to Essen alone, until he was established. A man of wealth, testing new waters for investments and a future, bringing with him a carefully constructed history from faraway Munich, money flowing through the Austrian banks. So simple, and the times were so right!" Suddenly Kassel frowned. "Flis wife," said the lawyer quietly.
"What about his wife?" "She was not a Municher. She was Hungarian, from a wealthy family in Debrecen, it was said. Her German was never very good." "Translated, she was from Leningrad and a poor lirtguist. What was Verachten's full name?" "Ansel Verachten," said the attorney, his eyes now on Taleniekov. "Ansel." "Andrei." Vasili let the pages fall. "It's incredible how the ego strives to be sublime, isn't it? Meet Prince Andrei Voroshin."
They strolled across the Gildenplatz, the Kaffee Hag building blazing with light, the Bosch insignia subdued but prominent below the enormous clock.
it was eight in the evening now, the sky dark, the air cold. It was not a good night for walking, but Taleniekov and Kassel had spent nearly six hours in the Records of Property; the wind that blew across the square was refreshing.
"Nothing should shock a German from the Ruhr," said
the lawyer, shaking his head. "After all, we are the ZUrich of the north.
But this is incredible. And I know only a part of the story. You won't reconsider and tell me the rest?" "One day I may." "That's too cryptic. Say what you mean." "If I'm alive." Vasili looked at Kassel. "Tell me everything you can about the Verachtens." "There isn't that much. The wife died in the midthirties, I think. One son and a daughter-in-law were killed in a bombing raid during the war, I remember that. The bodies weren't found for several days, buried under the rubble as so many were. Ansel lived to a ripe old age, somehow avoiding the war crimes penalties that caught the Krupps. He died in style, heart seizure while on horseback sometime in the fifties." "Who's left?" "Walther Verachten, his wife and their daughter; she never married, but it didn't prevent her from enjoying connubial pleasures." "What do you mean?" "She cut a bold figure, as they say, and when she was younger, had one to match her reputation. The Americans have a term that fits: she was-in some ways, still is-a 4man-eater.'" The attorney paused. "Strange how things turn out. It's Odile who really runs the companies now. Walther and his wife are in their late seventies and are rarely seen in public these days." "Where do they live?" "They're still in Stadtwald, but not at the original estate, of course.
As we saw, it was one of those sold to postwar developers; it's why I didn't recognize it. They have a house further out in the countryside now." "What about the daughter, this Odile?" "That," replied Kassel, chuckling, "depends on the lady's whims. She keeps a penthouse on the Werden Strasse, and through those portals pass many a business adversary who wakes up the next morning too exhausted to best her at the conference table. When she's not in the city I understand she maintains a cottage on her parents' grounds." "She sounds like quite a woman." "In the forty-five-plus sweepstakes, few outclass her on the track." Kassel paused again, again not finished.
"She has a flaw, however, and I'm told it's maddening. Although she runs Verachten firmly, when things aren't going well and swift decisions are called for, she often announces that she must confer with her father, thus postponing actions sometimes for days. At heart she's a woman, forced by circumstances to wear a man's hat, but the power still resides with old Walther." "Do you know himT' "We're acquaintances, that's all." "What do you think of him?" "Not much, never did. He always struck me as a rather pretentious autocrat without a great deal of talent." "The Verachten Works thrive, however," said Vasili.
"I know, I know. That's what I'm told whenever I voice that opinion. My weak rejoinder is that it might do so much better without him; and it is weak. If Verachten did any better, it would own Europe. So, I assume it's a personal dislike on my part and I'm wrong." Not necessarily, thought Taleniekov. The Matarese make strange and eflective arrangements. They need only the apparatus.
"I want to meet him," said Vasili. "Alone. Have you ever been to his house?" "Once several years ago," replied Kassel. "The Verachten lawyers called us in on a patent problem. Odile was out