Page 100 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

“Abramov stays here on the lines,” I say. “If the private level goes dark, he kills power from this house and opens the rail exit.”

Dima checks a pistol magazine. “And you?”

“I sit at the table.”

He looks up once. I look back. He returns to the magazine. Good choice.

The house moves faster and talks less. Mrs. Wentworth shortens the meal chain, and Lidiya stays near Elena’s room. She’s not security, though the fire extinguisher made a decent argument, but she knows when a maid is carrying guilt instead of linen.

Leonid comes in at four with his coat still on and his phone in hand.

“Nina’s pulling Rykova’s sealed acknowledgment through a private archive,” he says. “Filatov took the money, Semyonov took the pressure, and neither man gets to stall tomorrow.”

I look up from the route map where Ilya has marked three exits. “Warehouse banks?”

“Petrov’s on it,” he says.

I nod once. “Check every stamp against the sequence before tomorrow’s meeting. If one stamp is out of order or dated ahead of the filing, I want to know before Moretti does.”

Leonid leaves with the order.

All afternoon, I wait for Petrov’s warehouse report.

At four, he calls.

“Status quo,” he says. “Banks are still stalling.”

Karpov’s text comes through at dusk.

Step back while you can. Let the girl sign, then put her in place. Men follow strength, not a man led by his pregnant woman.

I read it twice.

Dima watches my face. “He’s baiting you.”

“He’s showing fear.”

“What fear?”

“If Elena signs the right thing tomorrow, he loses the argument that I can’t control the structure.”

Dima nods once. “Then he moves before she finishes.”

“Yes.”

I hand him the phone. “Let him think I’m considering it.”

Dima’s brows lift. “You want me to answer?”

“No. Abramov answers through the relay,” I say. “He sounds annoyed, cautious, and interested enough to keep Moretti talking.”

Dima almost smiles. “You want Abramov to sound like you?”

I look at him. The smile disappears.

“Yes, Pakhan,” he says and leaves with the phone.

Later, I find her in the legal room with Leonid and Nina. Green lamps burn over the files, her hair is pulled back, her sleeves are pushed to her elbows, and a pencil sits between her fingers. She eats apple slices from a plate Mrs. Wentworth left beside her, though half have gone brown at the edges. The tea near her hand sits untouched and cold.