Asked to pay: Bloodline E-Book

Jonas Kaden

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 125

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Asked to pay: Bloodline After intrigue, betrayal, and bloody power struggles, the Beckmann dynasty is on the brink of collapse. When a mysterious heir emerges and old secrets claim new victims, a final battle for control, truth—and the deadly legacy of the bloodline—begins.

Leseprobe

Title:Asked to pay:

Bloodline

Author:Jonas Kaden

Biography:

Jonas Kaden was born in Düsseldorf in1983 and grew up in a family ofambitious entrepreneurs. From an earlyage, he developed an interest in storiesand people, which led him to write hisfirst book at the age of 26. Instead ofstudying literature, Jonas decided toexplore the world on his own, traveling,working in various jobs, and developinga keen interest in criminal psychologyand human nature. These experiencesshaped his writing, which ischaracterized by exciting, profoundcharacters and complex storylines. JonasKaden now lives in Berlin and devoteshimself entirely to writing thrillers andcrime novels, often exploring the darkside of human behavior in his stories.

Chapter 1: Inheritance without foundation

The conference room on the eighth floor of Beckmann headquarters was as cold as a judge's heart. Outside, a glass facade overlooking the gray Rhine, inside, a tense tension hung heavy in the air like the expensive coffee no one touched. Karsten stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin jutting out in irritation. He wore a tailored black suit with narrow lapels, but the fabric was stretched over his shoulders. He looked as if he were about to burst. From anger. From pressure. From his inability to keep everything under control.

"We have to act. Now, immediately. Anything else is a waste of time." His voice was firm, but it vibrated slightly. Christoph lifted his head from his tablet. He wore a dark blue turtleneck sweater, inconspicuous as always, but his eyes flashed. "How do you intend to act, Karsten? Another internal audit that you'll then secure yourself? Or better yet: We'll call Jessy again, the little blonde wonder weapon who manipulates us all so beautifully?" Anna sat on the other side of the table, a pencil between her fingers, which she slowly turned without looking at anyone. Her hair was pinned up, her makeup was subtle, but the dark circles under her eyes showed the sleepless nights she spent switching between crying babies and balance sheet figures like others switch between shirts and jackets. "It's not just about internal errors," she said quietly.

"Someonetargeted us. The IT department is talking about structured access to sensitive data. The server farms weren't simply deleted— someone bypassed our security mechanisms as if they had built them themselves."

"I saw the damn logs," Karsten growled. "The timestamps, the IPs. And you know what I noticed, sis?" Now he turned around, placed his hands on the edge of the table, and leaned toward her. "That your login details were active that evening. In Cologne." Anna blinked, then laughed briefly. "In Cologne, I went to the pediatrician with Lars, you paranoid asshole. And what are you actually implying? That I want to ruin the company my father built?" Christoph snorted. "Our father. Even if you like to claim him all to yourself, Anna." Karsten slowly sank into the chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the armrests. His gaze wandered to Christoph. "And you? What have you been doing for weeks besides drinking gin and chasing after insignificant men in back rooms?" Christoph's eyes narrowed. The provocation was cheap but effective.

"You know, Karsten," he said calmly, "this isn't your game. You're not the big shot you think you are. You may have the thickest bunch of keys, but they don't fit anyDoor." Anna had stood up. Her gaze was fixed on the skyline. "We need to hire an external IT forensic firm," she said. "Someone independent. Otherwise, the press will wipe us out before we can print the next quarterly report." Karsten laughed dryly. "Sure, and you decide who we hire, right? Or will it be Lars, your oh-so-upright partner, who suddenly reappears after disappearing for months?"

Anna turned to him, slowly, with that dangerous calm she'd inherited from Ramona. "Lars is off the table," she said. "But if you drag my son or my private life into this meeting again, you can roll up your executive chair and shove it up your ass." Christoph grinned. Karsten, however, just blinked, then leaned back. "All right. External IT. But if I find out one of you is up to no good—and believe me, I'll find out—I won't be squeamish."

