Let the Light burn

When is it night?

The question should be quite straightforward. But when you live in the Northern Hemisphere, and it’s the middle of July, the answer isn’t that simple.

What’s your latitude? That certainly matters when it comes to the problem of night.

And it was a problem for Tommy.

He had to make it before dawn. But now that he was here — in Stockholm — when the hell was it officially night, and when was it dawn? How short was his window?

He’d better look it up on Google at the next rest stop on the E4. He’d just passed Södertälje — about 35 more minutes before he’d reach downtown Stockholm.

It had all happened so quickly. The details were laid on the table yesterday at the lawyer’s office.

The will was to be read after his aunt’s death.

She had been a wealthy and eccentric femme fatale in Stockholm. A Swede with a passion for shrimp and ice-cold aquavit — and her men were expected to be as hot as the aquavit was cold. Aunt Sofia. His mother’s sister.

He’d always suspected her of being extravagant, with both money and men. She’d never married. No children.

So, her siblings — Tommy’s mother Gretha and her brother Aake — were the heirs to what everyone assumed was a considerable fortune. They’d known she had money but had no clue how much or where it came from.

His mother had only ever talked about the poverty they grew up in. There had certainly been no fortune back then, and the Swedish state pension for their parents could hardly have built one either.

But at some point, Sofia had become rich.

That happened after Tommy’s mother Gretha moved to Copenhagen and married Karl — a born-and-bred Copenhagener. Naturally, they settled there.

Aake, the brother, stayed on the family property in eastern Skåne, so the wealth hadn’t surfaced from his side either.

Then came the news.

Sofia Östen had passed away, and her lawyer would meet them in Malmö — the most central place for Aake’s and Gretha’s children. Aake and Gretha had both passed away years earlier; they’d been the oldest of the three siblings.

The will had been read after they’d identified themselves to the lawyer.

It felt strange handing over personal information to some guy in a tie.

“The one among the four heirs — Louise Berg, daughter of Gretha and Karl Berg; Tommy Berg, son of Gretha and Karl Berg; Mats Östen, son of Anna and Aake Östen; and Alfred Östen, son of Anna and Aake Östen — who, during the coming night and before sunrise, solves Sofia’s riddle will inherit her entire fortune.”

That sparked quite a stir among the three cousins.

So, only one of them would inherit?

“What’s the riddle?”

“Is it even possible to solve before sunrise?”

“How will we prove it was us who solved it?”

The lawyer seemed to expect this barrage of questions. He cleared his throat.

“Quiet, here it is.

Sofia Östen defined the challenge like this:

On the summer night between July 12 and 13 — after sunset and before sunrise — one of my heirs must find my hidden treasure.

If none of you succeeds before sunrise, the entire fortune will go to the Cat Protection Society in Stockholm, and none of you will receive a single crown.

The treasure is hidden in Stockholm, and you’ll find clues in my apartment — which you’ll also have to locate on your own, without further help.

You will get one hint: Know your background!”

The four of them had looked at each other, totally bewildered.

They hadn’t expected a competition — or a trip to Stockholm — for their inheritance.

Alfred said, “Shouldn’t we work together to find the clues in her apartment?”

Louise said, “Yeah… or house. I mean, she probably owned a big house, right?”

The lawyer replied,

“There are no rules about how you solve the challenge, but only one winner. The winner will be the one who hands me the treasure before sunrise on July 13 at my office in Södermalm, Stockholm.”

The three cousins and niece stood up and left the office.

They spoke together outside, on the street in front of the lawyer’s building.

Louise: “I really have to get back to Copenhagen and arrange a babysitter. I can’t just run off to Stockholm.”

Alfred: “Same here. I’ve got to get back to Ystad and try to get time off work. I’m scheduled for a ferry shift to Bornholm tomorrow night. That’ll be tricky — but we’ll see.”

Mats: “I’m heading back to the farm. I’ve got everything I need there. I’m not interested in treasure hunting. If you want to go, Tommy, be my guest. Or if either of you others can make it — good luck.”

Tommy: “Thanks, Mats… But Alfred, Louise, you’re not really giving up?”

Louise: “Yeah, Tommy. There are more important things in life than money or inheritance.

I really hope you crack this crazy challenge — you deserve to be the lucky heir.”

Tommy: “Thanks, Sis. I’m heading out tonight. We’ll see what happens.”

He pulled into the parking lot by the gas station.

Not far to go now.

He’d rushed back to Copenhagen yesterday afternoon to get a rental car — a Volvo, of course, anything less wouldn’t do when heading for Sweden.

