Inside the Baroque banquet hall of Charlottenburg Palace, crystal chandeliers cast a constellation of light across the gilded reliefs. Outside, the evening air carried the resinous scent of freshly trimmed yew hedges, swaying gently in the spring breeze.
At the center table, Erich Klich, General Manager of UFA, sat poised in his black tuxedo, his fingers resting against the slender stem of a Riesling glass. His pale eyes reflected the flicker of candlelight.
"Mr. Cassidy," Klich began, tapping his glass lightly against the crystal coaster—a signal for the waiters to withdraw behind the screens. "Do you know why we chose to host you here, in the Elector's summer palace?"
His gaze swept to the wall where a portrait of Queen Sophie Charlotte of Prussia hung in stately serenity. Beneath it, on a silver pedestal, stood a polished 35mm film projector—its brass lens gleaming like a relic of modern worship.
Shane answered in careful German, his accent deliberate but steady. "Perhaps because your company recently acquired the Charlottenburg Film Studio?"
Klich's thin smile widened. "Berlin needs clear-headed men like you." He sliced a piece of salmon with measured precision. "But the real reason…"
The carved oak doors opened silently. A silver trolley rolled in, bearing an ice bucket with a 1921 Château Margaux, perfectly chilled.
Klich set down his knife and folded his hands, fingertips forming a triangle. "We've followed Pioneer Optics' progress closely. The three-colour band tests for Hell's Angels—very impressive indeed."
He paused, watching the deep red swirl in his glass. "UFA is prepared to offer the full resources of Charlottenburg Studios. In return, we seek a lasting partnership with your firm."
Shane gently rotated his own glass, letting the wine catch the light. "Technology requires patience, Mr. Klich," he said evenly. His eyes turned toward Von Stauss, UFA's chairman. "But we can finalize the distribution agreement for The Circus today."
Klich's fingers drummed once on the table before his professional smile returned. "Of course. UFA is honoured to represent Chaplin's latest work. The success of The Gold Rush in Germany remains an industry standard."
Von Stauss leaned forward, his deep voice cutting through the clatter of silverware. "Speaking of the box office, Mr. Cassidy—we admire your pre-sale system. Yet the Mark is volatile." He unfolded a copy of the Berliner Börsen-Zeitung. "The dollar fell seven percent against it just last week."
Shane's Patek Philippe gleamed under the candlelight as he replied calmly, "According to Filmtechnik's latest report, if the Mark's rate continues to fluctuate, we can convert thirty-five percent of the pre-sale funds into Swiss francs. That should safeguard the distribution costs across Central Europe."
A moment's silence followed. Klich and Stauss exchanged a quick glance. The grandfather clock in the corner struck nine, each chime echoing beneath the domed ceiling. Waiters reappeared, serving foie gras with black truffles, briefly softening the tension.
The chandelier's light danced across the silver forks. Shane noticed Klich's fingers absentmindedly brushing the embroidered UFA crest on his napkin—a small, nervous tic.
After dinner, Klich escorted Shane through the palace's marble foyer. The Berlin skyline shimmered in the distance under a cool wind.
"Mr. Cassidy," Klich said softly, extending his hand, "may this partnership bring The Circus the acclaim it deserves in Germany."
Shane returned the handshake with a faint smile. "I trust in UFA's strength—and its reach."
The next morning, Shane and WilliamCatterson arrived at UFA headquarters. The Bauhaus-style façade glistened in the sunlight, its symmetry embodying the efficiency of the German modern age. The vast UFA logo atop the building shone like a commandment to progress.
A bespectacled assistant greeted them in the lobby, holding a sheaf of documents. "Mr. Cassidy, the General Manager awaits you in the conference room. We've prepared several location proposals for Pioneer Optics' Berlin office."
They walked through a long, muted corridor lined with posters—Metropolis, Die Nibelungen, The Blue Angel—each framed as if consecrated relics of a golden cinematic era.
Klich stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, Berlin sprawling beneath him like a living map. He turned, his expression crisp, professional. "Mr. Cassidy, welcome. Let's begin."
Catterson unfolded a map upon the polished conference table. Shane pointed to a marked area. "This site, near Potsdamer Platz—accessible, well-connected. It'll serve as a temporary headquarters."
Klich leaned closer, nodding. "A practical choice. However," he added with deliberate weight, "regarding technical cooperation—we hope UFA will receive first consideration for any joint projects."
Shane withdrew a document from his inner pocket. "These are The Circus pre-sale figures. Austria and Switzerland show strong response. As for technical cooperation—perhaps a later discussion."
Klich narrowed his eyes briefly before accepting the papers. "Naturally. Business must proceed step by step."
Sunlight cut across the room, leaving half his face in shadow. His fingers tightened slightly before relaxing again. Outside, a tram clanged down Friedrichstraße, the sound faint but sharp.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Klich's assistant entered and whispered discreetly in his ear. For a moment, Klich's expression flickered, then returned to neutrality.
"Inform Mr. Stauss we'll report once this meeting concludes," Klich said smoothly, before turning back to Shane. "Oh—and Mr. Cassidy, a word of advice. Berlin's streets are… unsettled of late. I suggest caution when travelling about."
The room fell still. Shane understood the subtext—both warning and test—but his voice remained steady. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Klich. We'll be prudent."
"Good," Klich murmured, adjusting his cufflinks. "Now, about that cooperation priority—"
"We'll give it serious thought," Shane interjected, rising to his feet. He adjusted his tie with composed precision. "But for today, I believe we've accomplished enough. Catterson will handle the location paperwork."
Klich's smile never wavered. "As you wish, Mr. Cassidy."
...
Outside, the early summer sun beat down on Königsallee. Shane paused on the marble steps, scanning the street through his reflection in the glass doors. A black Mercedes idled at the far corner, its windows opaque.
"Sir?" Catterson approached, carrying the signed documents.
"Call a taxi," Shane said quietly. "Not one of theirs."
As the taxi rattled through the crowded streets, Berlin unfurled around them—its contrasts raw and unvarnished. Unemployed men queued at soup kitchens; factory chimneys belched smoke over church spires. Across the road, well-dressed patrons laughed in cafés, oblivious to the hunger only blocks away.
A crash rang out ahead—glass shattering against tram rails. A group of striking workers hurled empty bottles, their anger glittering like sparks beneath the noon sun. The tram screeched to a halt.
Behind the hotel's revolving glass doors, laughter died mid-sentence. A doorman barred vagrants seeking refuge from the street. A woman in a tattered fur coat stood at the corner, rouge fading, one heel broken—but still smiling mechanically at passersby.
Shane's fingertips tapped rhythmically against his knee. Beneath the grandeur and the gold, this city was cracking. Every man was fighting to survive—whether in the streets or in the boardrooms.
His watch gave a soft click. Time was moving forward, relentless and indifferent. In this fragile balance between commerce and chaos, one wrong step could shatter everything.
Shane leaned back, his reflection merging with the blurred city beyond the window. "Berlin," he murmured under his breath, "is a reel spinning too fast."