Nick
Alexei is sweating.
There’s a shine along the hairline, a dampness at the collar that wasn't there twenty minutes ago when Dmitri brought him in. The rest of him is holding together. Hands flat on the arms of the chair, chin level, eyes forward. A man performing composure for an audience that isn't buying it.
I lean against the edge of the desk with my arms folded. The lamp throws a circle of warm light that stops two feet short of where he's sitting, leaving the upper half of his face in shadow.
Dmitri stands behind the chair. Close enough that Alexei can hear him breathe.
"Tell me about the transfers," I say.
Alexei swallows. "Pakhan, I can explain."
"That's why you're here."
He shifts. The wood creaks under him. He's a big man, broader than me through the shoulders, hands that have done ugly work without complaint for nine years. Those hands are curled now; knuckles pale against the dark armrests.
"Viktor approached me," he says. "Two months ago. He said he wanted to establish a contingency fund in case the transition was contested. That the family needed protection against instability."
"And you believed that."
"I believed he was your father's brother." His jaw works once. "I believed family was family."
"Family is family," I agree. "Which is why I find it interesting that you took seventy-five thousand from a holding company registered in my cousin's name and didn't mention it to the man you pledged yourself to at a graveside two weeks ago."
The shine at his hairline spreads. A bead of sweat breaks loose and tracks along his temple. He doesn't wipe it.
"It isn't what you think, Pakhan."
"Then tell me what it is."
"Insurance." He turns the word in his mouth like something rehearsed. "Viktor was persuasive. He made a case that the transition might not hold. That the captains might need to act independently if the leadership fractured. The money was for operational continuity."
"Operational continuity." I let the words sit in the air long enough that the silence does my work for me.
Dmitri shifts his weight behind the chair. Alexei hears it. His shoulders climb a fraction.
"Did Viktor outline the structure for you?" I ask. "Because I've seen the holding company. I've seen Bettina's name on the incorporation documents. I've seen the trust restructure his lawyer was discussing at my father's funeral while his body was still warm. So I'm curious. Did he show you the full picture, or just the corner he needed you to see?"
Alexei's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"He showed me enough," he says quietly.
"Enough to take his money?"
"Yes."
"Enough to sit in my meetings, look me in the eye, call me Pakhan, and go home to an account that says otherwise."
He doesn't answer. The facts are on the desk between us in a folder Dmitri assembled with the precision of a man who has been doing this work since he was nineteen.
I unfold my arms and push off the desk. Walk to the window. The east lawn is bathed in late morning light, the tree line turning green against the spring sky. I look at it without seeing it because I'm thinking about Sadie.
I’m always thinking about Sadie. She has become my obsession. It’s plain to see, now. How she consumes my thoughts, how all of my actions are determined by how it will impact her and our future together.
I turn back to Alexei.
"My father told me Viktor was a snake," I say. "That snakes don't come at you directly. They come at the thing you love."
