Day after day, I can still remember each stroke of the drawing. Forty-eight frames showed Kiefer's side of the story.

I got out of the cab and closed the door.

Clack, clack, clack. Creak. Ring ring!

"Welcome, Madam!" a waiter in a suit greets me. Cozy and cool interiors with spacious lounge chairs and armchairs fill the restaurant. Luxurious, if I should comment on its ambiance. Despite its extravagant interior design, the restaurant is but a lonely space filled with nothing but pompous décor and people.

Tall and dignified. Always wearing a suit and arrives on the dot. His eyelashes flared up, and his lips flashed a smile. "Attorney Neumann?" He reached out his hand for a handshake.

"Yes, that is me." I took his hand and shook it. We both sat down and talked about Kiefer's case.

"What did the boy say?" Mr. Larry asked. His lips were barely sipping on the coffee that might have been cold already since five minutes ago.

"Nothing much. He still has traces of trauma and abuse. I'm afraid we should be more patient with him."

He put down his cup. Tap, tap, tap. His fingers tapped on the table.

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I observed his actions and facial expressions, however, they were....unreadable.

"Can I meet him?"

"Yes?"

"I want to meet my lovely nephew," he said with a loving tone as if he missed Kiefer deeply. "You see, that boy, is the most loved child of my brother. He might not have talent for the Strelitz business, but his talent for writing and creating masterpieces is world-class and irreplaceable."

"I-I'll try to convince the investigators and prison guards."

"Thank you, sweetheart." His lips curled upward, yet his eyes lit red.

Am I seeing it wrong?

"Anyway, here's your compensation, Attorney."

"No, I don't—"

Mr. Larry shushed me and snapped his fingers. Behind him, one of his assistants came forward and placed a briefcase on the table. Mr. Larry, then, opened the case, and I breathed heavily when I saw stacks upon stacks of bills.

"I can't accept this...."

Mr. Larry stood up from his chair.

Tack-tack! Tack-Tack....

Walking with a cane, Mr. Larry dragged his limp feet and went towards me. He leaned to my left ear and whispered, "Who says you can't?" His hand firmly pressed on my left shoulder. He stood up properly and smiled almost devilishly at me. "Take it, Attorney. Because of your dedication and integrity, this reward could not compensate enough for your talent. So, if you'll excuse me, have a lovely time, Attorney. Your coffee is also paid, darling."

Tack-tack! Tack-tack....

I gulped. It was the same thing that happened when I first met Kiefer.

"What am I getting into?" I thought to myself. Mr. Larry had already left, but the pressure his hand had placed on my shoulder was heavy. I dragged my being outside the restaurant and headed to the prison.

"Yes, please give it to the investigator and the prison guards handling Kiefer Strelitz' cell." I gave a brown envelope to the prison warden, and he silently accepted the offer.

Clack, clack, clack. My heels stopped by the hallway with its dark end at the other side.

Kiefer Strelitz....who exactly are you?