James's forehead creased as he read the newest report from Germany.
"What is this!" he shouted at the man who had brought him the paper.
James snatched it out of his hand and shook it angrily.
"One paper. Only one?" he demanded, gesturing wildly with the sheet. He looked down again and read aloud: "New pension reform. New grenades for the Wehrmacht. Some old fart died... What the hell? What about the rest? What about Jaeger, what about Heydrich, what about the others?"
"Sir, I am sorry. This is all our informants could gather. Jaeger and his group have been under the radar for the last three weeks. Our agents suddenly lost track of them somewhere in that timeframe," the man said, bowing slightly as if bracing for a reprimand.
"They lost them? How can one of the most influential figures in the Wehrmacht suddenly vanish?!" James shouted, tearing the paper apart. "Do it again!"
"But sir, I..." the man stammered.
"I said do it again!" James roared, gesturing for him to leave the office.
Just what are you planning, Paul? James thought, sinking back into his leather chair and grabbing the newspaper lying somewhere on the thick desk.
The headline read: Theodore Carry — Mogul dead at 61.
"My poor father. He seemed to have many health problems. It got increasingly worse in the last two years. How weird," James muttered, laughing loudly.
Now that I think about it... he suddenly thought as he stood up and opened his office door.
"Erik, come here!" James called.
A few moments later, a well dressed man entered the office.
"Good day, sir," he said.
"Good day, Erik," James replied, gesturing for him to sit.
"Thank you," Erik said, taking the seat.
"So, Erik, have you succeeded with the personal request I gave you?" James asked, smiling brightly.
Erik's expression shifted for what felt like a millisecond, disgust, pure disdain, before snapping back to neutral."I have. The will was swapped. Your family's lawyer should proclaim it at the funeral..."
"Great, great. Good job, Erik. You are a man one can trust," James said, his mood overly enthusiastic.
"There is something else I have to report, sir..." Erik began.
"Something else concerning the private matter?" James asked, sitting down again.
"No. The German spy you asked us to track. Gimpel..." Erik said. "He has deviated from his normal routine. It could be something random..."
"I do not believe in coincidences, Erik. I want a full report on this matter later in the evening," James said, his tone snapping back to disciplined and cold.
Erik sighed slightly and left the office with his shoulders slumped.
James left soon after, a black limousine picking him up. He whispered something to the driver, who immediately turned the car, speeding through the busy streets of New York.
Crossing the famous Brooklyn Bridge, James's gaze drifted toward the large harbor in the distance. His eyes were deep with thought.
After another half hour, the limousine stopped in front of a gate.
The metal sign read: Green-Wood Cemetery.
James exited the car, his tall driver following him closely. Both men wore pure black suits. James even put on sunglasses, hiding his eyes from the intense sun.
The two walked silently through the graveyard until they reached a large group of people, many already seated.
James moved toward them, receiving several glances, most of them unfriendly. Many guests turned to see what the sudden commotion was about.
James ignored all of his so-called relatives and chose a seat at the very back. His driver remained standing behind him while James crossed his legs, leaning back into the wooden chair.
After a few minutes, a man stepped forward. A priest leading the funeral.
"Thank you for coming today, to bid farewell to this poor soul, to God's child..." the priest began.
James did not listen to a single word. His attention was fixed on something else. A man sitting in the middle of the group.
The man turned slightly, feeling the intense gaze on him, but when he recognized who was staring, he quickly looked away again.
James sighed and leaned back in his chair, enduring the long speeches.
All pure nonsense, he thought.Empty phrases meant to comfort themselves rather than those truly hurt.
When the final speaker finished, the coffin was lowered into the ground and three men stood up from the first row.
My brothers, James thought, amused.
He remained seated, earning several strange looks, though no one seemed brave enough to say anything.
The brothers picked up the shovels and threw the first patches of dirt into the grave, slowly but steadily filling it. Some guests helped until the hole was completely covered. The shovels were laid aside.
Most guests were already leaving, emptying the seats row by row. Only a few core family members and James's brothers stayed behind, the latter still talking to the priest.
James rose and walked toward the man who stood out among all the others. He was no family member. He was the man James had been watching the entire funeral. The family lawyer.
"Reginald," James called.
"Oh, Mister Carry," Reginald answered, turning toward him. "I am sorry for your loss."
"Yes, yes, thank you," James replied, impatiently.
"Reginald, you know what?" James asked.
"What?" Reginald replied.
"Let's cut the nonsense," James said, stepping closer. "Where is the will?"
"I... I have it with me, but I assumed we could hold a family meeting and go through it together," he murmured, lowering his head.
"What is this if not a family meeting? Tell us now," James said, grabbing the lawyer's chin and forcing his head back up.
Before Reginald could answer, a hand fell on James's shoulder.
"James, what are you doing?" his brother Thomas asked, anger burning in his eyes.
"What does it look like? I am talking to our family lawyer. I am still part of this family, am I not?" James asked provocatively.
Thomas did not answer. He only shook his head.
"Go on, Reginald. Let's wipe that smile off his face," Thomas said.
Reginald sighed, his hands trembling slightly as he took out an envelope. He broke the Carry family seal, deliberately, under the eager gaze of everyone around.
"I, Theodore Wilhelm Carry, declare that upon my passing, my company, Carry Railroads, and all its assets, shall go to my son James Carry."
Everyone's eyes widened, but no one dared interrupt. Whether out of shock or respect was unclear.
"Carry Machinery and all its assets, I leave to my son James Carry."
"Carry Hotels and all its assets, I leave in their entirety to James Carry."
"..."
"All my property and real estate, including the family mansion, I leave in full to James Carry."
Silence hung heavy in the air, until it shattered with a shout.
"You son of a bitch! What have you done?!" Thomas roared, lunging at his brother.
Before he could reach James, a large hand clamped around his throat. It was James's driver.
"Let... me... go," Thomas choked, his face reddening.
The driver glanced at James, who gave a small nod.
James snatched the will from Reginald before the lawyer could even react.
"Seems our old man had a favorite child," James said, mocking them. Their faces twisted with disgust, their fists clenched, yet still too weak to strike.
Either you strike now or never. Because tomorrow I will be the richest man on the entire East Coast. Tomorrow I will be invincible, James thought, turning his back on them and walking away in triumph.
Yet he gave no order to return home, no command to be driven back to his office. Instead, James's car glided slowly across the docks of the New York harbour, drawn by the sudden call of an old friend.
He stepped out of the vehicle and straightened his suit. In the glow of the headlights, a lone silhouette awaited him.
He moved closer, studying the figure with a careful gaze.
"You asked for me, Klausemann?" James asked.
"Yes. We have a problem," Klausemann answered, stepping out of the blinding light and revealing himself completely. He adjusted his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion before continuing. "Someone has been poking around."
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