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compartmentalize. Right now, she needed to make a plan. She opened the package of cookies Uncle Ernst had given her and bit into one.
     
    As if in a dream, Max went back into her apartment. In an hour, she brought her home back to normal, making sure she’d put every strewn piece of paper, every book, every little meaningless tchotchke back where it belonged. After, she went to her desk, sat down with a sigh, and opened the top drawer. There sat a copy of the Gita, an ancient Hindu book of scripture. Opa’s last gift to her.
    She took it out and held it against her chest. She had promised him that she’d read a verse whenever she needed solace. The Gita isn’t about religion as much as it is about self-realization and the art of living a life of truth and integrity, Opa had said.
    She opened it to the first page.
    Dearest Max, my visit to India introduced me to this great book. Your mother and I often had heated discussions about the wisdom presented here. I trust that it will give you the peace it has given me,
    Your loving Opa.
    Opa had not underlined the word peace . Her father had done that, a month or two before he died. On her twenty-second birthday, Papa had taken her copy of the Gita and made sure she saw him underlining that word. She had asked him at the time why he was doing it, and he had smiled. It hadn’t been a happy smile.
    “Hopefully you’ll never find out,” was all he had said.
    Had he known then that he was going to leave her and wanted to give her a means to heal?
    Max touched the page with a renewed mixture of anger, loss, and sorrow. She turned to a random verse, stared at the words for a while, and closed the book. A mere verse couldn’t help her today.
    She walked over to the window and looked at the lake. A sense of clarity seemed to descend upon her. If she went though with this, if she went on to decode her father’s research, she would be bringing a part of him back to life.
    But that would mean taking on danger of a magnitude that she couldn’t possibly fathom. She hung her head down to her chest, relishing the sweet pain of her tense neck muscles stretching.
    She could try and pretend she had never met Lars. Her home no longer looked like it had been violated. She could try and put this out of her mind forever. Of course, she’d have to figure out how to live with herself knowing she had taken the easy way out. Truth was, she wasn’t very brave. No sense in pretending otherwise. Besides, Papa hadn’t wanted her to be involved anyway.
    All right.
    She would spend one day reading the diary. If she found something worthwhile, she’d decide what to do next. She was convinced that the Indus Valley and the seal played a significant part in Papa’s research. If so, she would need help. An archeologist or a historian to guide her.
    First thing tomorrow, she would go to her alma mater—the University of Chicago. They had a strong history department. There, surrounded by the university’s resources, she’d read what was left of Opa’s diary.
    Bone-crushing exhaustion hit her. Before getting into bed, Max took a large butcher knife and placed it under her pillow.
    In one short day, life had changed forever. What next? she wondered as she stared at the inky, starless sky.

CHAPTER SIX
    Berlin, Germany
    Headquarters of Berliner Pharmaceuticals
    Former chairman Peter Schultz entered his old office and made his way slowly across its polished marble floor, remembering with fondness the days he had spent there. Now his son served as chairman. Today, with his son away in Antwerp, Peter Schultz was going to address the board. He checked himself in the floor-length mirror by the large walnut desk. His hair was thinning, but elegant. Silver. His figure was lean, his skin wrinkled, but tan. Vanity remained one of his vices, but the years had treated him well. Schultz still felt handsome, energetic, and ambitious.
    Ambition was a great driving force in old age, Schultz had always maintained. In