Page 9 of Lost Room Lawyer (Room #4)

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Hector

The thought of driving two and a half hours with Nico didn’t sit well with me at all. I would have preferred to handle the situation alone, but Gerry had sent me photos of Vevey, so I had a rough idea of what to expect in St. Moritz.

Canonica’s obsession with collecting had indeed crossed all reasonable limits, and since I was pretty much the opposite of a hoarder and tended to get anxious about the chaotic clutter in my daughters’ bedrooms, I knew I couldn’t tackle this mission alone.

What’s the point of having an intern? I reminded myself as I drove early in the morning to Nico’s house. Two and a half hours of driving!

Nico was already waiting in front of the building. I was glad he was such a reliable young man. Although we hadn’t had much contact over the past two weeks, I had noticed that he was diligent and able to work independently.

He threw his bag onto the back seat and got in.

“Morning,” he said, fastening his seatbelt.

As he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he looked totally cute.

His hair was a bit tousled, and a faint pillow mark lingered on his cheek.

When I didn’t respond, he turned to me with a sleepy expression.

“Morning,” I replied with a smile.

His gaze drifted over my suit. “You’re all dressed up again,” he mumbled. “How do you do that?”

Reluctantly, I admitted that my behavior was bordering on obsessive. If I noticed it myself, it must be significant.

“You’re dressed casually.”

“Should I have dressed up?” He sounded slightly uncertain. “You didn’t say anything, so I thought …”

“Of course not. It’s the weekend.”

We drove in silence for the first half of the trip. It was enjoyable. I appreciated the peaceful morning, and he apparently did too.

Shortly after eight, I pulled over at a rest stop. I desperately needed a coffee—maybe two. Nico got a double espresso, which made me smile.

“What?” he asked, chuckling as we stepped outside with our steaming cups.

“I’ve never seen you drink coffee before.”

“I usually have it at home. But I don’t need to be at the office by seven. How do you manage it?”

“I’m not …” I started to say, then realized I had indeed been arriving early every day for the past two weeks. “That’s more of an exception. I actually prefer working late into the night.”

“How does that work—with a family at home, I mean?”

“I have an apartment in Zurich. It’s rented out to two students, but I have a bedroom and an office there.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” he said with a laugh.

“No,” I admitted with a sigh. “It doesn’t. It just makes things more complicated. But what can I do? I like my work—even the part we’re facing today.”

“Is this Canonica really that disorganized?”

“Messy defines it better.”

As we drank our coffee and discussed Canonica and the case, I tried to pay attention to everything around us—the people passing by, the wailing child, the light drizzle starting to fall—but I struggled to keep my focus.

Nico still had a magnetic pull on me, and it wasn’t surprising that I had been drawn to him on poker night.

He exuded an incredible presence. By now, I’d noticed he was at least an inch or two taller than me, which only made him more appealing.

Why didn’t I notice that before?

Oh yes. I noticed it that night.

And it turned me on.

It was interesting. I’d booked quite a few callboys in my life, and although they were generally the same height as me, I often felt like I was looking down on many of them. Not because I was arrogant, but maybe simply because I was the guy paying for sex.

The world's oldest profession often clashed with my convictions and morals, leaving me feeling dirty.

At least I can say with a clear conscience that I always treated the guys with respect.

What made it even harder was that Nico suddenly locked eyes with me. Of all people, my intern. Damn, in no other situation was the division of roles so obvious.

What a cliché!

As we drove further toward Chur, the weather got worse.

It poured rain, and visibility on the road was poor.

In Thusis, it started to snow, and I hoped we wouldn’t need snow chains to reach the Engadine Valley.

But we were lucky. On the Julier Pass, there was a steel-blue sky and bright sunshine.

The landscape was powdered white and almost fairy-tale like.

“You’d almost think we should have packed our ski gear,” Nico said, lost in thought.

“Do you ski?”

“It’s been ages,” he murmured. “I prefer the warmth. And you?”

“Same here.” There was a moment of silence, and I glanced at Nico. He looked thoughtful. “What’s up?”

“I’m still wondering why we never met before.”

“Hm …” I hummed. I wasn’t much of a believer in fate, but in this case, it felt like the universe was trying to send me a message. “I could never attend Leo’s barbecues because they always occur during summer vacation.”

