Fragment 4: The Tangerines (1)

The evening was almost over.

A young man sat alone on a bench. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his shirt had grown wrinkled from the long day. His jacket rested folded beside him on the wood.

He was peeling a tangerine, taking his time with each strip of skin.

Two interviews had gone badly that afternoon. The questions still sat in his mind. The answers he should have given. The points he had forgotten to raise. The smile he had forced at the end of both meetings, the one that tried to say everything was fine when it clearly was not.

And yet he was still smiling.

Perhaps he had simply decided that two failed interviews were not enough to spoil what remained of the evening.

He looked down at the fruit in his hands and pulled another segment free.

A woman walked toward the bench and stopped beside him.

"Can I sit here?" she asked.

He looked up, then shifted over without speaking.

She sat down.

For a while neither of them said anything. The wind moved through the trees above them, carrying the last of the day's warmth.

The young man glanced at the tangerine, then at her. He held it out a little.

"Would you like some tangerines?"

She looked at him and smiled.

"Why not."

They both smiled, a quiet moment holding the last amber light of an evening that had ended long ago.

Years Later

"Cut."

The studio lights came up, bright and sudden.

I blinked, and for a second I forgot where I was. Then I saw the camera in front of me, its red light still glowing. Overhead lights hung in place. Cables ran across the floor. Papers lay spread across a small table. Opposite me sat a man with a stack of questions in his hands.

The interviewer looked up.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

He adjusted his papers, leaned forward slightly, and smiled.

"So, Arthur sir, what do you want to tell us? What type of story is this?"

I smirked, then reached up and adjusted my glasses. They had become a habit by then, something I did whenever I needed a moment to gather my thoughts.

I looked toward the camera.

"Today," I said, "I'm going to tell a story about tangerines."

The interviewer smiled.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"You're not going to tell us the name?"

I leaned back a little.

"No. I'm not going to say the name. Just the story."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why is that?"

I smiled again.

"People remember names. Stories are harder to forget."

There was a short silence after that.

Then I looked straight into the camera and began.

...

...

I was lying back in my chair with one leg stretched forward and the other hooked around the table leg. For a while, I had been staring at the ceiling, doing nothing useful at all.

My eyes drifted toward the window.

A small plant sat near the glass. A few days earlier, it had been nothing but green leaves. Now new flowers had appeared, small and bright enough to notice.

A new season, I thought.

Then I noticed the bees.

Two of them kept circling the flowers. One would land while the other flew around it, then they would switch places and continue. Round and round they went.

I watched them long enough that I began to wonder what they were actually doing. Working, perhaps. Or only pretending.

The bees, of course, gave no answer.

I checked the time on my wristwatch. Elena was supposed to be back soon.

I had barely managed to sit up properly when the bell outside my cabin rang.

I looked toward the door, once and then again, before I stood. I was nearest to it, so I opened it.

A man stood outside. He wore formal attire, a dark suit, polished shoes, and a leather folder tucked under one arm.

He looked at me, then past me into the cabin.

"Arthur?"

"Yes."

"You're Elena's assistant?"

"Junior assistant," I said.

He nodded.

"I have a letter for her."

He held the envelope out a little. I reached for it, but he drew it back.

I frowned.

"What's it about?"

"It's for Elena."

"I can give it to her."

"I'll wait," he said.

There was something firm in the way he spoke. Not rude, not nervous. Simply firm.

"You can't tell me anything at all?"

He looked at me steadily.

"No Elena, no answers."

I stared at him for a second. He had made his position clear enough. So I stepped aside.

"Wait here, then."

He entered the cabin and stood near the door. I sat back down. Neither of us spoke.

A few minutes passed before I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Elena.

I looked toward the door as she appeared.

The moment she saw the man, something shifted in her expression. It was small, almost nothing, but I noticed it. She had known he was coming. And somehow I had the sense that she already knew why.

I stayed quiet.

Elena walked in. The man straightened at once.

"Ma'am."

She nodded.

"You're early."

He looked surprised for half a second.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," she said. She turned toward the sofa near the window. "Come in."

He followed her. I rose as well.

Elena sat down. I remained behind her, near the window. That was my place in meetings of this kind, close enough to hear everything, far enough to remember that I was not the one in charge.

The man placed the envelope on the table. Before Elena could open it, he glanced at me and then at her.

"Is it fine to talk in front of every kind of person? This isn't a public topic."

Elena looked at me. Then she smiled, calmly.

"Don't worry, Mr.," she said. "In this room, no one can hear us, and no one speaks without my permission."

The man fell silent.

Elena opened the letter.

"Now talk."

He drew a breath.

"A major corporate fraud has been reported."

"When did this happen?"

"One week ago."

"Give me the details."

"A large amount of company assets was moved from one of the firm's facilities."

"Moved where?"

"We don't know."

"How was it done?"

"We don't know that either."

"Is there a transaction record?"

"None."

Elena looked up from the page.

