Chapter 3: Confrontation at the Vienna Castle

At two in the morning, the fog in the Vienna suburbs hung like a cold, damp veil around the old highway toward the Hofburg. A black sedan ground over gravel, its body rumbling low, its headlights cutting through the thick fog to reveal the long-abandoned castle ahead.

Beyond the windows, the black forest loomed in and out of the mist, like countless silent faces peering in. Viktor von Hartsfield sat in the back seat, his fingers tapping slowly and evenly on his knee, his eyes studying the silent building through the glass.

Clara opened the car door with precise, soundless movements, as if carrying out a program written long ago. A strand of her hair was blown loose by the night wind, only to be pressed down at once by the brim of her uniform cap; her eyes held nothing but absolute obedience to orders.

"Sir, the castle interior has passed two security sweeps, and all electronic devices have been shielded." Clara's voice was cold, without a trace of extra feeling, like a current beneath ice.

Viktor nodded and stepped out. The night wind, sour with the smell of rotting leaves, struck his face and stung his sensitive nerves. He looked up at the castle's towering spire, its sharp tip stabbing at the sky and throwing a long shadow in the moonlight, while the long-suppressed anxiety in his heart did not fade.

The encrypted text message from the end of the last chapter still echoed in his mind, its provocation plain, and tonight's meeting was only the calm before the storm. He straightened his cuffs, the taut muscles shifting slightly under his old coat, and turned into the darkness.

The castle hall was so vast it suffocated, its candelabra long extinguished, only flashlight beams sliding across mottled walls and lighting dust floating in the air. Viktor stopped before a huge tapestry, the fabric depicting the Hartsfield family crest now faded and blackened, its edges frayed. Dust danced in the beams like fragments of time.

His fingers brushed the tapestry's edge without thinking, and its coarse texture quietly raised his perceptual sharpness, as if a faint current had pierced his fingertips and traveled up his spine to his whole body, making his capture of the surrounding atmosphere extremely keen.

Just as his consciousness was about to sink into the past, a violent battering came at the main door. The crash of breaking chains echoed through the empty hall, shattering the deathly silence, the echoes colliding among the great stone pillars. Viktor quickly withdrew his hand, resuming his expressionless mask, waiting for his prey to walk into the trap. His breathing stayed steady, his heartbeat deliberately held at an extremely low rate.

The door was roughly pushed open, and blinding flashlight beams shot straight into the hall, the light instantly swallowing the darkness. Councilor Elena von Steinberg stood in the doorway, wearing a beautifully tailored dark blue suit, a document tucked under her arm, her bearing as proud as if she stood at a judge's bench.

Behind her came two lawyers in suits, anxiously exchanging glances, and four fully armed police officers, muzzles lowered, the atmosphere instantly tense as a drawn bow.

"Mr. Viktor, I never expected you to be hiding in such a gloomy place to evade taxes." Elena's voice echoed through the hall with condescending mockery, her footsteps stirring faint echoes on the stone slabs. "Under EU financial regulation, I have reason to suspect illegal assets are hidden here. Cooperate with our work, or I will immediately initiate a compulsory seizure procedure."

Viktor did not respond at once. He stood by the tapestry, seemingly straightening his collar with studied indifference, while secretly observing the micro-expressions on Elena's face. Her eyes were sharp, but a barely perceptible tremor at the corner of one eye betrayed her--a sign of guilty conscience, and of greed unsatisfied.

Clara stood half a step behind him, hands folded, her cold gaze sweeping the intruders as if calculating how to sweep them out in the most dignified way, taking even their breathing into her assessment.

"A councilor gracing us with a visit in the dead of night--quite an honor." Viktor finally spoke, his tone so even it was impossible to read. "However, on the tax question, my accounting team is already in contact with Brussels. Have you mistaken your target? This is only my private library, not an exchange."

"A private library?" Elena sneered, stepping forward, her shoes striking the stone slabs crisply, each step like a declaration of sovereignty. "Stop pretending. We traced a huge sum transferred from Zurich, its destination unknown. If there is money-laundering evidence in the underground chamber, you know the consequences. I now order you all to leave; the police will seal the scene."

Her threat was heavy, an attempt to crush him with power. Viktor smiled coldly inwardly: this was exactly the rhythm he wanted. He said slowly: "Since you need time to sort things out, I suggest you first examine this tapestry in the center of the hall. As far as I know, it holds more historical value than the ledgers you care about, and it may help you calm down."

Elena, enraged by this eerie calm, pointed at the tapestry, her fingers trembling slightly with anger: "Are you stalling? Police, search! Find every suspicious document!"

As Elena drew closer, Viktor's fingers again lightly touched the tapestry's coarse warp and weft. In an instant, the memory-retracing gift activated, the real world around him blurred, and a scene from a hundred years ago took its place.