“Of course,” he said absentmindedly, as if it were clear that I was bound by school holidays due to having kids. “But I was never there anyway.”

“Really?”

“My father and I …” Nico intertwined his fingers. “We have our differences—putting it nicely.”

I had never questioned their relationship before, as Nico seemed on track to follow in Leonard’s footsteps. But now, seeing Nico’s distant expression made me realize that there are always two sides to every story.

Leo had been a good mentor to me, and I had learned a lot from him—including some practices and procedures that bordered on illegal.

Moreover, Leo was a textbook hothead. In the four years he mentored me, I witnessed his rage only three times—and it was never pleasant.

Given that, it didn’t surprise me that his second marriage had also fallen apart.

For some inexplicable reason, I felt compelled to change the subject.

“Do you usually travel during the summer months?”

“Not really,” he answered. “Last year was an exception.”

“Oh? Where did you go?” The moment I asked the question, I wasn’t sure if it was too personal. But it was difficult to treat Nico like someone I didn’t know. Even though we had never met before, I had heard so many stories about Leo’s firstborn that I felt like I knew him a little bit.

“I went to South Africa,” he replied.

“Oh yeah?” I was genuinely surprised. “With friends?”

“No, with my mother.”

Now I was speechless. “With your … what?”

“Yes, it might sound a bit unusual, but … we get along well. In a way, she’s my best friend.”

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. On one hand, it was sweet that he had such a good relationship with his mother, but … “What about friends?”

“Friends come and go,” he said dryly. “I go out with people. I have acquaintances. Dominic is the only true friend I have.”

“That surprises me,” I admitted. “You’re a good-looking young man with a law degree. You have so many opportunities ahead of you. Aren’t you interested in forming deeper connections with people?”

“I enjoy spending time with others, but there’s a difference between having fun and building deep friendships. I prefer to keep things light—have fun together and then go our separate ways.”

The words seemed to me like a lie, even though in our case they were exactly what would have happened if the universe hadn’t decided otherwise.

I pushed the thought aside, because despite the fact that, for him, I would have been nothing more than a fleeting encounter—and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way—it still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nico nervously tapping his right foot. Was he feeling the same way?

“I heard you moved around a lot,” I said to steer the conversation in a new direction.

“Yes, why?”

“Why?” I laughed. “That would be my question.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Lawyer?”

“Uh … What?” I was taken aback. Juri had always called me that—and so had other callboys.

Nico grinned. “What threw you off track just now?”

“Nothing … Nothing …” I said, focusing again on the road.

“My mother worked as an art teacher. She’s a stone sculptor.

A very good one, actually. That’s why we had to move wherever she found work,” Nico explained with a shrug.

“I understand where you’re going with this, Mr. Psychologist. But I don’t mind having just one friend.

Better to have one good one than ten mediocre ones. ”

“You’re probably right.”

“Do you have friends?”

“Well, if I think about it … I’d say I know a lot of people and have many acquaintances. That comes with parent-teacher meetings, I suppose. But in that sense … no, they’re not my friends. Viktoria … She’s a good friend.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes.”

With every word, I felt myself edging further into the sidelines. Yet, it was all legitimate. Viktoria was my wife, my closest ally for almost twenty years.

“A good friend?” he asked, clearly baffled. “If she’s your wife, isn’t she also your best friend?”

“Yes, of course.”

I was confused. I generally avoided thinking about such things. With the secret I had been carrying around for years, I had enough to deal with. In my job, I focused too often on such details, so I didn’t want to trouble myself with these nuances in my personal life.

“Where are we staying, by the way?” Nico asked as we drove into St. Moritz.

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. Linda was supposed to let me know during the day. For now, we’ll head to Canonica’s house and start looking for documents.”

And that’s what we did.

The house was spotless, but the archive was a chaotic mess that made all my nightmares and worst fears come true.

It was just like the photos Gerry had taken in Vevey.

Cardboard boxes bulged and towered all the way to the ceiling, while countless bundles of paper seemed to be piled up in front of the boxes to keep them from toppling over.

“Is this where we’re supposed to find something?” Nico asked, both horrified and amused.