“Most people with memory loss are naturally curious about their environment. They want to understand their space better, find clues about their identity and past.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen island, and the pretense is starting to crack under the weight of what we both know. She knows I know something, and I know she knows I know something.
The only question left is who’s going to break character first.
“The coffee’s getting cold,” she comments, breaking the tense silence.
“I don’t want coffee right now.”
“What do you want, then?”
“Honesty would be refreshing.”
“About what?” She bats her lashes at me.
“About what you found in my office this afternoon.”
Her face doesn’t change, but she straightens up and balances her weight more evenly. Every movement screams professional tactical training.
She doesn’t realize what her body is doing, but I see it clear as day. And the longer she keeps moving like this, the harder it is to keep my lie intact.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The computer, Katya. The files you accessed without permission. The information you now have about my business operations.”
“You know I don’t use computers. The doctor said screen time could trigger severe headaches and setbacks.”
The lie is delivered with perfect conviction, just the right amount of confusion, and innocent concern. If I didn’t have the access logs as evidence, I might buy her performance.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway interrupt whatever response I might come up with. Alexei appears in the kitchen doorway, frustrated and exhausted, with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up.
“We need to talk immediately,” he says as soon as he’s in the kitchen. “Your security theater is causing serious problems for our operations.”
“What kind of problems?” I glance at Katya, who’s watching this exchange with far too much interest.
“Our best soldiers are asking why they’re babysitting one woman instead of handling business that makes money. Other families are wondering if the great Dmitri Kozlov has lost his focus and his edge.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this privately in my office.”
“Perhaps we should discuss why you need a two-man detail just to keep your wife from wandering.”
“Alexei—”
“No. I want to hear the explanation. Because you’re either terrified of her or terrified for her, and I can’t decide which scenario is worse for our reputation.”
Katya steps toward the kitchen exit. “Maybe I should give you some privacy for this conversation.”
“No, you know what? Stay where you are.” My voice is harder and colder than it’s been in weeks. “You can explain yourself to my brother, too.”
She freezes mid-step, and I catch a flash of genuine surprise. Or maybe anger. With her, it’s becoming impossible to tell the difference.
Alexei looks between us, and his brows pinch together. “What’s going on here, brother?”
“Our guest accessed my personal computer today while I was in meetings. Went through highly confidential files. Learned things about our business operations that could get us all executed.”
I watch Katya’s face, waiting for her reaction. She doesn’t look surprised or confused or frightened like an innocent person should.
She looks like someone whose carefully constructed cover story is finally being questioned.
