Chapter 3: Undercurrents in Vienna

The twilight over Vienna carried a stale, damp weight. Lorenz stood in the shadows of the old town along the banks of the Inn River, his fingertips lightly tracing the surface of the lead box containing the fossil fragments. The metal was ice-cold, offering no comfort, for his [Skill Analysis] was running silently. A faint blue glow shimmered at the edges of his vision; the scattered bone cross-sections were not static, dead objects, but were reassembling in his mind into a dynamic structural diagram. Every crack corresponded to the pressure trajectories of crustal movements from millions of years ago. He sensed the oppressive aura emanating from the dark gray stone building ahead—the old family residence of the Elenas, located in the city center. Deep within its foundation lay a geological fault line intimately connected to the prehistoric ecosystem. The streetlamps cast a dim, yellowish glow, stretching his shadow long across the pavement. In the distance, the bells of St. Stephen’s Cathedral struck nine, the rhythm steady and cold, like a countdown. He did not knock immediately. Instead, he stood under the portico, letting the cold wind slip through the gaps in his coat. Light leaked from within through the slats of the louvered shutters, carving fine gold specks across the floor tiles. He knew Elena was sitting behind that carved writing desk, waiting with the eyes of one scrutinizing prey. This waiting was not out of politeness, but from an instinctive vigilance born of class divide. For Lorenz, this was not merely a visit; it was a game of struggle over the ownership of knowledge. He took a deep breath. The air was thick with the mixed scent of aged cigars and expensive coffee—the olfactory signature of the privileged class. He raised his hand and knocked on the heavy oak door.

As Elena rose, the silk of her skirt rustled with a faint whisper. She did not speak at once, but walked to the window, watching the thinning crowd on the street below. The study was dimly lit; only a single bronze desk lamp was on, its halo confined to the desk buried under documents. “Doctor Lorenz,” her voice was piercing, like a glacier in the Alps. “You are seven minutes past our appointed time. In this circle, such lateness usually implies an excuse or a conspiracy.”

Lorenz ignored the query about the time and placed the lead box directly on the table. “I wasn’t late. I was organizing your arrogance on the way over.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop. “Arrogance? On my family’s property, you certainly have the standing to call it that. But in my presence, you would do well to learn humility. This item’s origin is suspicious. Unauthorized private excavation, even on private land, violates cultural heritage laws. You are not bringing me fossils, you are bringing me trouble.”

“It is the skeleton of a Late Jurassic creature,” Lorenz said, opening the lead box. The fragments gleamed with a bone-white sheen under the light. “It was not illegally dug up, but abnormally preserved by deep geological compression. What you should question is not its origin, but its integrity.”

Elena let out a cold laugh and retrieved a document from a drawer. “Our family legal team has already reviewed the relevant clauses. According to the *Vienna Cultural Assets Protection Act* and our agreement with the industry association, any unidentified paleontological specimen must not leave this residence before undergoing evaluation presided over by Marcus von Berg. Your current behavior constitutes a potential breach of contract.”

Lorenz stared at the fragments, the analytical diagram in his mind flashing again. He saw the microscopic crystal structures within the bones—frozen fingerprints of time, more honest than any appraisal report. “Contracts protect assets, not truth,” he said slowly. “Ms. Elena, you only see the legal risks, but you overlook the fault line in ecological history. The cavity structure of this skull implies a massive difference between the atmospheric composition of that era and today. Its value far exceeds those few casks of moldy wine your family owns.”

A flicker of instability crossed Elena’s eyes, though it was quickly smothered by coldness. “Value must be priced by the market, not determined by the esoteric analysis of a down-on-his-luck scholar. Put the things away. Come back tomorrow with your report to see Mr. Marcus. Until then, the cooperation is suspended.”

Just then, the door to the study burst open. A colder presence swept into the room as Marcus von Berg walked in. He wore a sharply tailored dark gray suit, his tie knotted with meticulous precision, holding a document stamped with a bank seal. His gaze bypassed Lorenz entirely, sweeping directly across the fossil fragments on the table. His brow was furrowed tight.

