With both men standing, squaring off against one another across the room, Reichard interrupted.
“Gentlemen, I think that is enough; you have both made your points. I agree with Herr Von Klitzing, there should be closure of this matter by the end of the year. It is, however, not Herr Ducker’s problem alone. We have all been negligent in this matter. We have all lost sight of our mission. I am also at fault. I was not born for the role that was forced upon me. Heinz Hofmann, on the other hand, was—this was his company, his idea. With him back in command, there will be no more mistakes. Now, please, Gentlemen, give your reports, and try to keep them objective.”
Von Klitzing returned to his seat feeling vindicated, whilst Ducker continued his report. Members of the board then took turns delivering similar excuses for neglecting company policy, before promising to comply with Reichard’s time scale. Von Klitzing listened carefully, taking notes where he thought it was necessary. Where, in his opinion, the board members had made poor excuses, he decided he would deal with them separately at a later date. His disappointment in his colleagues seemed to aggravate his skin, making the itching almost intolerable and leading to more vigorous scratching of his scalp and arms.
When all were finished, Reichard took to his feet for the last time.
“I suggest we meet again when Mr Jarvis has had some time to adjust. We will introduce Mr Jarvis and his wife to Munich, and with a little help from Dr Ecker, persuade him to join us here at the company that he founded.”
There was a smattering of laughter from the table. That, and a wave of relief that the subject had been changed.
“If there are no questions, I think we can adjourn.”
After a moment’s silence, the men began to rise and make their way back to the fire. The stewards returned, and the clink of glasses could again be heard against a background of conversation and subdued laughter.
Von Klitzing took a deep breath, inflating his chest fully. He stretched before taking the back of his neck in both hands and massaging it deeply. His psoriasis rumbled in the background, a physical indication of his emotional state. He had learnt to read it, and use it as a guide. For him, the night had just begun, and the idea did not enamour his body. Scanning the room quickly, he stood and made a beeline for Fredrik Petersen, ushering him to one side. Petersen was Von Klitzing’s most recent recovery. He had tracked him down five years earlier, in Sweden. As a baby, Petersen’s father had been hidden with a family in Denmark, the Tuxen family. They had, unfortunately, all been killed in a car crash. At least that is what the official documentation had said. Little Fredrik was not their only child, and for some reason, had not been in the car. The efficient Danish social system whisked him away to new adoptive parents in Aalborg, North Jutland’s biggest city and the fourth biggest in Denmark, where he was never traced. There, he became Fredrik Petersen and was to remain unaware that he had been adopted, right up to his death from pancreatic cancer aged only fifty-six. His life had been short but full. After marrying at the age of eighteen, he had become a lawyer, and together with his wife, Elke, had two children. A daughter called Alaine and a son, Fredrik Junior. Fredrik Junior had followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming a lawyer and joining his father’s practice. The practice grew, opening offices across Scandinavia, which sent Fredrik Junior to Sweden. There, he met and married a beautiful young lawyer named Britt. Von Klitzing became aware of him when he was hired to represent a chemical company Meyer-Hofmann owned in Sweden. Fredrik Senior would never fulfil his intended destiny. That destiny now waited for his son, a destiny that had begun with a visit from Herman Reichard, CEO of Meyer-Hofmann, with a job offer.
Von Klitzing had watched Petersen’s transformation with interest. He was the first second-generation candidate for the recovery process, and Von Klitzing had been sceptical. When Petersen had arrived in Munich, he was a very different man, mild-mannered, quiet, and he doted over his wife. That in itself was no surprise; she was the kind of woman any man would dote over: beautiful, sexy, and intelligent. But it was not only his wife he treated well; he treated all women with the greatest respect. Holding open doors, giving up his seat, standing when they entered the room. He was charming, warm, and very un-lawyer like. He started to change after his very first session with Dr. Ecker. He became distant and reserved, then loud and aggressive. His moods would swing wildly from one extreme to another, causing those closest to him great consternation. But by the end of his treatment, he had settled down and become the man he was today, a complete and utter bastard. Just like his grandfather.
Von Klitzing spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with the other men in the room, especially Reichard. It was a matter of damage control, and he didn’t need everybody knowing and giving an opinion, or worse, an order. He needed to sort it out quickly, and with the least possible disruption to business.
“We have her,” he said.
“Thank God!” replied Petersen. “Where is she?”
“That is not important; what is important is how much she knows, and what she has done with the information she has.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Petersen. “What can I do?”
“Nothing, just tell me what to do with her when I’m finished.” Von Klitzing was not expecting the answer nor its animosity.
“Do with her? Are you kidding? Just get rid of her!” Petersen spat out.
6
The Odeonsplatz got its name from the concert hall and ballrooms built by King Ludwig the First in 1825, the Odeon’s. Built in the classical style of Leo Von Klenze, the building was famous for its great acoustics. The neighbouring Leutenberg Palace, built to house the stepson of Napoleon, had the same ostentatious façade, and the buildings soon spawned a rash of similar developments, turning the newly named Odeonsplatz into Munich cultural centre. That was to change again after the second world war. Due to Munich’s strategic value, the home of companies like BMW and Dornier, the city was the target of intense bombardment. The destruction that it reaped was extreme, leaving only the two buildings’ façades and a few columns standing when the war was over. The reconstruction led to the Odeon being rebuilt, but this time, to house the Ministry of the Interior, whilst the Leutenberg Palace was rebuilt to house the Ministry of Finance. At that time, the allies were making themselves busy tracking down the Third Reich’s ill-gotten gains, so it would not have been prudent for Meyer-Hofmann to be seen to have any major assets during that period. But their close connection with the emerging German government allowed them to channel large sums of money into the country’s reconstruction, and especially the two government buildings on Odeonsplatz. As thanks for this support, Meyer-Hofmann was able to acquire a large plot of land directly opposite the Odeon’s. It ran from the corner of Brienner Street to Gallery Street. They immediately set to work on the prestige project, building shops and offices around small gardens known as Hofgarden, reserving only a corner of the property on Gallery Street for their use, which later became their private club. Its positioning was perfect—being so close to local government, Meyer-Hofmann was able to keep more than a passing interest in German politics, and those of Bavaria.
Thanks to their special relationship with the Bavarian Government, there was little problem with planning permission. The plans received only a cursory look from town planners before being passed, which allowed Meyer-Hofmann to be imaginative with their designs. The exterior of the buildings was classical, complementing the grandeur of the Odeonsplatz and the Palace. Where the real innovation had been used was below ground. Like many new German buildings, the entire structure was built on concrete cellars. What the plans did not show, was that these cellars were two storeys deep. The lower floor appeared nowhere on the official plans and covered both buildings and gardens. Had a planner taken time to visit the site during construction, he may well have questioned the depth of the foundations. But at that time, there was building taking place all over the city, and the last place to suspect violations was directly opposite Government buildings.