Chapter 22: A Busy Monday

Chapter Twenty-TwoA Busy Monday

Having formed a rough guess, Klein did not rush to verify it. Pretending nothing had happened, he turned the paper back around so it faced him.

All the information he had written regarding Ian Wright was absolutely true. Even if one confirmed it with divination, the answer would be affirmative. Therefore, he believed that the ambassador’s people would follow this thread and gain a certain harvest. For a short period of time, they would have neither the motivation nor the spare energy to take revenge on him.

Similarly, he would continue leaving the paper spread out on the desk so that the military’s special department’s monitors could see it, guiding them to loosen their focus on him and shift their attention toward Ian Wright—competing with that ambassador for every second in searching for him.

In this way, Klein would become safer.

“It feels like walking a tightrope. Is this perhaps the Clown’s special constitution?”

He laughed and shook his head, opening the oriel window to take two breaths of fresh morning air. Yet the thick, pungent smog outside made him silently close the window again.

Using an ink bottle to press down the paper bearing Ian’s information, Klein went to the washroom next door and quickly cleaned himself. Then he took down the black double-breasted frock coat and half-top silk hat hanging from the hatstand and made his way downstairs.

He had arranged to have breakfast with Solicitor Jurgen today.

Drawing his black, silver-inlaid cane from the umbrella stand in the hall, Klein walked through fog with visibility of no more than ten meters, following the street’s edge until he reached 58 Minsk Street, where he pulled the bell of that gloomy-colored house.

Amid the echoing jingle, a black cat with emerald eyes and tail held high suddenly appeared in his mind.

The black cat, Brody, walked in a straight line to the back of the door, gathered strength for two seconds, and suddenly leaped, extending a paw to catch the door handle.

Afterward, it inevitably fell, using its weight to twist the handle and open the door.

With a creak, morning wind blew in, and the door slowly retreated.

The black cat Brody gave Klein an arrogant glance, then walked aside on his own.

“What a clever cat,” Klein praised the old lady Doris, who wore a white apron.

Doris smiled until her wrinkles unfolded one by one.

“That depends on his mood. Most of the time, he pretends to be stupid, as if he cannot understand what you are saying. Oh, I prepared my best bean-and-turnip thick soup for you. Eat it with bread.”

Bean-and-turnip thick soup… The name sounds like dark cuisine…

Klein smiled.

“I am looking forward to it.”

As he spoke, Solicitor Jurgen walked out of the washroom. Even at home, even though he had only just risen not long ago, he was still dressed impeccably. His white shirt was perfectly stiff, his brownish-yellow waistcoat fitted closely, and the lines of his trouser legs looked as if they had just been ironed.

“The contract you wanted is ready. See whether anything is missing,” Jurgen said, blue eyes sweeping over once. He skipped all pleasantries and went straight to the topic.

His brown hair was neatly combed backward, and the gloss of hair oil was clearly visible.

“All right.”

Klein leaned his cane in place, removed his hat, took off his coat, and followed Jurgen into the first-floor study, where he received a thick contract.

Standing there, he casually flipped through it. The more he looked, the more his head ached. In the end, he only hurriedly scanned the important clauses.

Everything I wanted is there. Clauses I had overlooked before have also been added. For example, instead of paying Leppard one hundred pounds at once, there are three payment points based on his progress. The first payment is fifty pounds… Not bad. This way I temporarily do not need to go to Backlund Bank and withdraw the remaining one hundred pounds from my anonymous account. The money I have on…