There was a knock outside. Jessy entered, wearing a bright red blazer, her blond hair pulled tightly back. Her lips were thin, her gaze sharp as a scalpel. "Excuse me, but the media briefing is in ten minutes. And we have to decide whether to confirm or deny the report about the cyberattack." Karsten stood up and buttoned his jacket. "We deny it. For now." Anna stepped past her,whispered to her, "He'll drop you as soon as you're no longer useful." Jessy just raised an eyebrow, as if wondering about a rain cloud. "We'll see about that, Anna."

•

That afternoon, Christoph sat alone in his office. The sun was low, casting a blood-red glow on the desk. The city lights began to flicker, artificial fireflies on cold concrete. He stared at the tablet in front of him. The name he read on the screen made his blood run cold. "Harald Kirchberger." A name his father, years before his death, had regularly avoided like an allergic reaction. Kirchberger had left with a dark shadow behind him—economic manipulation, delaying bankruptcy filing, and untraceable party donations. And now he was back. Christoph had received an invitation from him two days ago—discreet, on old paper, by messenger. A meeting at the Savoy Club, 9 p.m. He knew he would go.

•

Karsten sat in his office and listened to the voice recording for the tenth time. "...the access came from within. The firewall was bypassed with a master key. The perpetrator knew exactly where to go. No searching, no detours. Precise."IT manager Julia's voice sounded calm, analytical— but what Karsten heard was panic. Panic that they had no idea who was eating the company away from within. His fingers felt across the surface of the desk until they reached the small drawer. He opened it and took out the small, black pistol he'd kept there for weeks. He looked at it like a work of art. Black, smooth, deadly. When words no longer work, he thought, only violence remains.

•

Anna sat in the children's room and watched her son playing with a wooden excavator. The sound of the small wheels on the parquet floor was the only noise. Her thoughts were racing. For weeks she felt like she was being watched. As if someone had cameras in the house. As if her cell phone was recording more than she spoke. Lars had contacted her again yesterday. He wanted to "talk," he said. About the child, about the company, about everything that stood between them. But she had hung up. She no longer trusted him. Not after what she had learned about his account in the Cayman Islands. Not after the papers that someone had anonymously passed on to her. A letter bearing his signature – on a contract with Kirchberger.

•

Late in the evening, Christoph entered the Savoy Club.He wore a plain jacket, black jeans, and no tie. The concierge led him silently through a red-lined hallway, past silent paintings and a leaden silence. Kirchberger sat alone in a dark corner, a glass of Scotch in front of him. He had grown older, more wrinkled, but his gaze remained the same: alert, sharp, full of greed. "Christoph Beckmann. It's a pleasure." Christoph didn't sit down. "What do you want from us?" Kirchberger smiled. "Let's say an opportunity. I can save you. I can restore liquidity. I can pull you out of the swamp. But I want something in return." Christoph crossed his arms. "What?" Kirchberger took a sip. "Shares. Access. And a guarantee that Jessy disappears." Christoph frowned. "What do you have against her?" Kirchberger leaned forward. "She's not what she claims to be. And she's playing a game you don't understand. If she stays, Beckmann Systems won't survive."

•

At night, Karsten sat in his car in front of an old industrial building in the harbor district. He had received a message, anonymous, containing only coordinates. A pressure in the pit of his stomach told him that something decisive was about to happen. A figure stepped out of the darkness— tall, dressed in black, his face hidden under a hood. Karsten got out. "What do you want?" The figure handed him a dossier. "The truth."Karsten flipped through the pages. Photos. Account movements. Transfers. Christoph. Ramona. Jessy. And at the very bottom: a contract with his own signature. From a year he spent abroad. "What is this?" "Proof that someone is trying to use you," said the figure. "Or you forgot it yourself."

•

At dawn, Anna woke to a noise. Her son was sleeping next door. A light flickered in the hallway. When she opened the door, she saw it: the word "GUILT" written in red on the wall. And underneath it, a date:“April 15 – 8:00 PM” She didn't know what it meant.

But she knew it would begin. Soon. And that no one was prepared.

