The next morning, Leila walked back into the Grossman Center like she owned the place. She was wearing a navy suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, and the borrowed Chanel bag gave her a look of money and class—two things she was always happy to fake. Inside the bag, she carried the small, leather-bound notebook and a Montblanc pen, feeling like they were about to help her write her way into something big.
She breezed past the room with the heraldic plaque—her family crest, still staring back at her like a ghost of bad news—and made her way to the receptionist. The brunette behind the desk glanced up, eyebrows rising, as if she could smell the trouble Leila had brought with her.
“Hi, I’m Leila Weinrich. I’m here to see Mr. Grossman,” she said, flashing a smile that carried all the confidence of someone who had nothing to lose.
The receptionist’s eyebrows hitched higher. “Do you have an appointment?”
Leila leaned against the desk, letting her eyes lock with the brunette’s. “No,” she said, smiling just a little too sweetly, “but I’m sure Mr. Grossman would want to see me.”
There was a brief hesitation. The kind that happens right before someone decides whether you’re about to waste their time or make their day more interesting. The receptionist picked up the phone, dialed, said a few words, and hung up. “Follow me,” she said, her voice clipped, like she hadn’t quite figured Leila out yet.
Leila followed her down the same dim corridor as before, only now she noticed the details she’d missed—security cameras lurking in every corner, their mechanical eyes watching her every move. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the kind of cheap woody air freshener that couldn’t hide the fact someone was breaking a few laws about indoor smoking.
They stopped in front of an unremarkable wooden door. The receptionist knocked, pushed it open, and gestured for Leila to go inside. This was it. The hyena’s den.
The office was big, too big for the man sitting behind the desk. The walls were covered in modern art that tried too hard to look sinister, and the desk itself was a slab of yew big enough to build a small boat. Behind it sat Mikhail Grossman, his pinstripe suit as sharp as the bald patch peeking through his slicked-back hair.
“Ms. Leila Weinrich, I presume?” Grossman said, his voice smooth, but not the type you trust. He gestured to a chair, and Leila sat, crossing her legs and casually placing her notebook on her lap.
“That’s right,” Leila said, her voice as cool as she could make it. “Thanks for the invitation. I figured it’d be polite to introduce myself.”
Grossman studied her for a few seconds, the kind of look a butcher gives a fresh cut of meat. “Sure. So, what is it you think you have that would interest me?”
Leila didn’t blink. She opened her notebook and glanced down at the notes. “I believe my family has a connection to your organization, Mr. Grossman. And I think I can help you find what you’ve been looking for.”
Grossman’s eyes narrowed, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazily into the air. “And what makes you think that?”
Leila took a deep breath, then dove in. “My great-great uncle, Reinhard Weinrich, was a major part of Professor Yellen’s research. Yellen had a… let’s call it an unhealthy obsession with my family’s history. Reinhard was a Nazi, as you likely know. Not a secret. What you might not know is that Reinhard was a member of a secret society called The Rulers. And I believe Yellen was a member too. The Rulers have been searching for an artifact ever since the Nazis lost it. And I have the information that can help you in your search.”
Grossman’s lips curled into a grin, the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes. “And what is it you want in return?”
Leila swallowed the lump in her throat, but kept her voice steady. “I want in. I want what everyone else in my family wanted. Power, money, influence. And I want a lot of it.”
Grossman chuckled, taking a long drag from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out in a thin, deliberate line. “You’ve got guts, Ms. Weinrich. I like that. But once you’re in, there’s no way out. You sure about this?”
“I know what I’m getting into,” Leila said. Her voice didn’t waver.
“Good.” Grossman leaned back in his chair, tapping the ashes into an ashtray. “But first, there’s a little business we need to take care of.”
Leila watched as he dialed a number on his phone, speaking in hushed Russian. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned his attention back to her.
Leila watched as he dialed a number on his phone, speaking in hushed Russian. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned his attention back to her.
“There’s someone who’s become a problem for us. You’ll take care of it.”
Leila felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean by ‘take care of it’?” she asked, barely managing to keep her voice from shaking.
Grossman grinned, the wolf finally showing its teeth. “You know what I mean.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. She hadn’t expected this—a request for cold-blooded murder. But the opportunity to get closer to the truth about her family was too tempting to pass up.
She straightened her spine. “I can do it.”
Grossman nodded approvingly. “Good. We’ll give you what you need. Here.” He scribbled two letters—K.B.—on a scrap of paper, then promptly burned it in the ashtray. “You’ll get the details soon. No emails, no calls. We’ll find you when it’s time. Oh, and enjoy the ball.”
