Chapter 2
Petra had read the documents three times, but hearing the details spoken aloud by three somber German lawyers made it feel terrifyingly real.
Maybe it was the German accents. Everything sounded very emphatic to English ears when said with a German accent.
She tried to focus on the words and not just the feelings they produced in her.
“The estate includes the castle and grounds, which comprise two hundred forty hectares,” Herr Kessler, the senior attorney, said in precise English.
He was a thin man with steel-rimmed glasses that caught the library’s morning light.
“There are also properties in Munich, Berlin, and Monaco. Bank accounts in six countries. Investment portfolios managed by three separate firms. The preliminary valuation puts the total worth at approximately four hundred twenty million euros.”
Petra’s stomach dropped. Again. It had been dropping repeatedly for the past hour. She felt sick.
“I see,” she managed, which was a lie. She didn’t see. Couldn’t see. The numbers were too large to feel real.
The second lawyer, Frau Weber, slid another document across the mahogany table. “There are also the business holdings. Kettering Enterprises maintains manufacturing facilities in three countries. The primary operations are located in Munich.”
Manufacturing. Right. That was one word for it. The initial research Petra had done before making this trip had turned up vague references to “industrial equipment” and “international trade.” Nothing concrete. Nothing that explained why a distant cousin she’d never met would leave her everything.
“What do they manufacture, exactly?” Petra asked.
There was a deliberate pause. Frau Weber glanced at Herr Kessler, who adjusted his glasses.
“The company specializes in precision machinery and component parts,” he said. “Much of it is sold to government contractors.”
The careful phrasing made Petra’s librarian instincts prickle. She’d spent fifteen years helping people research topics, learning to read between the lines of what was said versus what was meant.
“Arms,” she said flatly. “Abdul sold weapons.”
Another pause. Herr Kessler inclined his head slightly. “Among other things, yes.”
Of course he did. Because inheriting a castle and a fortune wasn’t complicated enough. She’d also inherited blood money.
Petra pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting back the headache that had been building since she’d walked into the library.
Her library, now. She should feel comfortable here, being a librarian, and all, but somehow, she wasn’t.
It wasn’t really her library. It still held Abdul’s mark and the marks of the men who had come before Abdul in a line of her family that was so distant as to be almost unrecognizable.
Still, the room was beautiful in an intimidating way.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes made her want to explore the titles in depth.
There was also a massive fireplace that could probably roast an entire pig, if she was so inclined.
Most importantly, the windows overlooked a lovely section of the gardens through leaded glass panes.
Everything was expensive and utterly foreign to her small flat in Clerkenwell with its IKEA furniture and overflowing personal bookshelves.
“What are my options?” she asked.
The third lawyer, a younger man named Herr Braun, spoke for the first time.
“You could sell everything. Liquidate the assets, dissolve the companies. It would take time to do properly, perhaps two years. Or you could maintain the holdings, hire management, collect the income from various trusts and investments.”
“Or I could walk away.”
Herr Kessler removed his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth.
“The inheritance is yours by right, Frau Haas. However, if you refuse it, the estate would enter probate. Given the complexity of the holdings and the lack of other heirs, the process could take a decade or more. Many of the current employees would lose their positions. The properties would likely be seized by various governments to settle outstanding claims.”
Oh, that was nice. He was hitting her with guilt. Lovely. Not only was she inheriting blood money, but refusing it would hurt innocent people who’d done nothing wrong except work for a man she was becoming less fond of by the minute.
“I need time to think,” Petra said.
“Of course.” Herr Kessler stood, and the others followed his lead. “We will return in two days with additional documentation. In the meantime, Herr Müller has been instructed to provide you with access to the entire property. If you have questions, please do not hesitate to contact our office.”
They filed out with the same formal precision they’d brought to every interaction.
Petra remained seated, staring at the stacks of documents they’d left behind.
Her inheritance, reduced to paper and legalese.
Four hundred twenty million euros. And that was just the personal holdings.
The businesses were worth even more. She could hardly fathom it.
She thought about her parents. Her mother, who’d worked as a translator.
Her father, who’d taught history at a comprehensive school in Hackney.
They’d lived comfortably, but modestly. Had saved for years to take Petra on a trip to Amsterdam when she was twelve. They would have been horrified by this.
Her mother especially. Mum had always known things, and felt things that couldn’t really be explained.
She had warned Petra about dodgy boyfriends and sketchy job offers with an accuracy that went beyond normal maternal intuition.
Petra had inherited a watered-down version of that gift.
Just enough to get strong feelings about people and places, usually too vague to be truly useful.
Right now, that gift was telling her the castle held secrets that had nothing to do with money.
Petra stood, smoothing down her skirt. She’d worn navy today, slightly less aggressive than yesterday’s beige.
She thought of her suit as professional armor for a meeting that had left her feeling decidedly unprofessional.
She needed air. She needed to think somewhere that didn’t smell like leather and furniture polish and old money. The gardens outside those ancient windows called to her.
Herr Müller had explained the security system during her arrival yesterday.
Cameras covered the main approaches, the entrances, the garage.
Motion sensors protected the perimeter. She’d been somewhat relieved to hear that the gardens were less monitored.
Something about the previous owner preferring privacy during his “contemplative walks.” She could totally understand that.
Petra didn’t want anyone spying on her while she communed with nature either.
