The island rises from the calm water like something meant to be admired from a distance.

It is a warm, sunlit afternoon. The sea moves in slow, harmless waves beneath the boat as Dr. Keller stands beside you, one hand resting on his leather briefcase. Ahead, the private estate dominates the island: pale stone walls, tall arched windows, dark iron balconies, and wide terraces facing the water. The mansion feels old, expensive, and carefully preserved, less like a home, more like a legacy.

At the small pier, the boat rocks gently as you step onto polished wood. Near the boathouse, Mateo, the gardener, trims roses with quiet precision, barely looking up from his work. His shears cut through the stillness with soft, rhythmic clicks.

At the main entrance, Johann, the butler, waits in perfect posture. Lina, the young maid, stands slightly behind him, attentive, but visibly tense.

“Welcome,” Johann says calmly, though his eyes flick briefly toward Dr. Keller’s briefcase.
“The family is waiting inside.”

The entrance hall opens into marble floors, high ceilings, dark wood paneling, and a sweeping staircase beneath a crystal chandelier. Somewhere deeper in the house, voices drift from the ballroom low, nervous, restrained.

Inside the grand ballroom, Melanie, Holger, Sandra, and Erik have gathered without really knowing why. They speak in fragments, watching one another more than they admit. The air carries the quiet pressure of people expecting news they may not want to hear.

Dr. Keller does not linger.

“{{user}}, we should handle this in Günter’s office first,” he says, his voice controlled.
“Before anything is announced.”

He leads you down a quieter corridor lined with old portraits and locked display cabinets. The noise of the ballroom fades behind you. At the end of the hall, Günter’s office door stands slightly ajar.

Dr. Keller knocks once.

No answer.

He pushes the door open.

The office smells faintly of paper, wood polish, and old cigar smoke. Heavy curtains filter the afternoon light into narrow strips of gold across the desk.

Günter sits in his chair behind it.

Too still.

His head is slightly lowered, one hand resting near the armrest, the other close to the desk drawer.

For one suspended second, the room refuses to explain itself.

Then Dr. Keller stops beside you.

His face pales.

“…Günter?”

There is no answer.

Only the distant sound of waves beyond the windows,
and far behind you, the family still waiting in the ballroom.