Page 110 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

“This one doesn’t need him,” I say.

Maksim looks at me then, and the heat in his eyes would scare me from any other man.

Sergei reaches across the table. “Stop.”

Maksim catches his wrist before his hand gets near me.

“No,” Maksim says. He doesn’t raise his voice.

I sign the board change next. Leonid’s list goes in. The old signers come out one by one, and Maksim’s men take their seats on paper.

Mancini shoves back his chair. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” I say, signing again.

Moretti sets one palm on the folder and drags it back toward himself. “You’re locking the chain.”

“Yes.”

“Against sale.” His thumb digs into the folder.

“Yes.”

“And transfer.”

I glance at Maksim, then back down. “Against men with greedy hands and clean shoes.”

Behind me, Leonid makes a small sound that might be a cough, or the closest he gets to laughter.

Sergei’s voice cuts through the room. “You think this gives you power?”

Karpov moves again, and Dima catches it from the elevator doors while Ilya shifts at the stair. Maksim’s eyes move to both of them once, then return to the men.

I turn to the operational grant, and my hand tightens around the pen because this signature carries more than paper. Legal ownership stays in my name, and Maksim gets authority to run the routes, warehouses, fuel holdings, staffing, and daily approvals.

Sergei laughs under his breath. “So you hand yourself from one man to another.”

I look up, and my grip steadies. “No. I keep my name, and I choose who gets to act under it.”

His face goes red, and I sign.

Maksim doesn’t touch me, and that helps more than if he did.

The last section waits.

Succession. My throat tightens, but my hand doesn’t shake.

I reach the page that names the child without naming the child. I rewrite the language, and the meaning shifts while the lines stay clean. Nothing moves around the child’s future claim until legal maturity, and every change needs both my authority and Maksim’s.

Sergei sees it.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, placing a hand on the paper.

I look at him. “I’m pregnant because of the choices I made. You don’t get to use that child to finish choices you made.”

“You’re still my daughter.”

“Yes,” I say and sign the page. “That’s your punishment.”