I set the coffee pot down without spilling a drop.
Viktor's hand remained on the laptop.
The room around us continued as though nothing had happened. Forks touched porcelain. Glasses chimed. The pianist moved into another song.
But the air at our table had changed.
“Coffee?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
Viktor watched me.
His eyes had become very still.
I poured for the woman on his right.
Then the man beside her.
Then Viktor.
He didn't move his cup.
“You saw the screen,” he said.
It wasn't a question.
I looked at him.
“I saw a photograph.”
“Whose?”
I hesitated.
“I'm not sure.”
The younger man laughed nervously.
Viktor didn't.
“Interesting,” he said.
I turned toward the other guests.
“Anything else?”
The woman with the bracelet asked for cream.
I brought it.
By the time I returned, Viktor had closed the laptop completely.
I continued working.
But my mind had already left the dining room.
The photograph had been taken seven years earlier.
I remembered the day clearly.
I had been twenty-nine and working as a contract interpreter at an international medical conference. My assignment had involved translating between German, English, French, and Arabic for a delegation discussing rehabilitation technology.
At the time, I thought it was simply another temporary job.
The conference photographer had asked permission to take a picture of me beside the interpretation booth.
I had forgotten about it afterward.
Apparently someone hadn't.
When my shift ended, I went into the staff corridor and checked my phone.
Three missed calls.
All from the rehabilitation center.
My stomach tightened.
I called back immediately.
The receptionist answered.
“Your father's therapist wanted to speak with you.”
“Is he okay?”
“He's fine. She just wanted to discuss his treatment schedule.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, relief made my knees weak.
“Thank you.”
I ended the call.
Then I looked through the kitchen doorway.
Viktor Reinhardt was still there.
And I knew I couldn't simply walk away.
At ten forty-five, his group finally stood.
The woman with the bracelet adjusted her coat.
The younger man checked his phone.
Viktor remained seated.
He waited until the others had moved toward the entrance.
Then he looked at me.
“Your name?”
“Anna.”
He studied me.
“Anna what?”
“Anna Keller.”
That was the name I used professionally.
His expression barely changed.
“Where did you learn German?”
“School.”
“How many years?”
“Enough.”
He smiled.
“You're evasive.”
“I've been asked that before.”
“By whom?”
“People who wanted answers.”
That made him pause.
The younger man turned around.
“Viktor?”
“Go ahead,” Viktor said.
The man hesitated, then left.
Now we were alone.
Viktor tapped the closed laptop.
“You recognize that photograph.”
I didn't answer.
“You should.”
“I didn't say I did.”
“You didn't need to.”
He leaned back.
“You're either very good at hiding your reactions, or you're exactly the person I was looking for.”
I felt a cold line travel down my spine.
“What person is that?”
He smiled again.
“Someone intelligent.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I picked up the coffee pot.
“Your bill is ready.”
He didn't look at it.
“How many languages?”
I met his eyes.
“Eighteen.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You understood me earlier.”
“Yes.”
The words hung between us.
He looked toward the empty dining room.
“Then why pretend?”
“Because you wanted me to.”
His jaw tightened.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if you think about what you were doing.”
“What was I doing?”
“Testing the room.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You were testing who understood you.”
He said nothing.
I continued.
“You spoke German because you assumed nobody at the table would challenge you. Then you insulted the staff to see whether anyone reacted.”
His fingers tapped once against the laptop.
“You noticed.”
“I notice things.”
“That's becoming obvious.”
He stood.
He was taller than I had realized.
For several seconds neither of us moved.
Then he opened the laptop.
The photograph appeared again.
This time I saw the entire slide.
My name was not there.
Instead, beneath my photograph was a line of German text followed by a number.
A date.
And a reference code.
I stared at it.
“That isn't my conference photograph,” I said.
“What?”
“The image you're using isn't the original.”
He looked at the screen.
“What makes you say that?”
“The background.”
I pointed.
“The interpretation booth was blue at the conference. This one has been altered.”
He stared at me.
“You can tell?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The reflection in the glass behind me.”
I leaned closer.
“Someone replaced part of the background.”
Viktor closed the laptop again.
“Who taught you to look for that?”
“Nobody.”
“Everyone learns from somebody.”
“Not always.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he reached into his jacket.
I instinctively stepped back.
He noticed.
Instead of pulling out a weapon, he removed a business card.
He placed it on the table.
“Come to my office tomorrow.”
I didn't touch it.
“Why?”
“I have a proposition.”
“What kind?”
“You'll find out.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“I don't meet strangers privately because they ask.”
“You're not afraid of me.”
“I didn't say that.”
He smiled.
“You should be.”
I looked at the laptop.
“Should I?”
For the first time, his confidence faltered.
Just for an instant.
Then he leaned closer.
“Someone has been looking for you.”
The words struck harder than they should have.
I kept my face neutral.
“Who?”
He straightened.
“That is what I want to discuss.”
He walked away.
I watched him leave through the front entrance.
The business card remained on the table.
I didn't touch it until the door closed behind him.
Then I picked it up.
His name was printed on the front.
Viktor Reinhardt.
Beneath it was the name of his company.
And beneath that, an address.
I turned the card over.
There was nothing on the back.
Except a handwritten number.
Not a telephone number.
A date.
A date I recognized.
My father's accident.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: His Business Card Carried the Date of My Father’s Accident, Forcing Me to Question Whether My Family Had Ever Been the Real Target
The Hundred-Dollar Bill That Was Meant to Humiliate Me Revealed Something Far More Dangerous Than Arrogance
Part 2 of 12
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