins — And a Far Darker Scandal Explodes

Jacques and Jessica Moretti, the glamorous French couple who turned Le Constellation into Crans-Montana’s hottest après-ski spot, once epitomized alpine luxury: champagne flowing under glittering lights, thumping bass drawing crowds of young revelers, and a backdrop of snow-capped peaks that screamed exclusivity. But on January 8, 2026—exactly one week after their bar became a blazing inferno that claimed 40 lives—Swiss authorities finally made their move. The Morettis were arrested in a dawn raid at their chalet overlooking the Rhône Valley, charged with involuntary manslaughter, negligent bodily harm, and violations of fire safety regulations. Prosecutors allege the venue was a “ticking bomb,” its ceiling lined with highly flammable soundproofing foam that ignited like tinder when sparklers on champagne bottles were waved too close during New Year’s celebrations. As the couple faces decades behind bars, families across Europe bury their dead, survivors grapple with lifelong scars, and questions swirl: Was this preventable negligence, or the tip of a rotten iceberg in Switzerland’s billion-dollar tourism empire?

The arrests come amid mounting public fury, with Swiss tabloids like Blick demanding why it took so long. “They walked free while coffins flew home,” screamed one headline. Indeed, as the Morettis were led away in handcuffs, the first foreign victims’ remains were being repatriated: five Italian teenagers loaded onto a military plane at Sion Airport, their coffins draped in national flags under a somber guard of honor. Families from France, the UK, Germany, and beyond are planning funerals instead of futures, their grief amplified by the horror of what unfolded in those frantic minutes after midnight on January 1. But whispers from investigators suggest this isn’t just about one deadly night—it’s about years of overlooked warnings, lax oversight, and a system that prioritized profits over lives. Sources close to the probe tell us: “The owners are the first domino. Wait until the full picture emerges.”

Crans-Montana, perched at 1,500 meters in the Valais canton, has long been Switzerland’s jewel for the jet-set. Its sun-drenched slopes host the Omega European Masters, drawing golf pros and celebrities, while winter brings skiers flocking to its 140 kilometers of pistes. Le Constellation, nestled in the resort’s heart, was no dive—it was a sleek, multi-level venue blending bar, nightclub, and café vibes, capacity capped at 300 but often pushing limits on peak nights. Owned by the Morettis since 2015, the French expats had transformed it into a must-visit for locals and tourists alike, its basement dance floor throbbing with EDM and festive energy. Jacques, 48, a former Paris nightclub promoter with a flair for high-society schmoozing, and Jessica, 45, a savvy marketer who handled the venue’s social media buzz, were seen as power players in the local scene. “They knew everyone,” a former employee told Swiss media. “Politicians, hoteliers, even inspectors—they hosted private events that kept the doors open.”

That fateful New Year’s Eve, the bar was alive with about 250 partygoers, many under 20, toasting 2026. Videos from survivors show the countdown: cheers, hugs, and servers parading champagne bottles topped with sparkling fountains—those innocuous “cold fire” sparklers meant to dazzle. But held aloft in the crowded basement, their 500-degree sparks licked the ceiling’s acoustic foam, installed for noise control but notoriously flammable. Within seconds, a flashover ignited: superheated gases caused the entire space to erupt in flames, temperatures soaring to 1,000 degrees Celsius. Smoke, thick and toxic from burning plastics, blinded escapees. “It was like a furnace,” survivor Axel Clavier, 22, recounted to CNN. “People were screaming, collapsing where they stood. I felt like I was on fire.” Narrow stairs to the upper level became a deadly bottleneck; some smashed windows, jumping into sub-zero snow, but many couldn’t reach exits before succumbing to inhalation.

Firefighters arrived within minutes, but the blaze’s ferocity—fueled by the foam’s rapid burn—proved insurmountable. Helicopters airlifted the critically injured to hospitals in Sion, Lausanne, and Bern, where ICUs overflowed. By dawn, the toll emerged: 40 dead, including 15 minors as young as 14, victims from over 10 countries—Switzerland, Italy, France, Germany, the UK, Belgium, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands, and even distant visitors from the US and Australia. Another 116 were injured, 83 still hospitalized as of January 8 with severe burns covering up to 80% of their bodies, requiring skin grafts and months of rehabilitation. “This wasn’t a tragedy; it was an international massacre,” said Romain Jordan, a lawyer representing several families, in a fiery press conference.

