Karen leaned lightly against the edge of Drogo’s desk, her fingers drumming almost lazily against the polished wood.
Drogo’s fingers stilled on the page. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice threaded with suspicion.
Karen simply smiled as she let her eyes wander past him, across the office, before settling again on the neat rows of documents.
“I didn’t stutter, Dr. Vetter,” she said smoothly, her voice soft but firm, “when I said we are going to the conference together. Aren’t we?”
Drogo’s blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. He straightened slightly, an edge creeping into his posture. “No.”
Karen’s lips curved faintly. “Why?”
He blinked, unsure whether to argue or glare.
“That wasn’t a question,” she added, almost indulgently, letting the words hang like a challenge. “I’m telling you, Dr Vetter.”
Drogo’s fingers flexed against the edge of the desk. “In what frame of mind,” he began, voice stayed controlled, “do you assume I was planning to take you to the conference?”
Karen leaned back slightly, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes sparkled with calm amusement. “First of all, as your assistant, I cannot be left behind. And secondly… this is clearly because you would leave me on the side.”
Drogo’s brows knitted. “What do you mean by that?”
Karen’s smile widened. Slowly, she pulled out the chair opposite his, sat down, and crossed her legs, leaning back in perfect composure.
Her posture radiated a quiet victory. “Because, Doctor, you wouldn’t want to air out your dirty laundry before me. Which is understandable, of course.”
Drogo’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and let the words die in his throat.
Why was she suddenly talking in riddles?
Then Karen’s gaze sharpened. “Now,” she said with a voice suddenly darkened, “about those tattoos.”
Drogo stiffened, a subtle shift in his body, though he tried to maintain the mask of composure.
Karen tapped the edge of the paper. “You gave me so much work in decoding every line and aligning every pattern,” she said slowly. “Till I knew exactly what they mean.”
She exhaled. “They’re the insignia of Syndikat Schatten.”
“Does that ring a bell, Doc?” she crooked a brow.
His pupils constricted. His eyes widened, his ink-blue orbs suddenly slitted as disbelief sharpened his features. His hand twitched against the desk. He looked up as if seeing the office from a new angle, breath catching slightly in his throat.
He then shook his head, barely controlling the tension coiling in his shoulders. “I… I don’t understand what you just said, Ms. Benjamin.”
Karen leaned forward slightly, letting the sunlight catch the edge of her cheekbone. Her voice softened. “Oh, I know you don’t. That’s why I had to dig deep enough to remind you.”
Drogo swallowed hard. Suddenly the room felt smaller.
“Syndikat Schatten. One of the most powerful German gangs years back,” Karen stated.
Drogo’s breath hitched again.
Her tone went quieter, “Which, coincidentally, you are the last surviving member of that gang.”
The silence that followed was absolute — a recognition that the calm, precise man he believed himself to be was staring now at a truth that refused to fit neatly into his ordered world.
Drogo did not move at first.
For a few seconds, he simply stared at her, as if the words had been spoken in a language he almost recognized but refused to process.
“… What do you mean?” He wasn’t even sure what to ask.
Karen tilted her head. “You know exactly what I mean, Doc.”
“I do not.” His jaw tightened. “What are you trying to imply? What is Syndikat Schatten supposed to br?”
He repeated the name carefully, as if testing it for absurdity.
Karen let out a soft breath. She rose from the chair slowly, smoothing down the front of her blazer, and began to move around the desk to stand before him.
“You almost had me fooled in the beginning, Doc,” she smiled. “I was genuinely perplexed about you. The precise therapist with the immaculate records. The man who never removes his shirts, even in this summer fucking heat.” Her eyes flicked to him briefly. “I kept wondering what you were hiding under all that discipline of yours.”
She continued as she stepped closer to him, “Then I tried to run a basic background sweep. Nothing too invasive at first, but just to satisfy my curiosity.”
A dry chuckle. “But to my wonderful delight, you haf no digital footprint. No archived photos. No university forums. No stray conference pictures. It was as if you materialized into existence with credentials in hand.”
His expression remained stoic, but his shoulders had gone rigid.
“And best of all,” she added lightly, “you hacked my hacker. I have to give you credit there. That was impressive. Very few people even realize they are being traced, let alone reroute the signal and wipe the access point.”
“You are extremely skilled in your field, Doctor. I will admit that.”
His eyes sharpened. “You are making extraordinary claims without evidence, Ms. Benjamin.”
“Am I?”
She leaned against his desk.
“Sadly, you were careful, but not careful enough.”
Karen then lifted her phone.
The screen glowed between them, displaying an image of a man shirtless, tattoos sprawling across his torso in identical patterns.
She rotated the phone slightly so he could see clearly.
“Lukas Reinhardt,” she said quietly. “I know the man. Great guy, honestly… I had met him a few times when I was younger.” she shrugged.
For the first time, something real flickered across Drogo’s face — fear.
His composure fractured by a degree.
“Where…” his voice edged, “did you get that?”
Karen lowered the phone slowly. “I told you. I do my research. And I do it well—”
“What do you want!?”
“Now you’re asking the right question, Doc.” Karen swung her phone between her fingers.
She raised her good hand in surrender. “You and I all have our own secrets. We don’t need to go any further than if…”
Karen’s heels clicked as she stepped closer to his seat. “So… How about I go with you to the conference, and I pretend I’m unaware of any of this so far.”
“And who the fuck do you think you are to threaten me?”