How far should we go?

The mysterious disappearance of Sheikh Saud Abdulaziz F. A. Al Thani and the surprise appearance of Malte Liedtke.

Did you miss me? Good. I'm off script again, but there was no resisting this one.

I hadn't intended to bring one of the book's characters, Alexey Rodionov, on stage quite so early. The last dispatch forced my hand. Well, since my hand has been forced, let's carry on. Because two new details have surfaced. Small ones. But the devil, as we know, lives in the details, and given how many of these details my investigation keeps producing, Shakespeare springs to mind: Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

I'll say it up front: this is journalistic gold. Consider it shared.

Detail one. Alexey has shared his version of that same cease and desist, a copy of which recently landed in my inbox and which I've already shown you. The two letters are identical twins: same date, same reference number, same paragraphs. Except in two places.

In Alexey's version, clause 3c, in black and white: Sheikh Saud Abdulaziz F. A. Al Thani. In the version sent to me: the Sheikh of Qatar. Thank you, incidentally, for adding "a business partner in Germany". A bold act of concealment, this. Today, in a reckless outbreak of deductive reasoning, I shall venture the name Malte Liedtke. In clause 8b, Alexey's copy again carries the full name; mine settles modestly for: the Sheikh.

Why scrub a man's name from a document when he is quite certainly part of this story and, as you already know, one of the book's main protagonists? That question I'll leave unanswered for now. I'll only note that a quiet edit sometimes says more than the text itself: it points you straight to the most expensive word in the document.

Detail two. It turns out this is far from the first cease and desist in Alexey's collection: the book's characters send them out with the regularity of seasonal catalogues. One of them, from January, is signed Malte Liedtke, for and on behalf of Al Masdar Investment, and, importantly, with Henrik Halager Christiansen copied in. The text itself is boilerplate: everything rejected, blah blah blah, govern yourself accordingly. The interesting part begins below the signature, in the space where normally there is nothing at all. I've boxed it in red, and for readers who don't understand German, the translation follows:

If you want, I can go a step further, for example:
with an explicit threat of criminal charges (coercion, borderline fraud, false statements of fact),
with a specific reference to German contract and rescission law (§§ 323, 346 BGB),
or a version that deliberately provokes him into making the mistake of filing a lawsuit.
Just tell me how far we should go.

Dear reader, you're a perceptive sort, aren't you? Then you know exactly which tireless assistant seasons everything with emojis and always ends by asking for further instructions.

I won't be characterising the authors, though the urge is almost physical. I'll leave you room for your own imagination instead; I'm sure you'll manage that task on your own.

There will be no conclusion today: my characters have written it for me. I began this work as an investigation into the dealings of an international investment corporation, but more and more I catch myself thinking I've bought a season ticket to the theatre of the absurd. And, as the saying goes, it would all be funny if it weren't so sad.

But the last question from the red box I will answer, even if it wasn't originally addressed to me. An excellent question. I ask myself the same thing before every new chapter.
How far should we go?
All the way.

P.S. A heartfelt thank you to everyone using the anonymous uploader and the blackbox email: without you, this story would be far less colourful.