Chapter 2: Blood on the Parking Deck

The concrete smelled of oil, cold, and something else, something ferrous and metallic. It was shortly after six in the morning when the first employees entered the underground parking garage of Beckmann headquarters. A young clerk named Elena was the one who spotted the man. At first, she thought he was a drunk. Someone lost in the darkness, perhaps a homeless person seeking shelter from the rain. But as she approached, she realized the body was twisted. Too still. Too motionless. And too bloody.

He lay on his back, his eyes wide open. His gaze stared into nothingness, or perhaps at the naked neon light above him. His shirt was torn, and a deep stab wound lay on his chest. His right hand was clenched, as if, in his dying state, he had tried to grasp something that was slipping from his grasp. His skin wasn't yet cold, but blood had already pooled beneath him in dark pools.

Elena screamed. Her voice echoed through the underground concrete labyrinth, long and shrill, until a security guard found her, then the police, then the news spread like wildfire through the upper floors.

Christoph was the first member of management to arrive at the scene. He was not wearing a coat, only a grey jacket over ablack turtleneck. His eyes were red; he had barely slept. The night at the Savoy had shaken him, and the conversation with Kirchberger still felt like a parasitic bite in his brain. As he stood in front of the body, he remained motionless. Only when one of the investigators uncovered the dead man's face did he take a step back.

"Fuck," he whispered. "That's Schneider. Till Schneider. The man's been with the company for over twenty years." The inspector, a bald man in his mid-fifties with a weatherproof voice, nodded. "He started his shift early this morning. According to the security log, he drove into the garage at 5:44. No camera footage of the perpetrator. No sign of a break-in. No escape movement."

Christoph crossed his arms. "That means...?" The inspector looked at him with that typical look that police officers reserve for privileged people. "That means someone with access was here. Someone who knew how to get through."

Karsten arrived as they were covering the body. He said nothing, gave the inspector a curt nod, then looked at Christoph. "What happened?" Christoph shrugged. "Murder. Knife. No trace." Karsten narrowed his eyes. "Who knew Schneider had started work?" The inspector replied: "The log is in personnel planning. Those with access: HR, management, security—and, according to the file, your assistant, Jessy Bremer."

Karsten snorted. "Of course." Then he turned to Christoph. "You're more familiar with the old contracts. What did Schneider do?" Christoph was silent for a moment, then looked at the inspector, as if giving him an unspoken warning. "He was the liaison. Responsible for contacts with external consultants. And he had access to the archived contracts. Even to the old... post-Katja processes."

"You mean the deal with Kirchberger?" Karsten's voice sharpened. Christoph nodded slowly. "Yes. Among other things." Karsten stepped closer to him. "You never told me Schneider was involved." Christoph's voice remained calm. "Because it didn't change anything. He never had access to the crucial thing." "And what is the crucial thing, huh?" Karsten glared at him. "What exactly is it that someone with a knife wanted here?" The inspector intervened. "Gentlemen. If you want to blame each other, please do so away from my crime scene."

•

Meanwhile, Anna was sitting in her office; Christoph's call had woken her early. She had just held her little boy in her arms, a warm bottle of milk in the other hand, when she heard the news: Murder in the underground parking garage. An internal man. She had taken her son to her mother, taken a taxi, and barely spoken.on the way. Now she sat rigidly in front of the screen, on which security logs flickered. She had private access to the internal log files, set up by Lars, back when she still thought trust was a functioning currency.

She watched the movements in the underground parking garage. The only camera near the body was tampered with. It was just a still image, frozen at 5:45. But in a side view, on an unfamiliar vehicle, she recognized vague outlines. A figure. Dark. Hooded. And—there it was. An emblem on the shoulder. It was unclear, but she recognized it. An old logo. From the time when Dieter was still active at the company.

A tingling sensation ran through her, as if someone had poured ice water on her back. She typed quickly, searching for the old company logos, and found the 2011 version, the one with the slanted triangle in a circle. Exactly what was visible on the shoulder of the reflection. But that couldn't be true. That logo had been erased from public view with Dieter's downfall, like a stain on the family's image.

•