The snow-covered streets of Crans-Montana still carry the faint scent of burnt plastic and sorrow. On the night that should have welcomed 2026 with champagne toasts and laughter, Le Constellation—a basement bar tucked beneath a luxury chalet—became a tomb. Forty young lives ended in minutes. One hundred and sixteen others escaped with scars that will never fade. Now, freshly emerged photographs from the owners’ own social media archives are placing the couple at the very heart of the tragedy.

Jacques Moretti, 49, and his wife Jessica Moretti, 40, took over the venue in 2015. They were not wealthy investors hiring contractors. They were hands-on dreamers who rolled up their sleeves and transformed the dated space themselves. Newly surfaced images show Jacques on his knees, hammer in hand, nailing wooden slats to the walls. Another captures Jessica balancing on a ladder, carefully gluing sheets of grey acoustic foam to the low basement ceiling. In one particularly haunting photo, the couple stands smiling amid construction dust, arms around each other, caption reading: “Our little project is coming to life! #LeConstellation #CransMontana #NewBeginning”. Those same foam panels, purchased from a local hardware store and installed without professional fire-safety certification, are now believed to have accelerated the blaze into an uncontrollable inferno.

The sequence of events on New Year’s Eve unfolded with horrifying speed. Just after 1:30 a.m., as the crowd reached fever pitch, staff began the bar’s signature ritual: raising bottles of champagne topped with fizzing indoor sparklers. One sparkler flame brushed too close to the ceiling. Within seconds, the foam ignited. Witnesses described a sudden whoosh, then a wall of orange. The material, glued horizontally across the entire ceiling, burned with ferocious intensity, releasing thick, toxic smoke and triggering a flashover—an explosive simultaneous ignition of every combustible surface in the room.

Temperatures soared past 600°C. Plastic decorations melted. Clothing caught fire. The single narrow staircase that served as the only public exit turned into a deadly choke point. Thirty-four bodies were later found piled on or near those stairs, many crushed or asphyxiated in the panic. Video from a survivor’s phone shows a young man desperately trying to smother the initial flames with his jacket—only for the fire to roar outward like a living thing. Another clip captures people clawing at locked service doors while flames licked the walls behind them.

Investigators now believe the staircase itself had been altered during the 2015 renovations. To maximize seating in the cramped basement, the Morettis reportedly narrowed the stairwell by several dozen centimeters and repositioned the handrail, creating a bottleneck that proved fatal when hundreds tried to flee at once. One emergency exit door was found locked from the inside. Jacques Moretti later told prosecutors he forced it open after escaping, only to discover a heartbreaking pile of bodies—including that of Cyane Panine, a 22-year-old waitress the couple had described as a “stepdaughter”. They attempted CPR on her in the snow for more than an hour before paramedics arrived.

The Morettis’ personal involvement in every detail of the renovation has become the prosecution’s strongest narrative thread. They did not hire architects or certified fire-safety experts. They bought materials off the shelf, relying on instinct and online tutorials. The acoustic foam—intended to dampen music and improve the party atmosphere—was never tested for flame resistance. No building permit was sought because the couple classified the work as “decorative” rather than structural. Municipal records show no mandatory safety inspection took place between 2020 and 2025, a gap the canton of Valais now admits was a catastrophic oversight.

By January 3, 2026, the couple was formally placed under suspicion of manslaughter by negligence, bodily harm by negligence, and arson by negligence. Jacques was detained on January 9 as a potential flight risk; his French nationality and family ties across the border raised concerns he might flee. A court extended his custody for 90 days on January 12. Jessica was released on bail with an electronic monitoring bracelet, though she remains under intense scrutiny.

The human cost is almost impossible to absorb. Among the dead were a 14-year-old girl celebrating her first New Year away from home, university students on winter break, and young tourists drawn to Crans-Montana’s reputation for glamour and excess. Identification of remains has been agonizingly slow; many bodies were burned beyond recognition. Families waited days for news, clutching phones in hotel lobbies while forensic teams worked through the night.

A national day of mourning was declared on January 9. Swiss President Guy Parmelin stood beside French President Emmanuel Macron and Italian President Sergio Mattarella at a solemn ceremony in nearby Martigny. Makeshift memorials appeared across the resort: thousands of flowers buried under fresh snow, candles flickering inside protective igloos, teddy bears and handwritten letters weighted down with stones. One note, written in a child’s handwriting, simply read: “Why didn’t the door open?”

Public anger has grown fiercer with each revelation. Lawyers representing victims’ families accuse the Morettis of hastily deleting renovation photos and other social media posts that could serve as evidence. Critics point to a broader pattern of lax regulation in Valais canton: unlike most Swiss regions, fire-safety inspections for commercial premises are not tied to mandatory building insurance, leaving thousands of properties—including popular après-ski venues—essentially self-policed.

Ski resorts across Switzerland have responded with emergency measures. Indoor pyrotechnics and open-flame decorations have been banned pending new guidelines. Cantonal authorities launched a sweeping audit of basement bars, nightclubs, and restaurants. Yet for many, the measures feel like too little, far too late.

The Morettis themselves are reportedly in a state of profound distress. Close associates describe them as “very unwell”, barely sleeping, haunted by guilt and grief. Jacques has maintained that the materials met the standards of the time and that previous inspections never raised red flags. Jessica, who suffered burns to her arm while escaping, has remained largely silent, speaking only through a brief joint statement released on January 4: “We are devastated beyond words. Our hearts are broken for every family affected. We will cooperate fully with the authorities.”

But cooperation may not be enough to quiet the storm. Prosecutors continue to comb through the charred debris, analyzing samples of the foam, examining remnants of the staircase, and reconstructing the timeline of the renovations. Independent fire experts have already concluded that the combination of flammable ceiling material, inadequate exits, and overcrowding created a perfect storm—one that could have been avoided with basic professional oversight.

In the shadow of the Alps, where luxury chalets and private jets coexist with the raw beauty of nature, Le Constellation’s collapse has exposed uncomfortable truths. A place built for joy became a trap because of shortcuts taken in the name of passion and budget. A couple who dreamed of creating a magical space may now spend the rest of their lives answering for the lives they unwittingly endangered.

Forty candles burn in the snow tonight. One hundred and sixteen survivors carry wounds no surgery can erase. And the questions refuse to go away: How could this happen here, in Switzerland, a country synonymous with precision and safety? Who bears responsibility when enthusiasm outpaces caution? And how many other hidden dangers still lurk beneath the glittering surface of après-ski?

The investigation is far from over. The images of Jacques and Jessica renovating their dream bar—once symbols of hope—are now evidence in a case that could redefine accountability in the hospitality industry. For the families left behind, justice cannot bring back what was lost. But it may prevent the next preventable nightmare from claiming more young lives on another New Year’s Eve.