“It was bad. They tried to kill us.”
“My God. At least you’re all okay. You, Vlad, and the baby. I met with Jack.”
Hearing his name is like a punch. “What? You met with him?
“Last night.” It sounds like she’s moving through a room, closing a door. “He reached out, said he talked to you. He told me about trying to meet up with you, how he snuck into the Christmas gala. God, what an idiot. I know he’s your brother, but still.”
“Yeah. That’s Jack.”
She lowers her voice. “Anyway, he said he has something you need to see.”
“I know. He has some pictures that supposedly connected Vlad to what happened to our parents. But they weren’t all that convincing. Vlad says they were forged, photoshopped or something.
“No, there’s more than that,” she says quickly. “Much more. He has actual paperwork. Copies, ledger sheets, maintenance logs, bank transfers. He says it proves what he said about your parents, about the crash.”
I can’t breathe. The bathroom spins for a moment, then rights itself in little, angry shudders.
It couldn’t be true…
“What paperwork?”
“He tracked the mechanic your father used. The one who handled the jet’s last overhaul.” Trina’s tone is soft, apologetic. “There’s a line item, a consulting fee paid to a shell company three days before your parents’ flight. The shell ties back to an Angeloff affiliate. The name’s different, but the founding docs, the officers—it’s all a matryoshka doll. Angeloff inside Angeloff inside Angeloff.”
“No,” I say, half denial, half plea. “Those kinds of webs are… they’re everywhere. Everyone uses shells. It doesn’t mean?—”
“There’s more.” She exhales sharply. “A work order for a nonstandard part. Jack showed me a photocopy. Same maintenance date, same tail number as your parent’s plane. The stamp on the lower right corner has the Angeloff crest. It’s faint, but it’s there. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
My fingers feel like ice around the phone. Somewhere in the penthouse a door opens and closes, the sound echoing through the wide foyer. I picture Vlad’s hands, rough yet gentle; his mouth, careful with me though ruthless with everyone else.
I picture a crest pressed in ink on a form that shouldn’t exist.
“No,” I whisper. “He wouldn’t. He said—” Tears sting. I try my best to blink them away.
“I know what he said,” Trina mutters. “And I know what you want to believe. But Jack didn’t just bring me gossip. He brought me proof. He said there’s more, digital stuff he can’t risk sending. He wants to give it to you in person. He says it’s enough to make you change your mind about Vlad.”
The room narrows. I remember the envelope in the motel. Jack’s eyes when he said he had evidence. Vlad’s expressionless face when my brother accused him of sabotage. The way he asked if I was alright before he decided what to do with the accusation.
My stomach flips. I breathe through it, palm flat against the cool stone of the tub.
“Teresa.” Trina’s voice is gentle. “You can’t stay there.”
“I’m safe here,” I say automatically.
“Safe or caged?”
I close my eyes. I can picture the helipad above us covered in snow, men guarding the elevator. I hear Vlad’s voice in my head.Not a request.I hear my own voice.I hate this.I press the heel of my hand to my sternum to ease the ache.
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit. “One second, I’m sure Jack’s trying to sell me a line, and the next I feel cracks in things I was sure were solid.”
“Of course you don’t know. You’re in the middle of his fortress, and he’s very good at making the inside feel like the whole world, like he’s the only one you can listen to and trust. That’s how powerful men work.” She pauses. “And you’re—” She doesn’t say the word. She doesn’t have to. “You have more to protect now. So does he. People do very dark things when they think family makes their cause righteous.”
Something inside me wants to defend him. Another part—smaller, meaner, born the night Maxim bled in my hands—hisses, “Look out for yourself, the baby.” I don’t know which voice to trust.
A knock on the bedroom door makes me jump. “Ms. Winslow?” a man calls. “Lunch.”
“Just a minute,” I say, a little too brightly. I wait for his footsteps to recede.
Trina lowers her voice. “I can help you.”
