Congratulations, you have inherited a llama.

The Apfelbach notary office smelled like paper, coffee, and old winter coats. Nora Benning sat straight in the plastic chair, hands folded, red notebook open, and tried to look like a person who did not feel sick about signing anything without reading every line twice.

“Ms. Benning?” The notary’s voice was calm in a way that made Nora’s heartbeat louder. He pushed a folder across the table like it weighed nothing, which was already suspicious.

Nora stood on the inside, not the outside. “Yes. I’m here for the inheritance appointment.” She smiled too hard. “I’m assuming it’s… furniture, maybe. Or money.”

The notary’s pen paused. “You will receive something else.” He glanced at the folder and then at her. “And you will receive it soon.”

Nora’s laugh came out quick and polite. “Soon is fine. I’m organized.” She said it like a promise. Like a shield.

The notary opened the folder. Inside were documents with stamps and a debt sheet with neat columns that made Nora’s eyes want to flee. There was also a small printed photo, tucked between pages like it belonged in a family album.

Nora leaned in despite herself. “Is that… part of the inheritance?”

The notary nodded once. “Herr Günther. He is legally part of the estate.” He spoke the name like it was normal, like llamas did not come with legal paperwork and spit potential.

Nora blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain tried to place the photo in a category that made sense. “A llama,” she repeated, slower, as if the word might change if she handled it gently.

“Yes.” The notary turned a page. “And the farm. Flausch & Freiheit.”

Nora’s pen hovered over her notebook. She had expected a number. A deposit. Something with a clean finish line. Instead there was a line that said, in careful legal German, that she had to take over within four weeks, or the farm would be sold.

“Sold?” Nora’s voice rose. She forced it down. “Who sells it? To whom?”

The notary tapped a section of the paper. “There is an investor interested in acquiring the property. There are conditions. It will not be delayed if the farm is not operational enough.”

Nora stared at the debt folder. She could already see her city life slipping away like a sock lost under a sofa. She could also see a way out, because she always saw ways out. That was her talent. That was her skill.

She exhaled. “Okay.” The word sounded brave in her head. “So I need to fix the farm fast. I can do that.”

The notary looked at her kindly, like he had heard ambitious people say the same thing before. “You will also receive a handler contact. For Herr Günther.”

He pulled a small card from the folder. “Elfriede planned for this.”

Nora’s stomach tightened at the name. Elfriede Wiedemann was her great-aunt, a woman she barely knew beyond family stories and a blurry photo where Elfriede looked like she belonged to a different century.

“Elfriede always planned for Nora,” the notary added, casual, like it was a phrase people used at birthdays. “She said you would come back.”

Nora swallowed. “Come back where?”

The notary shrugged lightly. “To Apfelbach, of course.” He slid the card closer. “There are other documents about the transition, but this is the main thing.”

Nora picked up the card. A phone number. A name. Handler: someone who had been dealing with Herr Günther long enough to act like a llama could be managed like a schedule.

She tried to stand taller. “Right. I’ll call. I’ll get the farm running. Within four weeks.” She heard her own voice and hated how much it sounded like a performance.

The notary nodded. “Yes.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Herr Günther has rules about confidence.”

Nora froze, the sentence hitting her like cold water. “Rules?”

“You will understand when you meet him.” The notary’s smile stayed polite, but his eyes said he had watched this type of moment happen before.

Nora forced a laugh. “Okay. I’ll be… careful.” She wrote the words careful and then crossed them out in her notebook because she did not know what careful looked like in a farm situation.

The notary gestured to the paperwork. “Sign here, then here. And you must arrange the takeover within four weeks. If the farm is not operational enough, it will be sold.”

Nora signed. Her pen scratched like it was protesting. When she finished, the notary handed her the folder with a small weight in her hands, like the farm was already pressing its reality into her palms.

Outside, Apfelbach looked like a postcard that had been left in the sun too long. Trees. Benches. A calm street that should not be able to contain chaos. Nora walked to her car and told herself she was fine. She had survived worse meetings.

Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. It was short: Handler will meet you at Flausch & Freiheit. Bring ID. Do not speak loudly about “I’ve got this.”

Nora stared until the words blurred, because her brain refused to connect that warning to anything she had said in the notary office.

She walked to her car, opened the door, and dropped her folder on the passenger seat. She reached for her keys, then paused when her hand brushed the little photo she had tucked into her notebook.

The red scarf in the llama photo looked brighter now, like it had been waiting for her eyes. Nora pressed her thumb against the edge of the paper and tried to make her mind move from panic to plan.

“Okay,” she told herself. “I can do this. Just… not loudly.”

Nora jerked, keys still in her hand. No one nearby reacted. The sound faded like a prank.

Her humor came back, because it always did when fear got too heavy. “Fine,” she whispered, mostly to the red scarf photo. “I’ll be quiet. I’ll be respectful. I’ll be… not confident.”

She started the engine and the car’s hum felt too normal for what was coming. Elfriede had planned for Nora. Flausch & Freiheit had a four-week countdown. And a llama named Herr Günther was part of all of it, with rules about confidence that seemed to reach across rooms.

Nora pulled out of the parking spot, folder in the passenger seat, notebook on her lap, and forced herself to read the takeover section again. It was not money she inherited. It was responsibility, alive and messy, and it would not care about her city habits.

At the light, her phone buzzed again. The handler message included one more line: He reacts faster when you act like you already won.

Nora’s mouth went dry. Her whole life had been about winning at being useful. The farm was not going to be impressed by that.

She turned onto the road toward Flausch & Freiheit and tried to imagine walking onto a place that had held Elfriede’s routines and secrets. Then the thought shifted into something sharper: if she messed up, the farm could be sold in four weeks. Not later. Not after she felt ready.

A cold laugh escaped her. “So,” she said, gripping the steering wheel, “I guess I’m not getting an exit plan yet.”