Fragment 4: The Tangerines (2)

"Who was that person?"

The interviewer leaned slightly toward me.

I looked at him for a second.

"A man," I said.

I paused.

"Or an afraid man."

He waited.

I picked up the glass of water in front of me and took a sip. The studio remained quiet. I set the glass down carefully.

"That night," I said, "I found out which one."

The address took us to an old Chinese hotel on the quieter side of the city.

The sign outside had lost most of its brightness, and the red paint around the entrance had faded with the years. A few paper lanterns hung above the doorway, stirring whenever a breeze passed through.

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the smell of spices, fried garlic, soy, pepper, and something sweet I could not quite name.

The scent clung to the entrance and followed us deeper into the room. Somewhere farther back, dishes clinked against plates, and people spoke in low voices beneath the soft, steady hum of old ceiling fans.

Elena and I sat at a table near the back wall.

She checked her watch once, then rested her hands on the table. I looked around the room. A family occupied one corner. Two men in suits talked quietly over cups of tea. A waiter moved between the tables carrying bowls that sent thin clouds of steam into the air.

The place felt ordinary in a way that made the waiting itself seem strange.

"Do you know who we're meeting?" I asked.

"Elena," was all she said.

I looked at her. She was already watching the entrance. That usually meant she had decided not to answer further. So I stayed quiet.

A few minutes passed.

Then the door opened.

A man walked in.

He was older than I had expected. Grey had settled into the hair at his temples, and his face carried the lines that come from long years of work rather than age alone.

He wore a simple formal shirt under a dark jacket, nothing that drew attention. He moved slowly, but there was no weakness in the way he carried himself.

He looked around the room. When his eyes found Elena, they stopped. Then they moved to me.

He walked over.

"Ma'am."

Elena nodded.

"Sit down."

He pulled out the chair across from us and sat. I watched his hands. They remained steady at first. Then they began to move restlessly against the edge of the table.

Elena placed the file between them.

"I'm Elena, and this is Arthur," she said smoothly. "You're the Senior Manager?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You were named as the prime suspect in the missing-assets case."

"Yes."

"You understand why?"

"I was the last person with access to the facility."

"Only you?"

"No. Others had access as well."

"Then why are the records pointing at you?"

He looked down.

"Because that is what the records show."

Elena opened the file and turned a page.

"And you believe they are wrong?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.

"This time, yes."

Elena stopped.

"This time?"

The man looked up. He seemed to realize, a second too late, what he had said. For a brief moment he searched for another answer. Nothing came.

Elena waited.

At last he looked down at his hands again.

"I've made mistakes," he said.

"What kind of mistakes?"

He swallowed.

"The kind that don't stay buried."

I watched his face. The composure he had brought into the room was leaving him little by little.

"I worked for that company for years," he continued. "I gave them everything I had. I thought I was building a good life."

"Were you involved in moving the assets?" Elena asked.

"No."

"Did you know it was going to happen?"

"No."

"Did anyone ask you to help?"

"No."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

He did not answer.

Elena leaned forward slightly.

"Look at me."

He did. His eyes were already wet.

"I think this is my karma," he said.

Neither of us spoke.

He rubbed his face with both hands.

"I did things before. Things I should never have done. I hurt people. I lied. I took what was not mine. I thought none of it mattered because no one ever stopped me."

His voice broke.

"And now everything is coming back."

A tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly.

"I don't know why this is happening now."

Elena reached for the small box of tissues on the table and pushed it toward him.

"Take one."

He pulled out a tissue and covered his face. For a time the only sounds were the ordinary ones of the restaurant, plates, quiet voices, the fan turning overhead, the soft hiss of cooking somewhere behind the wall.

Elena stood.

"We're finished for today."

The manager looked up.

"Ma'am?"

"You need to think clearly before you say anything more."

She took the file, then looked at me.

"I'll be outside."

I nodded.

She walked toward the entrance. I followed a few seconds later.

Outside, the evening air felt cooler against my face. Elena was already moving toward the car. I reached into my pocket and found nothing. I checked the other pocket. Still nothing. Then I remembered.

The keys. I had left them on the table.

I turned around.

"I forgot the keys."

Elena looked back.

"Go and get them."

I nodded and went inside again.

The hotel was quieter now. I walked past the remaining tables toward the one we had left. The Senior Manager was still there, his head lowered. When he noticed me he stood.

"Arthur."

I stopped.

He came a step closer.

"I need to tell you something."

I glanced toward the entrance. Elena was waiting outside.

"What is it?"

He looked at me with tired eyes.

"You're my only hope."

I frowned.

"Why me?"

He swallowed.

"Because you listen."

I did not know what to say.

"I didn't do it, Arthur. I didn't move anything. I didn't steal anything. I swear that to you."

He looked toward the window for a moment, then back at me.

"Everyone already believes I'm guilty. But you didn't look at me that way."

I said nothing.

He seemed to realize he was holding me too long and stepped back.

"Please," he said. That was all.

I picked up the keys from the table.

"I have to go."

He nodded.

I left.

Outside, Elena stood beside the car. She looked at me.

"Did you find them?"

I held up the keys.

"Yes, ma'am."

We got into the car. Neither of us spoke much on the way back. I kept thinking about the Senior Manager and the one sentence that would not leave my mind.

You're my only hope.

The next morning we went to Victor's office.

The building rose higher than anything around it, all glass and steel, with an entrance that made a person feel small before the doors had even opened. We were taken upstairs to the cafeteria.

