Marek Volkov stepped out of the building with measured strides. The city breathed indifferently beneath the gray morning light, but he couldn’t afford to ignore a single detail. Every window, every street, every silhouette could be hiding something others overlooked.

  The next step was inevitable: Richard Koller, the victim’s partner. The man who had shared business, secrets, and possibly grudges.

  Koller’s office was in a less ostentatious building, though still elegant. Volkov climbed the stairs in silence, accompanied by a young officer carrying the case file. He knocked on the door and waited. A deep voice answered:

  “Yes?”

  “Detective Volkov,” he said, firm but calm. “I need to speak with you about John Hagen.”

  The door opened slowly. Richard Koller appeared—impeccable, dark suit, perfectly adjusted tie. His eyes showed alertness, but not fear. At least, that was how it seemed.

  “Detective,” he said curtly. “I hear you have a few questions for me. Come in.”

  Volkov entered and scanned the room before sitting down. Nothing out of place. The partner’s desk was orderly, though not as obsessively so as Hagen’s. A slight disarray—papers stacked to one side—suggested that life happened here, not just appearances.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Volkov began. “I know you and Hagen were close partners. Forgive me for starting with the obvious, but I need to know what your relationship was like in the days leading up to the incident.”

  Koller adjusted his tie and sighed, a mix of irritation and fatigue.

  “Business is business,” he replied. “Yes, we had arguments. Typical differences of opinion about projects, investments, strategies… nothing out of the ordinary.”

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  “Nothing out of the ordinary?” Volkov repeated calmly, letting the question hang in the air. “No threats? No shared secrets that could have turned against you?”

  Koller shot him a sideways glance.

  “Detective… all of that stays in the office. Business isn’t personal life.”

  Volkov noted it mentally. That faint disdain, that automatic defensiveness, might prove useful.

  “Tell me about the night he died,” Volkov continued. “Did you have any contact with Hagen after eight in the evening?”

  Koller hesitated—just slightly. The pause was subtle, but Volkov caught it.

  “No,” he said at last. “I was at home. Alone.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “My wife and my driver. Yes, they can confirm it.”

  Volkov said nothing. He simply watched—every gesture, every blink, every minor reaction.

  “How would you describe your relationship with your partner?” he asked more gently. “Honestly.”

  Koller leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and let out a long breath.

  “John was… demanding. Intelligent. Sometimes too confident. He believed he could control everything. I… I was just trying to keep the business afloat. I didn’t resent him. I only… envied how easily he made decisions and walked away unscathed.”

  Volkov nodded slowly.

  “And your relationship with the others close to Hagen? His wife, his lover, his secretary?”

  Koller frowned, uncomfortable.

  “What do you mean?” he asked defensively. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “I’m just trying to understand the circle,” Volkov said, holding his gaze. “To understand the ties surrounding a dead man. I’m not judging… not yet.”

  There was a pause. The tension in the room was palpable. Koller finally took a deep breath.

  “All right,” he said. “Just for the sake of clarity: I knew about his infidelity. Yes, his wife was aware. Mila Novak—yes, she was his lover. The secretary… I never understood why she was always so close to him. I didn’t care, as long as it didn’t interfere with my work.”

  Volkov made a mental note. Every word, every name, every relationship was now under scrutiny. Each detail could open a door no one had noticed before.

  “Thank you for your honesty,” he said at last. “I won’t trouble you any further… for now.”

  Koller nodded, but his eyes remained tense, watchful. He knew that a man like Volkov didn’t leave loose ends. None.

  As he left, Volkov walked out of the office with the young officer. Every suspect, every lead, every lie or half-silence was now clearer. But the case still wasn’t speaking out loud. He had to listen between the lines—between gestures, between empty spaces.

  And Volkov always listened.

  The city, for its part, continued on, unaware, as if nothing had changed. But he knew he was awakening secrets no one else was prepared to face.