Chapter I
2013, New York, Manhattan, City Hospital
Simon Zelten woke with the unshakable certainty that he was dying. His chest burned so fiercely that every breath felt impossible. The pain was so crushing that he wanted to groan, but he had no strength left. For a moment, the old man thought he had already reached hell.
After lying there in torment for several seconds, he began to notice light seeping through his closed eyelids. A noise followed — at first a distant hum, then slowly resolving into distinct sounds. The steady beeping of machines. The voices of nurses murmuring about his heartbeat.
With great effort, Simon forced his eyes open and saw a nurse leaning over him. She smiled gently.
“How are you feeling?”
“My chest hurts,” he managed to whisper. He tried to cough, but the pain cut him short.
“I’ll increase your medication,” the nurse replied softly. “You’ll feel better soon.”
“I thought this was the end,” Simon said with difficulty, forcing a faint smile.
“We all did,” she answered. “But Dr. Mindelheim didn’t let you go.”
She smiled again and added:
“He has magic in his hands. He worked on you for four hours. Thanks to him, your third heart attack wasn’t your last.”
The room swam before Simon’s eyes. Suddenly, the monitors at his bedside shrieked in alarm, tracking his racing heartbeat.
“I’ll call the doctor right away!” the nurse exclaimed.
“No,” Simon said quickly, fighting for control. “It’s fine.”
He fixed his gaze on her, steady and insistent, trying to convince her he was telling the truth.
“All right,” she said at last. “But you must rest. If you need me, press the button.” She pointed to the small red switch by his bed. “The doctor will see you a little later.”
“Dr… Mindelheim?” Simon asked.
“Perhaps,” she replied. “If he’s available.”
The nurse left. Simon watched her go, a strange unease gnawing at him. Had he truly heard that name, or was it some fevered dream?
The name struck his memory like a blade: Mindelheim. He knew it too well. That face… impassive, cold — the face of a man who once decided who would live and who would vanish. The face of Herbert Mindelheim, the SS officer who had ordered the “resettlement” of the families from their Jewish quarter on the outskirts of Berlin in 1940.
“No, no… it’s a common surname,” Simon told himself. But he didn’t believe it. Not for a moment.
The story is just beginning… But what do you think: should Simon trust a doctor with such a name? Share your thoughts in the comments — I’d love to hear your impressions.