In the scene, Elena's young ancestor sat in candlelight, holding a forged land deed. Wax tears fell, scalding the expensive tablecloth. He said in a low, hoarse, sinister voice to the steward beside him: "Once this false evidence is submitted, the Hartsfield family can be charged with treason. Those gold mines and deeds will all belong to the Steinberg family."

The scene shifted to the cellar, where two loyal guardians were bound with ropes, cold chains cutting into their flesh, poisoned wine poured down their throats. Their screams were sealed off by the thick stone walls, while Elena's ancestor stood at the top of the stairs wearing a mask of false generosity, ordering in a low voice: "Clean it up, leave no trace. Tomorrow, I will announce the seizure in the name of the council."

That dark history was as clear as yesterday. Viktor clearly saw the forged seal on the deed, and a blood letter hidden in the tapestry's lining, recording the guardians' names and the time of their murder. The ink was not yet dry, the blood still bright red, shocking to see. He opened his eyes abruptly, his gaze colder than the late-autumn fog, his pupils suddenly contracting.

"Councilor Elena," Viktor's voice was low and immensely penetrating, as if echoing from beneath the earth, "you just said there was money-laundering evidence underground? I think you may have missed the point."

Elena frowned, interrupting impatiently: "Stop talking in riddles! The search warrant is already issued. You had better not play tricks."

"No, I am going to tell you a fact." Viktor stepped forward, facing the proud politician directly, speaking word by word, the space around them seeming to freeze with his words. "Your family is not the lawful owner of this castle. You seized its assets through murder and false evidence."

"One hundred and twenty years ago, your grandfather forged evidence of the Hartsfield family's collusion with the enemy, murdered two guards, and privately usurped the deed. That blood letter is still sewn into the back of this tapestry."

The hall fell instantly silent, the air itself turning viscous. The police officers' gazes shifted from wariness to astonishment, their guns suddenly seeming heavy in their hands. Elena's face turned iron-gray, her lips trembling violently, yet she forced herself to hold on to her last shred of dignity, her nails digging deep into her palms: "You... you are talking nonsense! This is slander! Viktor, are you mad? What evidence do you have?!"

"Evidence?" Viktor turned to Clara. "Clara, show the councilor that document."

Clara drew a yellowed file envelope from her briefcase, containing a freshly notarized legal document and a copy of a century-old trial record retrieved from the Vienna National Archives, clearly marking the disputed points of the deed's ownership. The rustle of paper sounded piercing in the silence.

"This is a claim of rights, preliminarily recognized by the International Court of Arbitration, based on newly discovered archival evidence." Clara's voice was stern, without any fluctuation. "Under EU property law, illegally seized assets can be traced and revoked. Your seizure order, founded on an error of title, is void from the start."

Elena looked at the document, her pride shattering completely, replaced by deep fear and anger. She realized she was not merely losing face; she might be touching an ancient secret capable of ending her political career. Cold sweat slid down her temples.

"You... you were prepared all along?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried to recover her authority, her fingers gripping the edge of the document until her knuckles whitened. "Even so, I cannot just let this go. Viktor, do not force me to use a higher level of power!"

"I advise you to take that back." Viktor spoke lightly, his tone carrying no threat at all, yet full of unquestionable pressure. "Here, truth speaks louder than power. If you leave now, we will not pursue you for trespassing."

"Otherwise, this blood letter and the chain of false evidence will appear on the front pages of every major media outlet tomorrow, and what will be damaged then will be not only the castle's assets, but your council seat."

Elena's lawyer whispered urgently in her ear, analyzing the risks, his trembling voice like the reading of a death sentence. Her face turned deathly pale, and finally, on her lawyer's strong advice, she gritted her teeth, put away the invalid seizure order, and rushed for the door.

"You will regret this, Viktor!" She left behind this hate-filled threat, retreating in disarray amid her police and lawyers, the hurried, disordered sound of her high heels vanishing into the night like scattered remnants of a routed army.

Viktor stood where he was, watching the closing door, his perceptual sharpness rising another notch, but his heart held no joy of victory, only a cold warning. He touched his fingertips; the blood on the tapestry seemed still to flow in his mind. This battle was only the first step, and the forces behind Elena were far more terrifying than she herself.

Elena walked out of the castle, the cold wind clearing her head somewhat, the fog dampening her collar. She dialed the encrypted number, her voice regaining some composure, though it could not hide the trembling underneath: "Madame Sophia, Elena. I have failed. The Hartsfield family holds something, about more than a hundred years ago... Please come at once. We need to reassess the situation."

On the other end of the line there was silence for a few seconds, and then a languid, mysterious woman's voice: "Of course, dear Elena. Since they have dug up old accounts, let us see whose history is worth writing."