Page 262 of Caelum

As the door creaked open, a Hasidic Jew was revealed to me. He had graying ringlets tousled on either side of his cheeks, and he wore a plain black suit. I only knew what a Hasidic Jew was because Samuel had warned me not to be surprised by his appearance.

My current trouble was coming across people and scenarios I’d never seen before. A little like a newborn staring out at the world in wonder, but people mistook my wonder for scorn, and that simply wasn’t the case.

I was walking the world, free to roam—well, to a point—and there was no way I wasn’t going to see everything there was to see. But, sometimes, things just surprised me. Like the croissant. Only they didn’t get offended if I gaped at them in delighted wonder.

Small surprise that everyone at the New Order cult was miserable as sin. They were missing out on so much! Automated washing machines, croissants, and yoga pants were just three things I’d come to love.

The ringlets held my attention for a second before I managed to turn my attention away from them and to the man himself. Ibramovicz was a dealer. A middleman. He would put us in touch with people who were interested in what we were selling—be it illegal or otherwise—for a cut.

Considering the deal we had on the table was very illegal, it surprised me to realize that the man was very religious. How did that even work? Didn’t his job go against his religion?

Humans were, I was coming to see, hypocrites. It wasn’t news to me. Not after the New Order. But still, the belief was being rammed home now.

“Ms. David?” the fence asked, his head tilted to the side as he cast a weather eye over my appearance.

I didn’t actually have a surname, but Samuel had found it amusing to give me the name of Solomon’s father.

“Yes.” I smiled.

He swept out a hand and stepped to the side to let me in. When Frazer and Stefan moved with me, he tensed, and I raised a brow.

“They can wait outside if you wish it, but you can understand my hesitance in traveling without security with the items I’m carrying.”

Ibramovicz, apparently seeing the sense in that, nodded to a desk where there were two spindly guest chairs waiting for me to take a seat.

The office was innocuous enough, containing a wooden desk that was peeling at the corners and a desk chair that appeared to be covered in some kind of rose felt. The walls held a few bland pictures I thought could have been purchased in any home store a few decades ago, and the floor was covered in a worn, brown carpet that hid way too many stains from unsuspecting eyes.

All in all, it looked recyclable.

Like it was pushed together and pulled apart at a moment’s notice to give Ibramovicz somewhere to discuss business.

When I took a seat, Frazer stepped behind me while Stefan sat beside me. Ibramovicz’s own chair squeaked as he rocked back and, steepling his fingers, he asked, “You wished to see me?”

“Yes, and you know why.”

He tilted his head to the side. “It is to my understanding that you have items that might be of interest to certain people in my ken.”

“Is this room wired?” I asked, posing the question Samuel had insisted I utter.

Ibramovicz snorted. “I’d be a fool to wire the room.” My question seemed to ease him somehow, and he rocked forward. “Where did you get these items?”

“From someone who shouldn’t own them. Someone whose father used to run the Dachau prison camp.”

Ibramovicz’s mouth tightened. “Nazi scum.” When he spat, twisting his head to the left, I jerked in surprise. “Wassermann always liked to say that his father’s arm was twisted into joining the Nazi party, but there have always been whispers about his illicit gains.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Show me.”

I reached for my purse and unbuttoned it, then unfastened the chunky bronze zipper on the leather satchel. As I reached in for the velvet pouches we’d used to contain the jewels, I bit the inside of my lip. I knew he wouldn’t see the move, but the slight pain helped ease my nerves.

I felt jittery inside, and that was the last thing Ibramovicz needed to sense. A man of his years, in this profession, would be good at reading people. Another fact Samuel and Eren had warned me about.

When I placed the pouch on the desk, the scored and scratched wooden surface looked even cheaper against the rich velvet. When I tipped open the flap, Ibramovicz inquired, “How did you even get into thevault?”

My lips curved. “It’s about who you know in this world, and what they know.”

The old man’s eyes flared with amusement, and he grinned at me. “This is very true and very wise for one so young.” He cast a glance at my men. “You’re all very young for a life of crime.”

“Hard choices can force your hand,” I stated, my tone sage. I carefully began pulling out the pieces we knew would be of most interest to him. The others were back at home and Samuel, as we agreed, was trying to see if he could figure out the original owners.

Sadly, it wasn’t looking too hopeful. Some bore jeweler’s marks, but most didn’t. They were just exquisite pieces that were worth a small fortune.

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