Russell’s office
After I hung up, I stood motionless for a few minutes.
Then I went upstairs and walked into Russell’s office.
It was the only room I had barely touched since his death.
His office was always perfectly tidy.
Russell was a methodical man. Every document had its own place. Every file was labeled.
His handwriting was still visible on the calendar by the window.
An appointment with the dentist.
A dinner with friends.
Simple things.
Normal things.
Things that would never happen.
I sat down in his armchair.
My fingers glided over the desk.
Under a stack of tax documents, I felt something.
A file.
I couldn’t remember having seen him before.
I opened it.
Inside lay documents that I did not immediately recognize.
Bank statements.
Title deeds.
And an envelope.
My name was written on it.
Russell’s work.
Calm.
To be precise.
The rest is on the next page.
