“Understood. One more thing. The heroin pipeline through Afghanistan is running into problems. Taliban are demanding higher fees for safe passage through their territory.”
“How much higher?”
“Thirty percent increase.”
I calculate quickly. Thirty percent cuts into margins but doesn’t eliminate profit. And the Taliban controls the territory. We don’t have alternative routes that are safer.
“Pay it,” I say. “But make it clear this is a one-time adjustment. If they try to increase again in six months, we’ll find another route.”
“Copy that.”
He hangs up. I look at Anna. She’s staring at me like I’m a stranger.
“Cocaine and heroin too,” she says flatly. “Not just guns.”
“Diversification is a smart business strategy.”
“People die from those drugs.”
“People die from alcohol and cigarettes. Those are legal. The only difference is who profits and who gets taxed.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it? Both kill people. Both are addictive. One makes governments rich, the other makes people like me rich. The morality is identical. The legality is arbitrary.”
She shakes her head. “You actually believe that.”
“I believe in reality. Drugs exist whether I sell them or not. Weapons exist whether I move them or not. Demand creates supply. I’m simply a mechanism in that equation.”
“You’re a drug dealer.”
“I’m a logistics coordinator. I connect suppliers with buyers. I don’t manufacture the product. I don’t force anyone to purchase it. I facilitate transactions.”
“While people overdose.”
“While people make choices about what to put in their bodies. I’m not responsible for their decisions any more than a liquor store owner is responsible for drunk drivers.”
She turns away from me again. “I can’t believe I married you.”
“You married me to save your family. The methods I use to maintain my wealth were irrelevant to that decision.”
“I didn’t know you were a drug dealer.”
“You knew I was involved in organized crime. You chose not to ask questions about specifics.”
That silences her. Because it’s true. Viktor knew exactly what kind of man I was when he agreed to this arrangement. Anna could have asked questions. Could have demanded details. She didn’t because she didn’t want to know.
Willful ignorance doesn’t grant absolution.
My phone rings a third time. Unknown number. I answer anyway.
“Volkov.”
“Mr. Volkov, this is Gregori Rostov.”
I recognize the name immediately. Rostov runs a mid-level operation out of Minsk. Prostitution, gambling, and some minor drug distribution. He’s never contacted me directly before.
“What do you want?” I ask.