"No authorized transfer? No purchase? No sale? No payment of any kind?"

"Nothing," he said.

She closed the letter.

"How much are we talking about?"

He told her the figure.

For a moment no one spoke. I did not fully grasp the size of the number, but I understood Elena's reaction. She had gone completely still.

"Continue," she said.

"We believe the assets were deliberately moved. Only a limited number of senior staff had access. The prime suspect is the Senior Manager."

He opened another folder and slid it across the table. Elena examined the file.

"Is he cooperating?"

"Yes. A lawyer has already been arranged."

"Of course." She turned another page. "Who reported the complaint?"

"Victor."

She stopped.

"Victor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Who is he, exactly?"

The man hesitated.

"The complaint came through his lawyer. He has no position in the company."

Elena looked at him for several seconds.

"Then why is he the one filing the complaint?"

The man closed his folder with a soft snap. "My instructions are to deliver the file and confirm receipt, ma'am. Nothing more."

"You seem very practiced at saying nothing," Elena said faintly.

He didn't flinch. "I'm paid to deliver messages, not explain them."

I watched Elena. She did not react at once. She simply picked up her pen and wrote something down.

"Fine. Where is the senior manager now?"

"Available for questioning."

"Good. I'll take the case."

The man nodded. He stood, collected his folder, and took the envelope from the table.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He turned toward the door.

Elena spoke again.

"Mr."

He stopped.

"Tell whoever sent you that we're going to need everything."

He gave a small nod.

"I will."

Then he left. The door closed, and the room grew quiet once more.

I stayed where I was until Elena looked toward me.

"Well?" she said.

I knew that tone. I stepped away from the window.

"He didn't want to tell us who owns the company. And Victor doesn't work there at all. So why is he the one filing the complaint?"

Elena gave a small smile.

"There you are."

I was not entirely sure what she meant by that.

She stood and picked up the file.

"Find out."

"Yes, ma'am."

She walked toward her desk, and I followed not because I had a choice, but because that was my job.

I began with the company itself.

The work took most of the morning. Ownership records, registrations, financial databases, old business articles, corporate profiles. The company had changed names once, reorganized twice, and buried its ownership under enough layers of paperwork to tire anyone.

Eventually I found the name.

Adrian. Founder. Chief executive. Majority owner.

Not Victor. Adrian.

I leaned back in my chair, then turned my attention to Victor.

That was when the picture grew stranger.

His company appeared again and again in the same business records as Adrian's not beside it, but against it. They had been competing over clients and contracts for years. Every time one company surfaced, the other was rarely far behind. They were rivals, and serious ones at that.

Which made the complaint all the more puzzling.

Victor held no ownership in Adrian's company. He held no position there. He had no official reason to involve himself.

And yet he had personally reported the fraud. He knew the missing figures. He knew the facility from which the assets had disappeared. He knew enough to file a formal complaint.

I stared at the screen.

"Why?" I said aloud before I realized it.

I rose and went to Elena's office. She was already at her desk, reading through another file.

"Ma'am."

"What is it?"

"The company belongs to Adrian, founder, majority owner. And Victor's company is a direct competitor."

"I know," she said.

I paused.

"Then why did Victor report it?"

Elena leaned back slightly.

"That's what you're going to find out next."

I nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

She pointed toward my laptop.

"Message them both."

I returned to my cabin and sent the messages, first to Victor, then to Adrian.

Victor replied almost at once.

Tomorrow. Eleven.

That was all. No explanation, no further question. Just a time.

I walked back to Elena and told her.

"Victor says tomorrow at eleven."

"Fine."

I showed her the reply that had come from Adrian's side. It was not from him directly.

Mr. Adrian is currently out of the country.

Elena read it, then looked at me.

"Let him stay out of the country for now."

I blinked.

"Ma'am?"

She smiled.

"For now."

I nodded slowly and returned to my desk.

The case was beginning to take shape, though I could not yet tell what shape it would prove to be. A company had lost a large sum of assets. The senior manager stood as the prime suspect. Victor, a rival, had reported the matter. Adrian, the actual owner, was out of the country. And Elena already seemed to understand that this case would prove more complicated than the file suggested.

I was still turning these points over when Elena's phone rang.

She answered it.

"Hello?"

A man's voice came through, though I could catch only Elena's side of the conversation.

She sat up a little.

"Where?"

A pause.

"Now?"

Another pause.

"All right."

She looked toward me as the call ended.

I stood.

"Who was it?"

She was already reaching for her coat.

"A man who wants to talk to me. I think it's about the case."

She checked her phone again, then looked at me.

"He sent an address."

I glanced at the screen.

"Are we going?"

Elena slipped on her coat, picked up the case file, and nodded.

"Yes. Come on, Arthur."

I took my jacket and followed her out.

At the time I believed it was only another meeting another address, another stranger, another piece of a case I did not yet understand.

I was wrong.

The story was only beginning.