The ball was the last thing on her mind as Leila left the office. She’d just made a deal with a man who wore murder like an expensive suit, and now she had to figure out how to get out of it without ending up in a ditch somewhere.As she walked back down the dim corridor, her head spun. She didn’t plan on killing anyone. She just had to outsmart them. The Rulers might be powerful, but they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the chandelier.Leila climbed into her snowmobile, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. She’d just signed herself up for a deadly game, and her life—other than that—was perfectly normal. She needed to research her target, find out who this K.B. was, and figure out how to play the game without getting caught.But as she thought back to the encrypted notebook, a horrifying realization hit her. This wasn’t some academic journal—it was the diary of a hired killer. The Rulers had sent someone to murder her aunt Christina, and now they were asking Leila to do the same d
Leila stood in front of the bathroom mirror, combing her hair and trying on different faces like they were masks. She went for “amiable attention,” followed by “quiet confidence,” then “ready-for-anything,” and finally the smirk—“gotcha!” But none of them worked. She gave up, tossed the phone into her velvet Versace bag, and stepped out into the corridor.That’s when it hit her. The door across the hall was wide open, and there he stood—a man in a black tie, looking sharp enough to cut through glass, but there was something off about him. Familiar, too. His stance was casual, but you could tell he was trying too hard. He looked down at Leila—five-foot-nothing in heels—and flashed a grin that could sell ice in Siberia.It was Tom.Leila fought to keep her cool. He moved like a cat, gliding over to her with that silly grin still plastered on his face.“I’m the guest of honor,” he said, like he’d just announced he won the lottery.Leila’s smile didn’t falter. “Pretend we’ve just met,” sh
Leila speared an olive off her plate with the kind of laziness that came with a long evening and bad company. The party was getting noisier, guests drifting away towards the library, where the port was served. She noticed Tom’s eyes flicker toward the small curtained alcove in the middle of the corridor. That told her all she needed to know—he’d heard the voices too.Without a word, she gave him a signal, and they slipped out of their seats, moving toward the alcove like a couple of thieves on a job. They ducked behind the heavy velvet curtain across from where the voices were coming, pretending to be locked in some passionate clinch. It was just for show, but felt not at all disagreeable. The curtain was seriously dusty, and it made Leila's eyes itchy. She probably smeared her mascara evenly on her cheeks, but she couldn't care less: the real action was happening behind the curtain opposite.Three voices—two men, one woman—were arguing behind the fabric. AI was the topic, which wasn’
The next morning, Leila opened her eyes and didn’t recognize the room. The only familiar object was Wolfie, a massive fluffy dog sprawled across the other half of the enormous four-poster bed. Sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows draped in velvet curtains the color of ripe plums, casting a warm glow over the polished wood floors. The bed itself was a masterpiece—mahogany, carved with an intricate pattern that hinted at old-world craftsmanship, but its newness was unmistakable. The room screamed wealth, from the silk sheets to the high thread-count linens that practically melted against her skin.She sat up, the plush duvet sliding off her shoulders, and let her gaze wander. The room was vast, larger than most people’s houses. A marble fireplace, cold now but still imposing, stood across from her, its mantel adorned with sleek sculptures and a single, rather fine piece of modern art. Above the fireplace, a flat-screen TV that could’ve easily doubled as a movie theater
Her aunt’s winter place was a nineteenth century Belle Epoque, dark brown with orange shutters, adorned with a round turret. The high snowdrifts on both sides of the porch were untouched for several days. Muddy corrugated icicles as thick as Leila’s arm dangerously dangled from the roof.‘I wish somebody would teach that beast to open the door,’ Leila Weinrich whispered with frustration.That was too much to ask of Wolfie. She was a smart dog, sure, but expecting her to be a porter on top of being cute? Not fair! Leila struggled with the shopping bags in one hand and the satchel filled with books dangling from her elbow. She searched her pockets and pulled out the key.She unlocked the front door and budged through the dusky hall that smelled of open fire. The antique set of German armor gleamed at her with fresh polish. She turned left into the narrow corridor, and pushed the door to the drawing room open. She was surprised the dog didn’t show up.‘Wolfie!’ Leila called out.The capr
Leila Weinrich took an academic break from her studies in Oxford. She run out of money, and had to take online tutoring job to resume her course and get to her final exams. Both her parents were strongly against Leila taking an academic break, willing to support her as long as it was necessary. But Leila decided it was time for her to become independent. Her boyfriend, Tom, was taking it personally at the beginning, but eventually admitted they had temporary liquidity issues. Their cat Snoopy was pleased to have open books to sit on all day long. He especially enjoyed sitting on the work to be done urgently. The cat thought he was the boss and didn’t take it lightly when Leila unceremoniously moved his fluffy butt from her desk. It seemed like tutoring work and a break from study would put things back on track. It wasn’t as if Leila could have predicted what kind of ‘break’ she would have. It seemed highly unlikely it would involve dealing with sleepy dogs and disappearing corpses. Th
After forty minutes journey, the train screeched to a halt, and Leila hopped off into the powdery snow, white and pristine as a starched sheet. The childish sense of freedom got the better of her. She put the skis on and ran towards the village, picking up pace, squinting at the blinding sun. Her joy was infectious. It spread all around her, through the old pine trees and over the hills, to the passers by and animals that lived in the mountains. Leila felt free, young and agile. She could ski like this for thousand kilometers, far beyond the sleepy village in front of her. It had been two long winters since she’d hit the slopes. Getting into Oxford didn’t leave much time for skiing. It had not been an easy journey, especially for her, a German speaker taking on the entrance exam and an interview. But Leila prevailed, and was offered a place at New College. Now she was determined to get her First. Leila’s childish excitement of seeing snow suddenly evaporated. She found herself standin
Tom sent Leila a last-minute text from the bustling streets of New York, on his way to a job interview. She replied with a quick message of luck, but conveniently left out any mention of her adventures. Leila couldn’t deny it any longer - her daydreaming version of events simply didn’t add up. The truth was staring her in the face like a dead body in a drawing room. And as she pondered how to break the news to Tom, she couldn’t help but think that sometimes ignorance is a bliss.But of course, as fate would have it, Wolfie had to ruin that little bubble of denial. When Leila walked the fluffy pooch up to the unlocked door, she suddenly turned into Cujo and let out an intimidating growl. Where was that aggression earlier? Must’ve slept through that bloody murder like a lazy bum.As Leila opened the door, she couldn’t ignore the trail of destruction outside. Someone had made quite the spectacle trying to ski after a blizzard - leaving behind blue potholes and scars for fifty meters. And