“Elena, Herr Lorenz,” Marcus’s tone was devoid of any emotion, akin to reading a balance sheet. “I am interrupting your private time to correct a serious financial error. According to our bank’s internal risk control model, the monetization cycle for this type of unverified prehistoric specimen is extremely long and the risk is high. I advise you to immediately terminate this cooperation and transfer it to cold storage. This is for the reputation of the entire family, and for compliance with EU financial order.”

Elena stood up, locking eyes with Marcus. “Mr. Marcus, as the heir to the family, my decisions do not require pre-approval by the bank. Moreover, what you call ‘risk’ is, in my view, a potential opportunity. You do not understand paleontological ecology; you only understand interest rates.”

Marcus let out a contemptuous snort and tossed the document onto the desk. “I don’t understand? The only thing I understand is the flow of capital. This appraisal report proves that the specimen’s internal structure belongs to common geological sedimentary deposits and lacks scarcity. This is the joint conclusion of three established laboratories. You want to use something like this to challenge the consensus of the entire industry association?”

Lorenz did not look at the report; instead, he fixed his gaze on the bones once more. Analysis diagrams were projected onto his retina, displaying red warning lines that pointed to several data contradictions within the report. When he spoke, his voice was calm to the point of being cold. “Mr. Marcus, your report contains a fatal logical loophole. The laboratory numbers you cited do not exist in the corresponding sampling records of the European Union cultural relic registration system. Moreover, the Carbon-14 decay curve you annotated is completely inconsistent with the timespan of the Jurassic geological layer. You are using medieval data to measure Cretaceous life.”

Marcus’s face changed abruptly, cracks appearing in his previously composed demeanor. He stepped forward, raising his voice. “How dare you fabricate data? This is an insult to the entire order of the industry! Do you know what legal consequences face scientific evidence fabrication under the EU system? I will immediately sue you and freeze all your academic funds!”

Lorenz did not retreat but stepped closer, pointing to a node in the analysis diagram. “I did not fabricate; I analyzed. Look here. The growth patterns of the bone crystals indicate that this is a juvenile individual, and the cause of death was acute hypoxia. This characteristic is extremely rare in prehistoric ecology, as the oxygen concentration at that time was insufficient to support such a large individual dying rapidly. This is something that cannot be explained by conventional sedimentology. The reason your report appears ‘reasonable’ is because you only looked at the surface and ignored the microscopic level. Your arrogance, Mr. Marcus, is more deadly than Elena’s.”

The study fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fireplace. Elena looked at Marcus, the coldness in her eyes shifting into scrutiny. She realized that, just as Lorenz had said, this banker possessed a significant blind spot in scientific knowledge. And Lorenz, this seemingly destitute man, held in his hands not just fossils, but a powerful weapon to break the stalemate.

“Mr. Marcus,” Elena finally spoke, her voice calm yet firm, “I withdraw my previous suspension order. Dr. Lorenz’s analysis is currently the only one he can provide. As for your report, I suggest you re-verify it. My decision for the family remains my own.”

Marcus stared at Lorenz, the corner of his mouth curving into a dangerous smirk. He did not argue further but turned and walked toward the door. Before stepping over the threshold, he paused, pulled a silver coin from his pocket, and lightly tossed it onto the desk. The coin rolled and finally stopped next to the fossil fragment. It was a silver coin engraved with an ancient family crest, its edges worn but the center clear.

“Remember, Herr Loenztz,” Marcus’s voice came from outside the door, carrying a metallic chill, “In Europe, contracts last longer than promises. But some contracts are written in blood. The next time we meet, I do not hope to see the same mistakes again.”

With the sound of the great doors closing, silence returned to the study. Lorenz bent down, his fingertips touching the silver coin. [Skill Analysis] activated instantly, a gray halo enveloping the coin. What he saw was not metal, but a compressed historical memory: the sound of hammer strikes during minting, the wear from circulation, and the body heat of the last holder clenching it in anxiety. This coin was not an ordinary collectible; it was a token of an ancient alliance between Marcus’s family and another hidden force. Lorenz looked up toward the window. The black bird had reappeared atop the spire, its call harsh and mournful. He realized that the undercurrents in Vienna tonight were far more than a dispute in paleontology; they were a hidden game involving century-old family grievances. Elena sat back down in her chair in silence, her gaze falling on the silver coin, the coldness in her eyes growing deeper. She knew that from that moment on, she had no retreat.