The next morning, Max strolled into Georg's office, noting the absence of broken glass and disarray. It was as if the prior night's chaos had been wiped clean, leaving behind an oddly serene space.
Last night, after the tension-filled altercation between Georg and the Alliance, Max received a frantic call from Big Boy. Without hesitation, Max rushed to the club, where chaos awaited him. Stepping into Georg's office, Max was met with a scene of utter disarray—papers scattered, furniture upended, and empty bottles rolling across the floor. Behind the desk sat Georg, barely conscious, his head slumped forward, drowning in alcohol.
Max quickly called for Big Boy, and together, they hauled Georg to bed. As they worked, Big Boy recounted the night's events. Georg had been desperately searching for his wooden rosary, overturning drawers and scattering belongings in his frenzy. When his search proved fruitless, he turned to the liquor cabinet for solace. His frustration soon spiraled into destruction, culminating in the wreckage now surrounding them.
Big Boy, ever the joker, remarked that the rosary must have been worth a fortune for Georg to lose his composure so completely. His casual tone betrayed his bewilderment. Max, however, was struck by the memory of their academy days. He remembered the rosary—a constant companion in Georg's possession. It seemed odd to Max, as Georg had never appeared particularly religious.
He voiced his observation, his curiosity nudging him to prod further. Georg, with a drunken laugh and a slurred voice, offered a cryptic explanation: the rosary had belonged to someone precious to him. There was a weight in his tone that silenced any further questions. Max let the subject drop, recalling how many cadets carried keepsakes from loved ones—photos, lockets, letters.
"Help yourself with some water, or I could request for tea, if you prefer," Georg said evenly, his tone lacking its usual sharpness. Max raised an eyebrow but made his way to the liquor cabinet out of habit, only to find it empty.
"Finally decided to sober up, huh?" Max jested, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.
Georg let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I've been trying. This time I will try harder. It seemed to me I must keep my wits with me at all times."
For a moment, silence hung between them, punctuated only by the faint creak of Max's boots as he crossed the room. Georg's gaze drifted somewhere unfocused, his features shadowed by an unspoken thought.
"So, that's the woman you had been talking about," Max said, breaking the stillness.
Georg nodded without looking at him.
"Very nice girl," Max continued casually, "and beautiful too. I couldn't help but wonder why she would trap herself in a convent. She would've had a lot of suitors with that face."
The sudden growl from Georg was unmistakable. "Better in a convent than in ballrooms and clubs with random men," he snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air.
Max chuckled, undeterred. "Jealous, Georg?"
Georg's glare could have frozen fire. "No," he said firmly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. "I just think she wouldn't feel comfortable about it."
Max leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his expression amused but thoughtful. "If you say so, my friend," he replied lightly. But his eyes lingered on Georg, reading more than the other man likely intended to share.
Max quietly nodded and sat in the chair across from Georg, the desk forming a barrier between them. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
"So," Max began, his voice measured, "what do you want to do about it now?"
Georg shook his head firmly. "Nothing. She chose her side, and I chose mine. What's in the past will stay in the past."
Max raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You want nothing to do with her anymore?"
"Yes," Georg replied curtly, but his tone faltered slightly as his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, studying Max intently. "You know something."
Max grinned, his posture relaxing as if he'd been waiting for this moment. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Well, I might have overheard a thing or two."
Georg's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he gestured for Max to continue.
Max relented with a sigh. "They chose her on purpose, Georg. She didn't just stumble into this. They saw how people in the community looked up to her, how selfless she's known to be. And they knew she wouldn't say no if they presented it as a way to help others. It's manipulation, plain and simple."
Georg's expression remained stoic, though his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing beneath.
Max pressed on. "Her presence gives them legitimacy. Makes them look better to the masses, gains them more support. It's not just her faith they're using—it's her reputation, her goodness. She probably doesn't even realize how deep she's in."
Georg quietly took it all in, his features unreadable as he stared down at his desk. The weight of Max's words settled heavily between them.
When Max finished, Georg stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need to take a walk," he muttered, his voice low and distant.
Max tilted his head. "You sure you're alright?"
Georg ignored the question, grabbing his coat. "Go downstairs to the bar," he said over his shoulder. "Help yourself to my finest wine. Just tell Karl it's on the house."
Max watched as Georg strode out of the room, his steps deliberate but heavy, leaving the air thick with unresolved tension.
As Georg stepped outside, he breathed in deeply, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. The sun shone brightly, its warmth spilling over the city streets, and the sky stretched clear and blue above him, as if last night's turmoil had been nothing more than a fleeting nightmare.
He walked aimlessly at first, letting his feet lead him through the narrow alleyways and past the worn-down poorhouses. The bustling life of the city felt distant, muted against the thoughts swirling in his mind.
Then, he froze.
Ahead of him, standing quietly on the sidewalk, was a familiar figure—the old man he had encountered before. The man stood with an air of calm, simply observing the world around him as if time moved slower in his presence.