The victims’ stories humanize the horror. Arthur Brodard, 16, from Lausanne, was out with school friends; his mother Laetitia Brodard-Sitre’s desperate 30-hour search—”Either I find my son in the morgue, or in critical condition”—went viral, ending in heartbreak when his body was identified. Emanuele Galeppini, a 17-year-old Italian golf prodigy training in Dubai, sent a final text: “Mom, I love you…” before vanishing in the smoke. His dreams of NCAA scholarships and pro tours ended in ashes. Six Italian students, including 15-year-old Sofia Rossi, were repatriated in coffins on January 5, their families wailing at Milan’s airport. French teen siblings Lucas and Emma Dubois, 18 and 16, perished together; their parents, in shock, joined a class-action suit against the owners. British tourist Emily Hargreaves, 19, survived with burns but lost her best friend. “We came to celebrate life,” she whispered from her hospital bed. “Now it’s just pain.”

Prosecutors wasted no time opening a criminal probe, but the Morettis initially walked free, deemed low flight risk. Jacques told Swissinfo they were “devastated” and pledged cooperation, insisting the bar passed three inspections in 10 years with only minor fixes, like anti-panic door handles. “Everything was according to rules,” he claimed. But revelations exploded: Crans-Montana’s municipality admitted no safety inspections occurred from 2020 to 2025—five years of required annual checks skipped. Mayor Nicolas Féraud expressed “bitter regret” at a January 6 press conference, blaming administrative oversights amid Covid disruptions, but refused to resign. “We never received alerts,” he said, though critics call it negligence. The last inspection in 2019 flagged no major issues, but experts say the foam—cheap polyurethane notorious for toxicity—should have been fire-retardant per Swiss codes.

This lapse ignited outrage. “If warnings existed for years, who kept it open?” demanded Blick. Investigations now probe if the Morettis ignored foam risks, known since similar disasters like London’s Grenfell Tower or Rhode Island’s Station nightclub fire (100 dead in 2003). Sources whisper bribes or cozy ties with local officials may explain the blind eye—Crans-Montana’s economy hinges on tourism, generating billions, with venues like Le Constellation vital for off-slope revenue. A deeper scandal brews: Switzerland’s intercantonal fire standards body halted a liberalization project post-fire, fearing relaxed rules enabled such oversights. Lawyers like Jordan demand the municipality face charges: “Staggering breaches—why no apology?”

Public fury peaked with memorials. On January 4, hundreds marched silently through Crans-Montana, candles flickering against the slopes, forming a human chain around the bar’s ruins. Skiers etched a giant heart in the snow; churches rang bells nationwide on January 9, a day of mourning declared by President Guy Parmelin. Pope Leo offered prayers; Italian PM Giorgia Meloni called it a “painful Alpine moment,” dispatching Foreign Minister Antonio Tajani to the site. Chinese President Xi Jinping sent condolences, while northern Italian clinics aided overflow injured.

Survivors’ tales haunt: choking on smoke, skin blistering, friends vanishing in the crush. One video shows flames racing across the ceiling; another, people clawing at doors. Autopsies reveal most died from inhalation, not burns—a mercifully quick end, but details disturb: bodies fused to floors, identification via DNA amid charred remains.

The arrests mark a turning point. Prosecutors cite evidence of “gross negligence”: foam untested, overcrowding (reports of 350 inside), and sparklers unchecked despite known hazards. The Morettis, now detained in Sion, face up to 20 years if convicted. But is this justice, or deflection? Families sue for millions, alleging municipal complicity. “The owners are scapegoats,” a whistleblower told Reuters anonymously. “Look higher—tourism boards, inspectors who partied there.”

As coffins depart and scars heal, Crans-Montana’s sheen tarnishes. Will this expose a systemic rot in Swiss hospitality, where profits trump safety? Or fade like melting snow? For victims’ kin, like Laetitia burying Arthur, the question lingers: If so obvious, why did no one act? The Morettis’ handcuffs are a start—but the whole truth may shatter more than one empire.