Helena had expected the evidence.
She had prepared for it.
But one detail was new.
The witness said Annika had kept copies of certain documents outside the company network because she feared they might be altered.
Helena sat still.
The prosecution asked where those copies had been kept.
The witness did not know.
He believed Annika had given them to someone she trusted.
Helena looked toward Matthias.
He was staring straight ahead.
She watched his jaw tighten.
Then relax.
The movement was small.
But she noticed.
That evening, she asked him about the documents.
He looked surprised.
“What documents?”
“The ones Annika copied.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you she was worried about company records?”
“She worried about everything toward the end.”
Helena studied him.
“Why?”
He sighed.
“She became suspicious.”
“Of you?”
“Of everyone.”
The answer was familiar.
Too familiar.
Helena remembered Ingrid’s funeral speech.
She was frightened.
She asked whether Annika had ever mentioned someone she trusted with the documents.
Matthias looked at her.
“No.”
Then he kissed her.
For the first time, Helena noticed how quickly physical affection could end a conversation.
She drew back.
“I need you to answer carefully.”
He looked wounded.
“I did.”
She wanted to believe him.
The desire frightened her.
Two days later, Freja came to Helena’s office carrying a sealed envelope.
She had continued reviewing material independently after Erik left.
Her relationship with Helena had become strained, but she remained meticulous.
“I think you need to see this.”
Helena looked up.
Inside was a copy of a previously overlooked photograph from Annika’s Berlin office.
It showed a shelf near her desk.
On the shelf stood a small ceramic horse.
Beside it, barely visible, lay a dark rectangular object.
Freja placed a second photograph beside the first.
The image had been taken after Annika’s death, during an inventory of the office.
The ceramic horse remained.
The rectangular object was gone.
Helena looked at both images.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why does it matter?”
Freja hesitated.
“Because Matthias visited the office between the photographs.”
Helena looked up.
“He had legitimate access.”
“Yes.”
“Then it proves nothing.”
“I know.”
Freja remained standing.
“But it might matter.”
Helena looked again.
The missing object was too indistinct to identify.
It could have been a notebook.
A small storage device.
A case.
Almost anything.
Helena felt irritation rise.
“We can’t build theories from shadows.”
Freja nodded.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
For a moment, Helena did not understand.
Then she saw the younger lawyer’s expression.
Freja was not simply presenting new evidence.
She was asking Helena to recognise the inconsistency in her own standards.
Helena looked away.
“Leave the photographs.”
Freja placed them on the desk.
Then left.
Helena stared at the images for nearly an hour.
The following evening, Helena went to Matthias’s apartment without telling him she was coming.
He opened the door wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He smiled.
“Surprise.”
She stepped inside.
He reached to kiss her.
She turned her face slightly.
His smile faded.
“What’s wrong?”
Helena placed the photographs on the table.
He looked down.
She watched him.
“Do you recognise the object?”
Matthias examined the image.
“No.”
“Look carefully.”
He leaned closer.
“It could be anything.”
“Did you remove something from Annika’s Berlin office after she died?”
He looked up.
“No.”
Helena held his gaze.
“Are you sure?”
His expression changed.
For a moment, the warmth disappeared entirely.
Then he smiled faintly.
“Helena, what is this?”
“A question.”
“An accusation.”
“Then answer it.”
He looked at the photographs.
“I took some personal belongings. Books. A few photographs.”
“Did you tell investigators?”
“I don’t remember.”
She stared.
Matthias leaned back.
“You’re starting to sound like them.”
Helena felt the remark.
She had spent months being his protector against them.
The police.
The prosecution.
The media.
The people who believed he was guilty.
Now, by asking a question he disliked, she had moved into the same category.
She noticed the manoeuvre.
For the first time, she did not accept it.
“I need to know what you removed.”
Matthias’s jaw tightened.
“I told you.”
“No. You gave me examples.”
Silence.
Then he looked away.
“I don’t remember every object.”
Helena gathered the photographs.
He watched her.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
“Helena.”
She stopped.
He looked at her with the same expression that had first unsettled her in the detention facility.
Vulnerability.
Trust.
A quiet appeal to be believed.
“After everything we’ve been through, you don’t trust me?”
She stared at him.
For months, that question would have brought her back into his arms.
Now it seemed strangely misplaced.
“I need evidence, Matthias.”
He smiled without warmth.
“Then perhaps you should find some.”
She left.
That night, Helena did not sleep.
She returned to the office and reviewed every statement Matthias had given since their first meeting.
The process was humiliating.
She began noticing how often he’d answered questions with emotional descriptions rather than facts.
How frequently he’d redirected difficult subjects toward Annika’s supposed instability.
How carefully he’d made his own actions sound passive.
He hadn’t hidden documents.