He’d slept restlessly, waking up several times to flip through old family photo albums.

Searching for clues — where might his aunt have lived?

His mother had a bundle of old letters, but his sister inherited them after their mother died a few years ago.

He wouldn’t call her in the middle of the night — and maybe he didn’t want to give her a lead either.

He didn’t believe for a second that she wouldn’t give it a shot. Same with Alfred or Mats.

He’d act like nothing was happening — and try to win this thing.

Google gave him the sunset time:

“Sunset in Stockholm: 10:15 PM”

And the sunrise time:

“Sunrise in Stockholm: 4:13 AM”

Shit, he thought. Barely six hours.

He’d found several photos of his parents’ trips to Stockholm.

Aunt Sofia posing in front of a particular building — but no address noted.

There were also some of a clearly commercial building downtown, and you could glimpse a street sign.

That’s where he’d start.

If it was her business, they’d surely know where the owner lived.

He felt like he might already be a step ahead of the others.

He’d been driving since morning — it was now almost half past two in the afternoon.

The “competition” would start tonight at 10:15.

The company was probably still open, so he’d better hurry.

He had no idea what kind of business it might be. His mother had never mentioned it. He’d never asked.

He realized how much family knowledge had been lost because they never took the time to talk.

He entered the address: Sveavägen 20.

The GPS calmly guided him into the heart of the city.

What a location! He was almost stunned by the beauty — the water, the parks. No wonder they called Stockholm the Venice of the North.

He arrived and searched for parking.

He found a spot a few hundred meters from his destination.

As he walked toward the building, he took a moment to study it.

The Thread Tightens

He discreetly looked around to see if his sister or one of his cousins had shown up.

Honestly, he didn’t really care.

He wasn’t exactly the family’s favorite. They’d always seen him as the black sheep — the one who’d smoked a little too much, gotten into a bit of trouble.

But that was a long time ago.

These days, he made a living as an artist.

Not that anyone in the family had ever taken him seriously — not on that account either.

He started wondering whether he and Aunt Sofia might have had more in common than anyone else in the family.

But maybe he’d never find out.

He walked up to the impressive entrance of the building.

It was a massive property, housing several different businesses.

He hoped there would be a porter — or at least a detailed directory of the companies inside.

Inside the lobby, a woman in a sharp, uniform-like outfit sat behind a desk.

He walked up and asked where he might find Sofia Östen’s company.

“Do you have an appointment?” the question shot back at him.

“No, but it’s important I speak to someone from the company. I’m Sofia’s nephew, visiting from Copenhagen.”

“You can go to the fourth floor, in the rear building. The company’s called Freya — by Sofia Östen.”

“Thank you. And… can you tell me what kind of company it actually is?”

“Of course. It’s Stockholm’s largest and most famous fashion label.”

He swallowed hard.

So… Sofia had been an artist?

Had he inherited a little of that creative vein himself?

That thought actually made him happy.

He found his way to the door — though he wasn’t quite sure what it led into. Offices? The studio? What did they even call it?

He didn’t know.

But his stomach tingled at the thought.

He knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

He stepped into a large, elegant room where — wait — was that a man behind the desk?

For a second, he’d thought it was a woman.

Apparently, this was the place where visitors checked in.

The whole place oozed style and expense.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Sofia Östen’s nephew. I need to find her private address — can you help me?”

The man behind the desk gave him a thorough once-over.

There was no doubt about it — this guy was into men.

Tommy recognized the look, and he didn’t mind it at all.

His own eyes responded with unmistakable clarity.

He shifted himself slightly in his jeans, making sure the man noticed.

“Hmmm… you must be the nephew from Copenhagen. Tommy, right?”

That caught him off guard.

Apparently, the four heirs were expected.

“You can have the address — if we agree you’ll have a drink with me before you head back to Copenhagen.”

Tommy had absolutely no problem with that offer.

“Deal. What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked.

“I’m Jeremy. I’ve written the address down for you. Say hello to that lovely older lady for me when you see her.”

Tommy almost choked on his tongue.

Did they not know she was dead?

Well, he wasn’t going to be the one to break the news.

“Yeah… I’ll do that,” he mumbled. “I’d better get going.”

“Good luck — and I’ll be waiting to hear from you. My number’s at the bottom of the note.”

Jeremy sounded genuinely cheerful, not like someone who’d just lost his boss.

Tommy found the whole thing pretty strange.

He drove out to the address.

