Samuel eased into the chair across from me, the faint creak of worn wood filling the quiet office. He placed a coffee on the desk in front of me with a practiced nonchalance, but I caught the glimmer of nervous energy in his movements.
I glanced at him sharply, the corner of my mouth twitching. "What's with the coffee now?"
"This, ummm…" He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, his grin betraying a mix of guilt and amusement. "You were right."
"Right about what?" I leaned forward slightly, my curiosity piqued.
He shifted in his seat, leaning in as though sharing a secret. "Right about that wife being a murderer."
I let out a low chuckle, picking up the cup he'd brought. "Which one?"
"The husband—found dead on the couch," he clarified, his tone dropping. "You said she was lying. Turns out you were spot on. That alibi of hers? Flimsier than wet paper."
"Oh, that case," I said, waving my hand dismissively. I took a slow sip of the coffee, savoring the warmth as I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm. "You always need my help, young boy. It was plain as day."
Samuel scoffed, though his grin didn't falter. "Yeah, yeah, don't get too smug about it."
"Why not?" I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "It's not my fault you missed the obvious."
He rolled his eyes but pressed on. "Alright, so why did she do it? In most cases, it's either for money or some lover, right?"
I set the cup down, meeting his gaze with deliberate ease. "In this one, it was both. Life insurance payout and revenge. Turns out her husband had been cheating on her."
Samuel let out a low whistle, sitting back with a look of disbelief. "Life insurance and infidelity? Classic combo. My, my. Women are getting bold these days."
"They've always been bold," I replied, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "It's just that some are better at hiding it than others. And this one? She was sloppy. Desperate."
He shook his head with a laugh, rubbing his temples. "And here I thought she was just some trophy wife caught in a bad marriage. Guess I underestimated her."
"Most people do," I said, sipping the coffee again. "She played her cards well enough for a time. But you can only bluff for so long before someone calls it."
"And that someone is you." Samuel's grin widened, his admiration barely hidden.
I smirked, shrugging lightly. "It's not a competition, Waltzman. But if it were, I'd still be winning."
Samuel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "You make it sound like a game."
I tilted my head, watching him carefully. "It is a game. A deadly one, sure, but a game nonetheless. The wife? She just happened to play better than her husband. For a while, anyway."
"Until you came along," Samuel added, his grin now full of mischief.
I didn't reply immediately, letting the weight of his words settle. Instead, I picked up the coffee again, savoring the bitter edge of the brew. "Some games," I said finally, "are too easy to win. The trick is knowing when to call checkmate."
Samuel laughed, shaking his head. "You're something else, Hoffman. Remind me not to get on your bad side."
I smirked, setting the coffee cup down. "Good advice. You'd never win."
I reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the neatly wrapped package Sasha had left with me earlier. The patterned furoshiki cloth was tied expertly—elegant, precise, very Sasha.
"I almost forgot," I said, placing it on the desk in front of Samuel.
He leaned forward with an exaggerated gasp, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Oh my God," he exclaimed, clearly mocking the moment. "A Christmas gift? For me?"
"Don't amuse yourself," I shot back sharply, though a smirk tugged at my lips. "It's from Sasha."
His expression faltered just a bit as he reached for the gift. "Oh," he muttered, clearly less thrilled now. "Figures. You're not exactly the type to wrap anything this... neat."
He untied the furoshiki with care, though his earlier excitement had dimmed. "I know you, Hoffman. You'd never gift me anything thoughtful or classy like this."
I crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. "What's wrong with my gifts?"
He shot me a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. "Where do I even begin? Let's see... a dog chain, a bottle of hair dye, and hair oil for my birthday last year. And let's not forget that one unspeakable gift."
A laugh escaped me at the memory. "You're still holding onto those, huh?"
"Of course I am! They scarred me," he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "But seriously, what was up with the dog chain?"
"That," I said, feigning an air of seriousness, "was intended for your wife. Thought she might find it useful."
Samuel burst out laughing, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "You're unbelievable, Hoffman. Truly. But for the record, my wife hates you."
"I'm counting on it," I quipped, my smirk returning.
