I showed Viktor the message.
He read it without touching my phone.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You know that number?”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
He looked at me.
“I recognize the format.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they aren't trying to frighten you.”
“Then what are they doing?”
“Moving you.”
“Where?”
“Away from me.”
I stared at him.
“You expect me to believe you're protecting me?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
Viktor closed the folder.
“I expect you to believe that someone wants you to distrust everyone in this building.”
“That includes you.”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
He walked to the window.
Below us, traffic moved through the intersection in slow streams.
“You asked why I chose you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I didn't.”
I waited.
“You were selected long before I knew your name.”
The room became silent.
“By whom?”
He turned.
“My former partner.”
“Is he alive?”
Viktor's expression tightened.
“No.”
“When did he die?”
“Three months ago.”
“Accident?”
He didn't answer.
I understood.
Someone had been removing people.
One by one.
I thought about the photograph.
My father's accident.
The man at the rehabilitation center.
The mysterious company records.
The message on my phone.
Then I noticed something.
The folder on Viktor's desk was slightly open.
A corner of paper protruded from it.
I recognized the symbol printed there.
It was the same symbol I had seen on the side of the black case in my father's study.
I pointed.
“That.”
Viktor followed my gaze.
“You know it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My father's house.”
He crossed the room.
“What did it look like?”
“Black case. Metal corners. Small silver emblem.”
“What did your father keep inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ever open it?”
“No.”
“Where is it now?”
I hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Viktor studied me.
“You do.”
I shook my head.
“I haven't seen it since the accident.”
“Think.”
I closed my eyes.
The house.
The study.
The bookshelf.
My father's desk.
The night before the accident, he had asked me to bring him a cup of tea.
I remembered something.
He had moved the black case from the desk to the floor.
I had asked why.
He had said it was in the way.
Nothing more.
Then another memory surfaced.
Two days later, after he was hospitalized, I had returned to the house alone.
The case was gone.
I had assumed my father had locked it away somewhere.
I opened my eyes.
“My father moved it.”
“When?”
“Before the accident.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Viktor stepped back.
“That matters.”
“I know.”
My phone vibrated again.
This time the message contained an image.
I opened it.
It was a photograph of my father's study.
The picture had been taken recently.
The black case was sitting on the floor beside the desk.
My heart stopped.
“That can't be.”
Viktor looked at the screen.
“Where is your father's house?”
I didn't answer.
The photograph had one detail that terrified me more than the case itself.
A shadow was visible in the doorway.
Someone had been standing there when the picture was taken.
And the person had known exactly where the camera was.
Viktor reached for his jacket.
“We're leaving.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I need to go there.”
“So do they.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You think this is bait.”
“I know it is.”
“Then why go?”
“Because if they want me to find the case, I want to know why.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
We left the building through the underground garage.
Viktor's driver waited beside a black sedan.
I noticed another car parked across the street.
Same model as the vehicle I had seen outside the rehabilitation center.
I pointed.
“That's them.”
Viktor looked.
The sedan pulled away.
His driver started the engine.
We followed.
For fifteen minutes, neither of us spoke.
The city passed outside the windows.
My hands were folded tightly in my lap.
I kept thinking about my father's warning.
If anyone asks about the accident, tell them you don't know anything.
I had thought he was protecting me from a painful memory.
Now I wondered whether he had been protecting me from something much larger.
The car stopped two streets from my father's house.
Viktor told the driver to wait.
We continued on foot.
The neighborhood looked exactly as I remembered it.
Quiet.
Ordinary.
Almost painfully familiar.
But the front door of my father's house was unlocked.
I stopped on the path.
“I always lock it.”
Viktor looked at me.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
The hallway smelled faintly of dust and old wood.
The clock on the wall was still ticking.
I walked toward the study.
The door was open.
The black case was exactly where it had appeared in the photograph.
On the floor.
Beside the desk.
I stared at it.
“You said you hadn't seen it since the accident,” Viktor whispered.
“I hadn't.”
I approached slowly.
There was no lock.
Only a narrow metal clasp.
I lifted it.
The case opened.
Inside were documents.
A passport.
A small encrypted drive.
Several photographs.
And one handwritten notebook.
I picked up the notebook.
The first page contained my father's handwriting.
Three words were written across the top.
ANNA KNOWS NOTHING.
I froze.
Viktor read over my shoulder.
Then I turned the page.
There was another sentence.
If she ever finds this, they have already found her.
My breathing became shallow.
I turned another page.
The handwriting continued.
The accident was not an accident.
I looked at Viktor.
He didn't speak.
I turned the page again.
There was a list of names.
Some were crossed out.
Some had dates beside them.
My father's name appeared near the bottom.
Beside it was yesterday's date.
My hands began to shake.
“Yesterday?”
Viktor looked at the page.
“That means someone has been updating this.”
A floorboard creaked behind us.
We both turned.
Nobody stood in the doorway.
Then my phone rang.
The screen displayed an unknown number.
I answered.
For three seconds, there was only silence.
Then a man's voice spoke in German.
“Finally.”
I couldn't move.
The voice continued.
“Now you know what your father was protecting.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Who are you?”
A quiet laugh.
“Ask Reinhardt why your photograph was in his presentation.”
The call ended.
I turned toward Viktor.
He was staring at the notebook.
“What did they mean?”
He looked up slowly.
“I think I know.”
“Then tell me.”
He took the notebook from my hands.
His eyes stopped on one particular page.
There was a photograph attached to it.
My photograph.
But beneath it was another image.
A photograph of Viktor himself.
Both pictures were connected by a handwritten line.
And beside the line were four words.
THE TWO SURVIVORS.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Two Photographs Connected Us to a Dead Man, and My Father’s Notebook Revealed the First Secret Viktor Had Never Told Anyone
The Hundred-Dollar Bill That Was Meant to Humiliate Me Revealed Something Far More Dangerous Than Arrogance
Part 4 of 12
