Lisa felt her mood lighten. She had been desperately worried that she had done something wrong at work and that they wanted to get rid of her. It now appeared that everyone has a price, including her employer. Michael’s expression softened as he saw his wife relax.
“It came this morning,” he said, gesturing to the letter. “I’ve spent the whole day wondering what to do. Are you sure you are okay with this?”
“I’m a bit pissed off that my boss didn’t put up more of a fight for me, but fuck them. If you are on a quarter of a million, I don’t have to work!”
She smiled and winked at him, her hair catching the sun’s light through the window, making his heart skip.
How did I get so lucky? he asked himself, admiring his wife. She is prepared to change her job for me, after all her hard work. One thing is certain: I could not be more in love with this woman.
5
Even the late autumn sleet showers could not diminish the inherent beauty of the city. Munich’s frozen streets glistened in a demonstrative show of its power and potential. Its buildings’ noble architecture was nowhere better illustrated than in the Odeonsplatz, home to the Bavarian Government’s Ministry of the Interior and just a short walk from the city’s University. The Odeonsplatz sits at the centre of a small and exclusive district, which is home to many foreign Consulates, as well as theatres, high-end shops, and bars. It was not by coincidence that Meyer-Hofmann had premises there, and not the usual mundane offices but a private club, where management could relax and entertain the company’s guests and shareholders. Set just off the Odeonsplatz, on Gallery Street, a bronze plaque was all that announced the club’s existence. Its polished black door, led to a sumptuous interior of lavish wallpaper, and hallways covered with deep dead pile carpeting. Modelled on an English Gentlemen’s Club, no expense had been spared. The antique furniture transported its guests back to the nineteenth century, where just being a member of such a club bestowed prestige and recognition. Meyer-Hofmann’s guests could indulge themselves in a level of service lost in the modern, hectic world. The experience was designed to be one that left them feeling good about themselves, and, of course, about the Company. It was in the third-floor stateroom that the board of Meyer-Hofmann assembled.
A long oak table dominated the room, set for twelve; a leather-bound folder marked each place, together with a gold pen and a letter opener. A cut glass tumbler and wine chalice gave the impression that the table had been set for dinner, and the deep red glow of Châteauneuf-du-Pape decanted in the middle of the table. The men gathered around a large open fire in the centre of the room, as stewards in white jackets fussed about them, serving single malt whisky and cigars. The fire crackled and spat around beech wood logs, pulsing red and orange tones onto the men’s faces, lending colour to their mostly pale complexions. All but one were in their late sixties or early seventies, but the conversation was not of grandchildren and family gatherings. They eagerly exchanged business news, with talk of corporate strategies and takeover plans. The discussion was of the Company’s holdings, current share prices, and business performance. Each man was an expert in his field, each with an identical agenda at heart: the well-being of Meyer-Hofmann AG.
Without the need for instruction, the stewards withdrew, and the ten men took their seats. Sitting opposite one another, the two end seats at the table remained unoccupied. A tall, distinguished man took his place at the middle of the table and held up his whisky glass, motioning for the others to follow. He was the tallest in the room, but it was his posture that demanded respect. Standing to attention, his neatly cut grey hair reflected the firelight as he started the meeting.
“Heil Hitler!” he said the words quietly. The men responded in unison.
“Heil Hitler.”
There was a brief moment of discussion before all but the toastmaster took their seats, and the room returned to silence. Herman Reichard was CEO of Meyer-Hofmann, and after taking a moment to correct the lapel of his grey tailored suit, he looked up and slowly made eye contact with each and every member of his board. Reichard was a born leader, and he knew that he had their complete respect.
“Gentlemen, welcome. I am sure you all know why we are here. I have some good news for you.” He smiled. “Herr Von Klitzing has acquired the whereabouts of one of our missing members. A direct descendent of Heinz Hofmann will be arriving here tomorrow morning for an interview.”
Reichard nodded his head in the direction of the man opposite him. The man who had been in the Leeds bar stood up briefly to receive the acknowledgment of his achievement, before bowing his head slightly and returning to his seat.
“I know many of you had misgivings about the effectiveness of the recollection process on a second-generation candidate, but Fredrik has shown us there is nothing to be worried about.”
This time, Reichard motioned towards the younger man at the end of the table. He too stood and took a small bow before Reichard continued.
“Heinz Hofmann was the co-founder of Meyer-Hofmann; we all knew and respected him. It was his vision that gave birth to this company, and he is essential to the future success of the mission. I thank God that he can finally take his rightful place at the helm of Meyer-Hofmann. Dr Ecker, would you like to say a few words?”
Ecker, who had been sitting opposite Fredrik at the end of the table, now took to his feet. He was a gaunt-looking man wearing a poorly fitted suit that hung from his small frame without shape or definition. He had a chronic heavy cough, and despite a vegan diet, his general health had always been a problem. But despite his physical ailing, he was a proud man, and he too stood tall and straight. His manner could easily have been mistaken for arrogance outside this room, but it was nothing other than a complete and utter belief in his ability and the magnitude of his discovery, the recollection process. Hours spent behind a microscope rigorously testing and questioning his findings had only served to confirm them, revealing new and exciting possibilities for the future. He was a brilliant molecular biologist, as his father before him had been, and no man had ever been as intimately connected to his father as he was.
Professor Armin Furtner began their work in the late 1930s, as one of the Third Reich’s many research scientists. He took advantage of the Nazis’ deep pockets to fund his research into the human genome. It was not until 1940, when he discovered the structure of DNA, that the Nazis took any real interest in him. Keen to promote the German propaganda machine, Furtner was invited to Berlin, where he would present his findings in the Technical University’s theatre. The Party’s elite were all there; even Hitler should have attended. Hitler was not amongst the guests, but judging by the number of high-ranking uniforms in the audience, anyone attending the presentation could have gotten the impression that the German Army had taken the day off. Standing on the small stage in the middle of the auditorium, he looked up at the steep semicircle of chairs, doing his best not to be intimidated. Hitler’s commanders in chief sat on the front row, weighed down by the countless medals that adorned their tunics. Behind them sat the gentlemen of the press, followed by VIPs and, finally, Party members. The speech had begun much as any other as Furtner greeted the dignitaries and honoured guests. It was his statement about discovering the code of life that got everyone’s attention. He had decided to try to make a splash from the start, and his speech aimed to get their attention as soon as possible. He saw this speech as an opportunity to get his research funded and start clinical tests. In short, this speech could change his life. He spoke with fervour.