Georg's lips curled into a wry smile as he approached, stopping just a few meters away. "So, you're real after all," he said, his tone laced with dry amusement. "I thought you were some heavenly messenger sent to me by God."
To smite me, he added silently, the thought lingering bitterly.
The old man chuckled, his laughter rich and warm. "Oh, it's you." His eyes twinkled with a knowing light as he smiled. "You want to know more, I see."
Georg didn't answer, but he didn't need to. The old man's gaze seemed to pierce right through him, reading all the questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.
The old man gestured with a slight tilt of his head. "Come."
Without hesitation, Georg followed. They weaved through the streets, past bustling markets and quiet corners, until they stopped in front of an old but impeccably clean house. Its worn exterior told stories of age and resilience, yet it exuded a sense of peace that felt oddly welcoming.
The old man pushed the door open without a word, stepping aside to let Georg in.
"Welcome to my humble abode," the old man said warmly, gesturing for Georg to enter.
Georg stepped inside and took in the modest surroundings. A worn couch sat against one wall, flanked by picture frames that crowded the peeling wallpaper. An old lamp, its shade tilted at an odd angle, cast a dim light over the room.
"Forgive me, I haven't had the time to clean yet," the old man said with a sheepish chuckle, leading Georg further inside.
They reached a small room, its entrance draped with a curtain made of dangling plastic crystals that clinked softly as the old man pushed them aside. In the center of the room stood a round table draped in red velvet. A crystal ball gleamed faintly in the middle, surrounded by a deck of tarot cards and the remnants of what seemed to be the old man's breakfast—crumbs and a half-filled mug.
"Well, I'll be damned," Georg muttered, raising an eyebrow. "You're an actual clairvoyant."
The old man waved a hand dismissively. "No, but my mother was. I simply inherited her tools, along with a bit of her... insight." He motioned toward the table. "Go take a seat, young man."
As Georg sat down, the old man busied himself clearing the dishes, retreating to a small adjoining kitchen.
"I just realized," Georg called through the curtain of crystals, "I don't know your name."
The old man returned with a fresh mug of tea in hand. "It's Jakob," he said as he sat down opposite Georg. "My mother, like I mentioned, was a clairvoyant. This house used to be her workshop, you could say. I remember as a child, so many people would come here just to have their fortune told."
Jakob's voice softened as he continued, his gaze growing distant. "We didn't have much, and those readings were our livelihood. But I envied her clients sometimes. They spent more time with her than I did." He laughed, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "She had a gift, though. People believed in her. They relied on her."
Georg leaned back in his chair, listening intently as the old man lost himself in memories of a childhood overshadowed by his mother's enigmatic work.
"Why didn't you also have a go in fortune telling? It seemed to me that you have a knack for it," Georg said, his voice light, though his curiosity was genuine.
Jakob smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. "I don't want to be like my mother, who stuck herself in this room and barely spent time with her child just so she could feed him. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all she's done for me, but it's simply not for me. It's a heavy responsibility, and I don't want those people coming into my house, even if I get paid for it."
Georg nodded, resting his elbows on the velvet-draped table. "That's fair. Though I hope you don't mind if I want to hear more from you."
"I know, young man. It's why I brought you here," Jakob said with a knowing smile. He reached for the tarot deck, shuffling the cards deftly. "But before anything else—your full name."
"Georg Johannes von Trapp," Georg replied evenly.
Jakob's brow arched slightly, though he said nothing. Georg felt a faint tension creep into the room, guessing Jakob recognized the name and perhaps its association with scandal. But Jakob remained silent, his hands expertly shuffling the deck as the room settled into a hushed calm.
Breaking the quiet, Georg spoke again, his words careful. "I did lose something precious to me, just like you said. A sign from God, I remember. Well, I lost the old rosary I got when I was—"
Jakob stopped shuffling, locking eyes with Georg. "You got, or you stole?"
Georg froze. The question struck him harder than he anticipated. Tugging at his ear nervously, he was transported to that long-ago moment—a time he hadn't thought about in years.
He saw it clearly: the dusty bedpost, the soft glow of a room lit by the morning sun. A young girl sleeping soundly after offering him comfort he never expected. And the rosary, hanging there, untouched and inviting.
"Well," Georg said, forcing a chuckle that felt thin, "technically, that's the correct term."
Jakob's sharp gaze didn't waver, his words cutting through Georg's defenses like a blade.
"I didn't know how it fell from my pocket," Georg muttered, his frustration evident. "It's deep enough to fit my entire hand. Maybe I moved my hand too quickly and it got lost in the crowd, maybe it dissolved in the rain, turning into trash."
Jakob tilted his head, a sly grin curling his lips. "And if it did? Do you think your destiny could unravel along with it?"
Georg frowned, the absurdity of the question tempting him to roll his eyes. Still, something about Jakob's confidence kept him seated. He sighed heavily, "All of this could just be coincidence."
"Not once have I gone wrong," Jakob replied smugly, his grin widening. "And don't worry, your rosary didn't dissolve. It's still the way it is."