She walked deeper into the manicured grounds, past perfectly trimmed hedges and flower beds that were both extravagant and lavish. She found herself on a winding path that led away from the castle, toward a wilder section where the formal gardens gave way to something more natural.
A stone bench sat beneath an old oak tree, half-hidden by overgrown rose bushes. The kind of spot someone might go to hide from the world. It was perfect.
She sat, breathing in the scent of roses and earth and growing things.
London felt very far away. Her flat, her job at the British Library, her quiet life of cataloging medieval manuscripts and avoiding her neighbor’s passive-aggressive notes about recycling bins.
All of it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Maybe it did. Maybe the moment she’d gotten that call from Herr Kessler’s office, she’d stopped being Petra Haas, librarian, and had become someone new. Someone who inherited castles and fortunes and blood money. Someone who had absolutely no idea what to do with any of it.
“You look like you could use a friend.”
Petra jerked upright, heart hammering. A man stood a few feet away, near the roses. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and the kind of casual stance that suggested he was completely comfortable sneaking up on people.
She should scream, or run, or do literally anything except sit there staring at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, raising both hands in a peaceful gesture. “I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Seth. I’ve been watching the castle for the past few days.”
That should have made it worse. His statement should have sent her sprinting back toward the house. Instead, something in her chest loosened.
He felt…right. Safe, in a way nothing else here had felt safe. Which was insane.
“You’ve been watching me?” Petra asked, proud that her voice came out steady. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Fair point.” He lowered his hands but didn’t move closer. “I’m here on behalf of some people who had an interest in Abdul Kettering’s activities. We wanted to make sure his business associates didn’t cause problems after his death.”
“Business associates.” Petra’s laugh came out sharp. “You mean the arms dealers.”
“Among others.” Seth’s expression was serious and watchful. “There are aspects of Kettering’s operation that didn’t make it into the official records. Things the lawyers wouldn’t know to tell you about.”
Her stomach tightened. “What kind of things?”
“The workshop in the lower chambers, for one. When you tour the place, be very careful what you touch. Some of the things down there aren’t as harmless as they appear to be.”
Petra studied him. He was handsome in a rough-edged way. He looked like the kind of man who knew how to handle himself in situations that required more than lawyers and paperwork. She should absolutely not trust him, but yet…
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you’re walking into something dangerous without realizing it.” His voice was quiet, serious. “And because I have a feeling you’re not the type of person who’d willingly participate in the kind of operation Kettering was running.”
That settled in her chest, warm and certain. He was right. Whatever her distant cousin had been involved in, she wanted no part of it.
“The lawyers said some craftspeople would be returning next week,” she said slowly. “To continue working in the workshop.”
Seth’s jaw tightened. “Those aren’t craftspeople. At least, not the kind you’re thinking of. When they come back, you’ll need to make some decisions about how you want to handle things.”
“What things? What are you talking about?”
He was quiet for a moment, and Petra got the distinct impression he was weighing how much to tell her. Deciding whether she could handle the truth.
She’d had people do that to her way too often in her life. She didn’t like it. Usually, it was because they thought she was too quiet, too bookish, and too fragile to deal with reality.
“I can handle whatever you’re going to say,” she said firmly. “I’ve buried both my parents. I’ve crossed half of Europe to deal with an inheritance I never wanted. I think I can manage a difficult conversation.”
Something shifted in his expression. She thought she saw respect, maybe, in his dark, mysterious eyes. “After you tour the castle, meet me back here. I’ll explain everything. But you should see it first, so you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” He smiled slightly. “But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you?”
Petra wanted to argue. She wanted to point out that she was perfectly capable of being sensible and cautious, except he was right.
Something about him felt familiar in a way she couldn’t explain.
It was like recognizing a song she’d never heard before but somehow, to which she knew all the words.
Her mother would have called it a knowing.
A certainty that bypassed logic and went straight to instinct.
“I’ll meet you here later this afternoon,” she said. “But if you’re planning to murder me and steal my inheritance, I should warn you that I’ve left detailed instructions with my solicitor in London to give everything to charity.”
“Noted.” His smile widened slightly. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Petra.”
He turned and walked back toward the wilder section of the garden, disappearing into the trees with the kind of easy grace that suggested he’d done this sort of thing before.
Petra sat very still, processing everything she’d just learned. A stranger had been watching her. He’d approached her in the garden. He’d warned her about mysterious workshop and people who weren’t what they seemed.
She should probably tell Herr Müller, or better yet, call the police. She should do literally anything except agree to meet a strange man in a secluded spot later today. Instead, she stood and walked back toward the castle, her mind already turning over everything Seth had said.
The workshop that wasn’t what it appeared to be. Abdul had clearly had some associates who weren’t arms dealers, or at least not only arms dealers.
In the library, surrounded by leather, formality, and careful legal language, everything had felt overwhelming but comprehensible.
Numbers and documents and decisions that could be made with time and advice.
Now, walking back through gardens, Petra had the distinct feeling she’d been looking at the situation all wrong.
This wasn’t just about money and property and business holdings. This was about something else entirely.
And the man in the garden, the one who felt inexplicably safe despite every logical reason not to trust him, was apparently the only person willing to tell her the truth about it.
Petra reached the terrace and paused, looking back toward the oak tree and its hidden bench.
Her mother had taught her to trust her instincts and pay attention to the knowing when it came.
Right now, her instincts were saying that Seth, whoever he was, wasn’t the danger she needed to worry about. The real danger was waiting in the workshop beneath the castle, and she was about to walk straight into it.