A beautiful, large villa in 1920s Stockholm wooden-house style.

He walked up and knocked on the door.

Silence.

No one answered.

He looked around.

No sister. No cousins.

He realized he’d forgotten to ask Jeremy if any of the others had been here before him.

That irritated him.

But right now wasn’t the time to call and ask.

The race wouldn’t officially begin until 10:15 PM.

He tried the door.

It opened.

He stepped inside, hardly daring to breathe.

He wandered through the beautiful rooms, into the kitchen.

Everything was perfectly in order.

Spotless.

Of course, she probably had a cleaning lady.

He’d do the same — if he could afford it.

He couldn’t.

He sat down in the kitchen, glancing around.

Was he supposed to find a clue here?

He had a hunch he was.

But where?

He walked over to the fridge and opened it.

It was packed with food and drinks — brands he didn’t recognize.

But wait… Aunt Sofia had one can of Carlsberg beer in there.

That struck him as odd.

Could that be the clue?

Carl Berg — his father’s name.

A little wordplay?

He took out the can — and immediately noticed a key taped to the bottom.

He was on the right track!

Might as well drink the beer — none of the others were going to find this clue now.

He opened the fridge again and carefully examined everything else in the cold light.

There had to be another clue — where was this key supposed to be used?

He scanned the unfamiliar Swedish products…

Then he spotted a tin can with large golden letters across the lid: Ostrons.

Oysters.

And it sounded an awful lot like Östen.

There had to be a connection.

He’d guessed right.

Taped neatly beneath the can was a small, carefully wrapped package.

He chuckled.

The family was supposed to work together — one from the Berg side, one from the Östen side.

But now he’d covered both.

He tore the package loose and decided to open the tin and enjoy the smoked oysters with his beer.

“Man can’t hunt treasure on an empty stomach,” he thought.

Inside the package was a note telling him to take the ferry to Blidö at 10:20 PM.

Onboard, there’d be a luggage locker containing the next clue.

His heart nearly stopped.

He was really onto something — and none of his family would be able to catch up now.

He checked Google Maps for the island’s location and how long it would take to get to the ferry.

He had a couple of hours to spare.

Feeling a bit tired, he lay down in a guest room, leaving the door slightly ajar in case anyone showed up.

He fell asleep almost instantly.

At 10:00 PM, he arrived at the Blidö ferry.

The house had been completely quiet — of that he was certain.

No family in sight at the ferry either.

He was waved onboard.

The crossing would only take ten minutes, so he had to hurry to find the locker.

Turned out that wasn’t hard — the ferry wasn’t exactly a cruise ship.

He opened the locker.

Inside was a cat carrier with a note on top.

As he grabbed it, he realized there was a cat inside — hissing and growling at him in the dark.

The note read: "The Treasure" — followed by an address on the island.

Apparently, he was supposed to take "The Treasure" there.

He picked up the carrier, the angry feline growling inside.

The Solution to the Riddle

He pulled up in front of a small house at the given address.

A light was on in one of the windows.

He was expected.

But by whom?

He took the cat carrier from the back seat and walked up to the front door.

He knocked — and waited a moment.

Maybe he should just walk in?

He was about to reach for the handle when the door opened.

A tall, silver-haired woman smiled at him.

“You must be Tommy. None of the others went to Jeremy for my address — only you. So, only you could move forward with the riddle. And, of course, you guessed Carlsberg.

The fact that you also figured out Ostrons just shows your creativity.

Because that’s what you are, right? A creative mind?”

Tommy stood there, stunned.

She was talking as if she were his aunt… but that was impossible.

They’d been told she was dead!

“Wait… was this all just a joke — a morbid game about your own death?”

“Exactly.

You passed the test.

You’ll be my heir.

Forget about the solicitor.

Jeremy, come say hello to Tommy — and bring the champagne from the fridge.

And glasses.

We’ve got something to celebrate.”

Tommy took a deep breath.

He was going to be her heir.

She wasn’t dead.

Jeremy was here.

They exchanged a quick glance.

The night was far from over.

By Dawn

As the first light crept over the horizon, Tommy realized the night had changed more than just his future.

It had stripped away the shadows of doubt — about his family, about himself.

The nephew they’d dismissed as a drifter was the one who’d solved the riddle, braved the night, and stood face to face with the truth. Who now stood with a creative future, a connection to his aunt and a new love.

Not everything hidden in the dark is meant to stay there.

Some treasures — like courage, creativity, and the quiet strength of not giving up — only reveal themselves in the hours before dawn.