Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Golden Boy
The 34th floor of the glass-and-steel monolith in Frankfurt’s financial district smelled of expensive espresso and freshly printed stock portfolios. Gero Kranz sat at the head of the mahogany conference table, his gold Montblanc pen twirling effortlessly between his manicured fingers. Across from him sat four junior partners and two international investors from Zurich.
"The Q3 acquisition of the logistics firm is non-negotiable at forty-two million," Gero said, flashing the brilliant, disarming smile that had made him the youngest senior partner in the firm's eighty-year history. "If they balk, remind them that their current debt liquidity is our leverage. We are doing them a favor."
A junior associate laughed dutifully. Gero leaned back, savoring the feeling of absolute control. Everything in his life operated on precision. His firm, his investments, his home.
A momentary irritation flickered across his thoughts as he remembered Beate. She had been crying when he left this morning, shivering under that ridiculous comforter, refusing to make his breakfast. He had been forced to stop at a bakery like a common clerk. *She needs another lesson tonight,* he thought, adjusting his silk tie. *A firmer one. Perhaps three days without her phone in the guest room will remind her who provides the air she breathes.*
The conference room doors swung open with a deafening crash.
Gero frowned, his irritation flaring into sharp entitlement. "What is the meaning of this? We are in an executive session—"
Four uniformed police officers poured into the room, followed by Detective Sarah Brenner. Their hands were resting on their holstered sidearms; their faces were grim and unyielding. Behind them, office staff clustered in the hallway, phones raised, gasping.
"Gero Kranz?" Detective Brenner’s voice cut through the air like a cold razor.
Gero set his Montblanc pen down carefully, his face settling into a mask of amused condescension. "Detective, I assume there has been an absurd clerical error. I am in the middle of a multi-million-euro closing. If this is regarding the noise complaint from the neighbors about my lawn service—"
"Step away from the table and put your hands behind your back," Brenner commanded, stepping forward with heavy steel handcuffs drawn.
The Zurich investors scrambled out of their chairs, backing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Gero’s smile tightened into a sneer. "Do you have any idea who you are talking to? My uncle is Judge Heinrich Kranz. My managing partner is on the regional police oversight committee. If you touch me, I will have your badge, your pension, and your pride stripped from you before sundown."
"Gero Kranz, you are under arrest for attempted manslaughter, aggravated domestic assault, and felony endangerment of an unborn child," Brenner said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.
Before Gero could react, two burly patrol officers seized his arms, spun him around, and slammed him chest-first against the polished mahogany table. The porcelain coffee cups rattled and tipped, spilling dark liquid across his immaculate spreadsheets.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" Gero snarled, struggling violently against the iron grip. "Beate! This is about that lying, ungrateful little bitch! She fell! She fell down the cellar stairs, you idiots! She’s mentally unstable!"
"Save it for the judge, Mr. Kranz," Brenner said, wrenching his arms behind him. The handcuffs clicked shut with vicious finality. "Though I’d advise you not to say that too loudly. The nursery camera had an uninterrupted view of the bedroom floor. Thirty-eight minutes of high-definition audio and video. Every blow. Every count."
Gero went completely still.
The color drained from his face so fast it seemed his heart had stopped beating. The arrogant sneer collapsed, leaving behind the hollow, wide-eyed terror of a predator who suddenly realizes the cage door has slammed shut from the outside.
"The... nursery camera?" he stammered, his voice losing its baritone edge, becoming high and thin. "That was... that was off. I turned it off."
"Evidently, your technical skills don't match your ego," Brenner whispered close to his ear. "Walk."
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They dragged him out of the boardroom. Gero tried to keep his head down, to hide his face from the sea of smartphones held aloft by paralegals, associates, and secretaries who had endured his cruelty for years. But Brenner kept her hand firmly under his chin, forcing him to look straight ahead as they paraded him out of the glass elevators, through the marble lobby, and directly into the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers parked outside, where a dozen photojournalists—tipped off by an anonymous military veteran—were already waiting.
***