Victor was already waiting.

He stood near one of the tables, dressed in a perfectly fitted formal suit, one hand resting lightly on the back of a chair. He looked exactly like a man who had spent half his life in meetings, confident, composed, and carefully put together.

The moment he saw Elena he smiled.

"Elena."

"Victor."

They greeted each other with the ease of people who had spoken before. I noticed that at once.

Victor turned to me.

"And you must be Arthur."

I nodded.

"Elena's junior assistant," she said.

Victor smiled.

"The passive one."

I blinked. I was not certain whether it was meant as an insult. He seemed mildly amused either way.

"Sit," he said.

We sat. A waiter brought coffee. Victor thanked him without looking up.

Elena opened her notebook.

"Let's begin."

Victor leaned back in his chair.

"Ask whatever you need to ask."

"Why did you file the complaint?"

"Because Adrian's company was in trouble."

"That's a circumstance, Victor. Not a reason"

"I knew something was wrong."

"How did you know?"

Victor gave a small shrug, "I knew Adrian."

"How did you know something had happened before anyone else?"

"He called me."

"When?"

"Before he left the country."

"What exactly did he tell you?"

"That something was not right."

"What did he mean by that?"

"I don't know."

Elena looked at him steadily.

"You knew enough to report a specific amount."

Victor smiled faintly.

"I know numbers."

"Numbers don't file complaints on their own."

"No," he said. He took a sip of coffee. "But it is true."

Elena watched him.

"Why didn't Adrian report it himself?"

Victor looked toward the window.

"Perhaps he thought he could handle it alone."

"Did he ask you to file the complaint?"

"No."

"Did anyone from his company ask you?"

"No."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because somebody had to."

"Why you?"

"Why not me?"

Elena's eyes narrowed slightly.

"That is not an answer either."

Victor smiled.

"Maybe you're asking the wrong question."

"What should I be asking, then?"

He looked directly at her.

"Why did Adrian call me?"

I looked at Elena. She did not react.

"Then answer that," she said.

Victor shrugged.

"He trusted me."

"You're rivals."

"We're friends as well."

"Those two things don't usually go together."

"They can."

"How long have you known each other?"

"A long time."

"How long, exactly?"

"Long enough."

Elena closed her notebook for a moment.

"Do you actually care about Adrian?"

Victor did not hesitate.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he's my friend."

"That simple?"

"Yes. Not everything needs a complicated answer."

I was not convinced. Victor did not seem troubled by that.

He looked at me.

"What do you think?"

I almost answered. Then my phone buzzed, a short notification from our office clerk confirming the access logs we had requested earlier.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping away from the table and into the quieter corridor to check the file on my screen.

I swiped through the document for a minute, then turned back toward the glass wall that looked into the cafeteria.

Victor and Elena were still talking. Their voices did not reach me through the glass, but I could see them clearly. Something about the way they sat and spoke felt wrong, not wrong exactly, but familiar.

Elena was not looking at Victor the way a person looks at a stranger. Victor was not looking at her the way a man looks at someone he has only just met because of a case. There was something already between them. I could not tell what it was.

They talked for several more minutes. Then Elena stood. Victor stood as well. She picked up her bag.

I waited near the corridor. When she came out she looked at me.

"I'm going home."

I nodded.

"Ma'am?"

"I have some things I need to sort out."

She started walking. I followed for a moment, then stopped when Victor called after me.

"Arthur."

I turned.

Victor was holding his phone. It rang again. He answered.

"Hello?"

A short pause.

"About the match?"

Another pause.

"Son, I'm busy. Handle your things yourself."

He listened, then sighed.

"All right. I'll see."

He ended the call. For a second he simply stared at the screen. Then he looked at me.

"Kids these days."

I smiled. He smiled back. Then I left.

That afternoon I worked alone.

Elena had gone home, and the list of things that usually waited for her attention now waited for mine. I went through the reports, the financial records, the access logs, and the Senior Manager's history again.

The more carefully I looked, the less certain I became that he had moved the assets. There were small holes in the evidence, nothing that proved his innocence, but enough to make me pause.

So I kept looking.

Then I turned my attention back to Adrian.

His company was everywhere. His name appeared in interviews, award lists, company photographs, speeches, and investment records. Yet his personal life was almost invisible. I searched older articles and found almost nothing.

Then, buried inside one old report, I came across a short mention. Adrian had once spoken of "the people closest to him." There was no name, no photograph, no further detail, only enough to suggest that someone had existed.

I searched again. Another old article stated that he was married. That was all. No name. No wedding details. Nothing more.

I leaned back in my chair.

Why hide that much?

I continued. Another article. Another database. Another old record.

Then I found something that made me stop.

His wife was dead.

I stared at the screen. For a while I did not move. I read the lines again. The article was old. There was no dramatic headline and no detailed explanation, only a short report about the death of a woman connected to Adrian.

I looked at the photograph of him on the other screen. He was smiling in it, young, successful, untouchable.

I looked back at the article. His wife had died years earlier. I did not know her name. Not yet. But suddenly the silence that surrounded his personal life made a little more sense.

I sat there for a long time.

Then my phone buzzed with a message from Elena:

''Tomorrow you will handle the site work alone. I have some things to sort out.''

I stared at the screen, then looked back at the old photograph of Adrian. Outside, the night was quiet, but in the dark room with the open files, it felt as though the first domino had already fallen.