Finally he found what he was looking for. One was absolutely perfect.

An apartment that not only lay on the ground floor—it also sat just above an air raid shelter.

•   •   •

The broker, a man in his fifties with a smile like a stencil, was wearing a black suit with busy pinstripes. The look was an attempt at successful lawyer who just won a big case or board member of some huge bank. As if that would induce confidence. He spoke in a broad Skåne accent, sat at the corner desk in an elegantly furnished office, and was by far the oldest broker on their staff.

“It’s a great location in a very popular area. Close to schools and grocery stores. A great condo association and lots of period details. Very well preserved. Herringbone parquet floors and kitchen with the original cabinetry. Even the original electric meter, you know the kind, black Bakelite, still hanging on the wall. The first thing you see when you step inside.”

“I’m here to buy this apartment.”

Piet Hoffmann was sitting in the visitor’s armchair, and he waved away the bowl of hard candies wrapped in paper bearing the company’s logo when the broker offered it.

“And I want to do it today.”

“We’re holding an open house this weekend. Seller’s wishes. Bidding. These are the times we live in—more buyers than there are apartments.”

“How much?”

“But—you haven’t even seen it?”

“How much . . .”

Hoffmann browsed through a stack of glossy brochures that lay between them on the broker’s desk, held up a page with a close-up of the antique electric meter that he cared about as little as he did the location of the closest grocery store.

“. . . to get your seller to sign the contract immediately?”

“Immediately?”

“As in right now.”

Something greenish, like a blade of grass, seemed to be stuck to one of broker’s front teeth. Food, probably. It was even more visible when he flashed one of his stenciled-on smiles. Hoffmann considered telling him.

“I’m dead serious. And I’m in a hurry so you better act fast if you don’t want me to walk out of here and lose out on the easiest commission you’ve ever stumbled across.”

The bowl of candies. The broker grabbed a couple for himself, somewhat absent-mindedly.

They crunched as he chewed.

“Yes . . . well, the price you see in the ad is of course just a starting point.”

He pulled himself together.

A possible business deal was sitting in front of him. Which of course meant a commission but also a negotiation. And that was always so much more fun than instructing the photographer on which angle to use and how best to retouch the photos, or going through the list of visitors you had the day after the open house knowing no one was particularly interested in buying.