Georg arched his brow. "And how would you know that?"
Jakob shuffled the cards once more and handed the deck to Georg. "Draw."
With little ceremony, Georg parted the deck in the middle, placing the bottom stack on top. He pushed the cards back to Jakob, his movements brusque and impatient. "Now what?"
Jakob smirked as he laid out a few cards, their intricate illustrations catching the dim light of the room. "I don't even need to look at these to know." He tapped the side of his head. "It's speaking to me right here."
Jakob pulled several more cards and arranged them carefully, flipping them face up one by one. Each card bore cryptic images—figures of faith, sacrifice, and destiny. Georg leaned closer, his skepticism waning as curiosity took over.
"What do you see?" Georg asked, his voice quieter now.
Jakob tapped the final card, then gestured broadly to the spread. "I told you—it's here." He paused, his gaze steady as he fixed it on Georg. "She found your rosary. It's in her possession right now."
Georg sighed and leaned back on the chair, his fingers tapping the armrest as he studied Jakob's expression. "You said this woman was destined for me. Would it be possible for you to tell me who it was?"
Jakob gave a slow nod, his weathered hands reaching for the crystal ball. Placing them atop it, he closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as if concentrating on something distant. Georg leaned forward slightly, his patience already wearing thin.
The room fell silent except for the faint creak of the chair beneath Georg and the soft rustling of the curtains swaying in the breeze. Jakob remained motionless, his breathing steady, his fingers lightly trembling against the smooth surface of the ball.
Georg shifted uncomfortably. "Do you see something?" he asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
"Shh!" Jakob hissed, his eyes still closed. "This requires focus."
Georg leaned back again, exhaling heavily. Maybe this really was just a coincidence after all, he thought, glancing around the small room. The plastic crystal curtain glinted faintly in the dim light, and the faint scent of Jakob's earlier breakfast still lingered in the air.
At last, Jakob opened his eyes and removed his hands from the crystal ball. His expression was calm but resolute. "I'm having difficulty drawing her in, but I know she will change your destiny," he said with certainty. "Whether it is for better or worse, I cannot say. But the rosary connects the two of you—it is the thread binding your fates together."
Georg tilted his head, skeptical yet intrigued. "She will bring this rosary to me, you say?" he asked.
Jakob nodded, his eyes unwavering. "Yes. She will bring it to you."
"Does she know that it's mine?" Georg pressed.
Jakob paused, then gestured to the deck of cards on the table. "If she doesn't, she'll find out," he said. "The cards suggest as much. But I cannot draw her into the present. She is coming, that much I know. I see her approaching, carrying your fate in her hands."
Georg frowned, unsure what to make of it all. "And how will I know when it's her?"
Jakob's expression softened, a faint, knowing smile crossing his lips. "I see you waiting for her," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "On a street—there is smoke, the roar of cars, and a sea of people passing by. You have a suitcase in your hand, and you're smiling as if the world has suddenly righted itself. You are waiting for her."
Georg stared at him, Jakob's words settling uncomfortably in his chest. The image seemed so vivid, so peculiar, yet impossible to dismiss.
Hearing more about this woman made Georg think back on his conversation with Max that morning. He already had enough drama in his life—his name entangled in scandals, his heart lost and broken. He had tried to move on, tried to let the ghost of Maria fade into the background. She was a nun now, he reminded himself, unreachable in every way.
But maybe, just maybe, despite everything, he deserved to be happy. Even just once in this lifetime.
Jakob's voice pulled him back to the present. "Both of you will leave this place," the old man said, his tone quieter now. "Your destiny is not in Stuwerviertel, not in Vienna. But it's strange... that's all I can see." He frowned slightly, his gaze dropping to the table. "The card is locked. Closed."
Georg watched as Jakob carefully gathered the tarot cards spread across the table, stacking them into a neat deck. The room, once alive with Jakob's insights and Georg's questions, suddenly felt smaller, quieter, as if the future itself had slipped back into the shadows.
Georg nodded, breaking the silence. "Thank you," he said simply, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a few bills and placed them on the table. "Here. Go spoil yourself."
Jakob's face softened with a genuine smile. "I know I said I wouldn't tell people's fortunes for money, but... maybe I do deserve to spoil myself for once."
"You do," Georg said with a light laugh, the weight of the moment lifting, if only slightly.
As Georg stepped out of the old man's home, the cool morning air greeted him. He paused at the threshold, glancing back for a moment before walking down the narrow alley. His thoughts swirled with Jakob's cryptic predictions. Somehow, the old man had made him believe in destiny. He couldn't explain it, but the certainty in Jakob's voice had planted a seed of hope.
With Maria possibly off the table, perhaps it was time to give fate a little push. Georg walked with renewed determination, wondering who this woman might be—the one destined for him. Could she help him put his life back in order? Could they, together, write a new chapter that wasn't weighed down by past mistakes and regrets?
He didn't know the answers. But for the first time in a long while, Georg found himself hoping. Hoping that somewhere in the twists and turns of life, he might still find his way back to happiness.