I’ve been pacing my office the entire time, drinking coffee and reviewing footage and trying to piece together a puzzle I didn’t even know existed until today.
Vera fell asleep on the couch around an hour ago, exhausted from the emotional toll. I draped a blanket over her and kept working.
The first email that comes through makes my blood run cold.
Dental records from deceased do not match Alexei Volkov’s dental records on file. Discrepancies in filling patterns and root canal work. Recommend DNA cross-reference.
I stare at the screen.
The body we buried wasn’t Alexei.
My brother isalive.
The realization hits me in waves. First is relief that is so overwhelming it makes my chest tight. Alexei isn’t dead. He’salive. Somewhere out there, my little brother is breathing and walking and?—
Then the relief curdles into something else entirely.
Because if Alexei is alive, then he faked his death. He let me grieve him, bury a stranger, and marry Vera to avenge him. He let me hunt for his killers while he was alive the wholefuckingtime.
Why?
And more importantly—how?
You don’t fake your own death alone. You need help. Resources. Someone with access to the coroner’s office, the morgue, and the crime scene. Someone who can make sure the right body is identified, the right reports are filed, and the right story is told without raising red flags.
Someone with authority. With power. With the family’s trust.
I lean back in my chair, my mind racing through the possibilities.
Who was first on scene after Alexei’s “death”? Who identified the body? Who handled the funeral arrangements, interfaced with the coroner, and made sure everything went smoothly?
Konstantin.
The thought makes my stomach drop.
Konstantin, who’s been dismissing my concerns about the inconsistencies in Alexei’s death for weeks. Who told me to “focus on the living” every time I brought up the timeline problems or the forensics that didn’t match. Who seemed almostannoyedthat I kept investigating.
Konstantin, who’s been so pleased about me growing close to Vera. So satisfied about the baby. About the alliance.
Konstantin, who had the access and authority to pull off something like this.
No.
No, I’m being paranoid. Konstantin loved Alexei. He wouldn’t?—
Except he would, wouldn’t he? If the price was right. If it meant power.
I dive for my fucking phone.
“I need a breakdown of all calls made from Konstantin Volkov’s phones in the last six months,” I tell the phone records department. “Personal and business. Every number.”
There’s a pause. “Sir, Mr. Konstantin is family. Are you sure?—”
I scowl at the phone. “Do I sound unsure?” I nearly growl into the receiver.
The manaudiblygulps. “N–No, sir,” he stammers. “I’ll have it to you within the hour.”
I hang up, my heart pounding.
