The Lost Diamond

Finally, the time came to discuss the issue of the haunted house or the haunted fencing club. As an introduction, van Fjömm pulled out a thick brown envelope from his briefcase, filled with a stack of papers inside. With professionalism, he told me that this was a confidentiality and fee contract that I needed to read and sign before proceeding with our topic. I quickly estimated that there were about two hundred pages, if not more. He told me that this was how he does business and that thanks to it, he still maintained a healthy relationship with all his friends, clients, and suppliers.

“Dear Mr. van Fjömm,” I said, “I don’t work like that. I’m not a businessperson selling aircraft parts. I’m a much simpler person than you imagine. Our confidentiality is ensured based on trust. Not only am I respectful of my word, more importantly, I am respectful of my own conscience. I believe in a universal wisdom that protects any honest and goodwill agreement. From my humble point of view, contracts are necessary when there is not enough trust between parties, and my work relies heavily on trust and goodwill between the parties involved. I’m sorry to say that if this contract is non-negotiable for you, then I appreciate your invitation and the delightful dinner we shared, but our conversation has come to an end.”

The man was none other than Jorik van Fjömm, and he possibly had dozens of people waiting in line to do business with him, many others willing to pay for years to be Class C members of his club without receiving anything in return, and countless employees and suppliers who respected him as the owner of his aircraft parts factory. Never had someone given him such a resounding “no” to one of his contracts. For him, it was a formality that was not being met for the first time, and on top of that, it was not being met so decisively, with no room for negotiation to improve the terms. It took him a few seconds to process what was happening and react, while he kept repeating, “Very well, very well.”

I knew that he was extremely interested in my services, perhaps even desperate. Otherwise, I, a shaman with no greater wealth than my actions, would never have passed through the main entrance of the building, much less shared that dinner with him. Besides, we had already started discussing the issue, and I had the upper hand. He could either accept my conditions... or accept my conditions.

He swallowed his pride and in a second, he completely forgot about the confidentiality issue.

“All right, I’m going to be completely honest with you,” van Fjömm began. “This is something I usually wouldn’t share with my friends because they would end up thinking I’m crazy. I’m sure I can trust you, and you’ll understand that my words might be true.”

He looked around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. The accountant was elated by the food and entirely absorbed in our host’s conversation.

“Three months ago, I started a new life with my fiancé. We moved in together to her cabin on the outskirts of the city. The house had been uninhabited for a long time, but her family always kept it clean and in good condition. Even before we moved in, they did a fantastic job with the front gardens. It’s a beautiful place with a view of a lake. You should see it someday. Here’s a photo of the place.”

He pulled a small photo from his wallet, showing him, a stunning girl I presumed was his girlfriend, and in the background, the cabin. I gave the photo only a few seconds of attention, and at no point did I look at the property; the beautiful girl had captured all my attention.

“The problem started a week after we moved in. I repeatedly had the feeling that my fiancé was standing behind me, but when I turned around, there was no one there. She’s a pianist and occasionally travels to her concerts. When I was alone, I constantly felt someone was standing behind me. I don’t know if you understand what I mean; it was as if she or someone else was behind me, but there was no one there.”

“How scary, isn’t it?” the accountant said but immediately apologized for getting involved in the conversation.

“I can’t even sleep peacefully when I’m there. A few days ago, I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling like someone was standing next to my bed. When I opened my eyes, I saw a horrible old woman staring at me. It was a very unpleasant image. I jumped out of bed screaming. When I turned on the light, that image disappeared.

My fiancé doesn’t believe me; she thinks my problem is with her. It’s not easy to make her understand that there’s something about that house; I’m sure of it. I want to know your opinion. Maybe it’s not the house; maybe it’s me. I only feel this uncomfortable when I’m in that cabin.”

“Hmm, interesting,” I said. “But first, I’d like to ask you a few questions, with all due respect. Do you consume any substances that might be contributing to these sensations? You know, any drugs, sleeping pills, other strong medications, excessive alcohol? Something you only consume when you go to that house. If that’s the case, we could start by avoiding that substance for a while and see if the experiences decrease or disappear.”

The accountant jumped up like a spring when he heard the word “drugs” and told us he’d better leave us alone to continue the conversation. He never returned, apparently spending quite some time in the Turkish baths before leaving the club well into the night. Later, I learned that the next day, he deposited his first payment to become a Class C member. The president of the Board of Directors himself facilitated his membership.

Van Fjömm admitted to having consumed some prohibited substances when he was young, but now he only drank whisky and some wine, in amounts that his body could handle without any problems. Nevertheless, I recommended that when he returned to the cabin, he should abstain from anything but bottled water for a while, maybe a week. Perhaps a contaminated bottle of whisky or another beverage could be causing his problems. However, he insisted on hiring me and at least having me visit the cabin. If it wasn’t the house, it would be him. He just couldn’t continue living in fear every time he crossed the front door.

In the end, we reached an agreement. Van Fjömm would call me after spending the next three days drinking only bottled water, freshly purchased. No medications or any other recreational substances during that time. If the problems recurred during that period, I would take the case without any issues. As for the money, I eventually accepted the generous increase he offered. Why not?

On the third day, he called me from the airport early in the morning. He claimed to have had to arrange an urgent work meeting in another country. In reality, the visions hadn’t disappeared, and in his own words, it was like living with an invisible and diabolical mother-in-law who followed him even when he was bathing, but he only felt this in that cabin. He would spend the next five days at a holiday resort, hoping to relieve the immense stress he had accumulated. Meanwhile, he expected that I would exorcise the demons from the cabin. We agreed that his beautiful fiancé would call me soon to coordinate the visit to the house.

Not many of my clients had the privilege of exorcising their demons by going to a five-star resort, and for a moment, I thought that he would find many more demons in that paradisiacal vacation spot than in a family environment with his girlfriend.

Later that day, around 5:00 PM, I received a call from Europa Roxanne Dainik, van Fjömm’s girlfriend. I had never heard of a pianist with that name, but I was familiar with the Dainik surname, one of the wealthiest families in the country. They had made their fortune by selling jewelry -some say stolen- throughout Europa and ended up controlling a substantial portion of the market for gemstones, gold, and platinum for jewelry. The family had had some scandals that the press had aired, but I didn’t remember them clearly, many times these were made up, or at least exaggerated, just for publicity. For them, there is no good or bad news; everything is a valid way of promoting themselves. It had worked wonders for me; I knew the Dainik name, knew they had a lot of money, and vaguely remembered some scandals, but I couldn’t recall the details.

The girl told me that her boyfriend was on a business trip and had asked her to contact me to find a solution to his uncomfortable problem. At first, she tried unsuccessfully to explain how to reach their house, saying that the GPS system in the mountainous area was more confusing than helpful. Then she offered references like a broken tree just after a curve, just before the entrance to the road that led to their house. She herself realized that this information was confusing. Later, she told me to look for a satellite phone antenna with a red light on top, near the broken tree, and finally, she offered the reference of a Ginger Ale drink billboard on the road.

When she realized that there was no way to explain clearly how to get there on my own, she ended up offering to drive me there herself. Money was not an issue for them to send a vehicle with a driver to pick me up, but without beating around the bush, she told me that they didn’t want a witch doctor like me to be associated with the family house, as there were always journalists who connected the dots and ended up inventing stories. I would have liked to explain that I wasn’t a witch doctor, but I gave up quickly; I had been called worse things in my life. We agreed to meet in two days.