Samuel unwrapped the furoshiki cloth with the care of someone diffusing a bomb, his brow furrowed in concentration. As the folds fell away, he stared at the small object nestled inside.
"It's a bonsai tree," he said, holding it up to the light. "But... an artificial one."
"Of course it's artificial," I remarked, leaning back in my chair. "Sasha knows you'd be too lazy to water a real one."
He shot me a flat look. "I'm not lazy. I'm... efficient."
"Efficiently killing plants, maybe."
Samuel ignored me, turning the tree this way and that, as if inspecting it for hidden features. Finally, he set it down on the desk with a sigh. "Whatever, Hoffman. Oh, by the way, Anne invited you and Sasha to a casual dinner."
"Sasha's in Japan," I replied, reaching for my coffee. "She's supposed to be back tomorrow."
"Then it's settled," he said, snapping his fingers. "Dinner on New Year's Eve."
I shrugged. "You'll have to ask Sasha. She's young—at least younger than me. She might have her own plans, you know."
Samuel's grin widened, his tone turning sly. "I smell jealousy."
I raised an eyebrow. "Jealousy? Don't flatter yourself, Waltzman. I'm just a brother figure."
His expression tightened, frustration flickering across his face. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, but he simply shook his head and changed the subject.
"How was your Christmas?" he asked, his tone casual but probing.
"Unforgettable," I said with a smirk.
"Got some girls, did you?" He leaned forward, clearly expecting a story.
"Oh, yeah," I said, letting the words hang in the air. "A sassy and young one."
Samuel's eyebrows shot up. "Young? How young?"
"Nineteen," I replied, biting back a laugh.
He froze, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a dramatic gasp, he pointed a finger at me. "You perverted old man! Get someone around your age!"
I couldn't hold back anymore—I laughed outright. "Relax, Waltzman. She's my niece. She was visiting from out of town for the holidays."
He groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. "You're unbelievable, Hoffman. Absolutely unbelievable."
"And you're predictable," I shot back, still chuckling. "You jump to conclusions faster than anyone I know. But thanks for the coffee. Merry belated Christmas."
Samuel shook his head, though a small smile crept onto his face. "Merry Christmas, you impossible man."
I sipped my coffee as he leaned back in his chair, the artificial bonsai tree perched proudly on the desk between us. For a moment, the room felt warmer, the tension of the day easing into the background.
I watched Samuel laugh off his embarrassment, shaking his head as if to dismiss the entire conversation. But as I sipped my coffee, my smirk faded, and the warmth in the room seemed to dull.
I had lied.
She wasn't my niece.
Cola... Sonia's younger sister. She was special to me in a way I hadn't let myself admit for a long time.
I remembered her vividly—the way she carried herself with an effortless charm, her laughter like soft chimes in the wind. Nineteen, yes, but far wiser than her years. She was a beacon in a world that often felt like a shadow to me.
Samuel kept talking, his voice a blur in the background as my thoughts drifted. I shouldn't have mentioned her at all. It was a mistake to let even a sliver of that truth out. He'd press for details if he suspected anything, and I wasn't ready for that.
"You're quiet," Samuel said, snapping me out of my reverie. He studied me, his usual grin replaced by something more thoughtful. "That's rare. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing important," I said quickly, forcing a casual tone. "Just thinking about the case."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't push further, much to my relief. "Well, don't overthink it. Even you need a break sometimes."
As Samuel got up to leave, I stared at the artificial bonsai tree on my desk. It was supposed to symbolize resilience, growth, and peace. Ironically fitting, given how I felt about Cola.
She was the one thing I had in my life that wasn't tarnished by the grim realities of my work, but she was also a complication I couldn't afford. Especially now, with Cassandra's case looming over me like a storm cloud.
Sonia would kill me if she ever found out. And Samuel? He'd never let me hear the end of it.
Cola deserved better than the mess I was, but some selfish part of me couldn't let her go. She was my little secret, my glimpse of something pure amidst all the chaos.
I picked up the bonsai and turned it over in my hands, wondering if I was strong enough to keep that part of my life untouched—or if, like everything else, it would eventually crumble under the weight of my choices.