Page 89 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

Moroz glances at Leonid before he answers.

Elena sets the spoon down. “Don’t look at him. My name is on the chain.”

I place my hand on the back of her chair, close enough that my knuckles brush her shoulder. She doesn’t look up, but her fingers ease around the spoon.

I look at Moroz. He clears his throat. “There are eight fuel entities tied to Volkov logistics. Three active, two dormant, one decorative, and two unclear.”

“None are decorative,” Elena says, tearing off a piece of bread. “Sergei doesn’t waste paper. Show me the boring one.”

Moroz slides the file across.

I stand behind Elena’s chair and watch her eat with one hand while she pulls apart my legal counsel with the other. She has the most to lose, and she knows it, so every page gets her full attention.

She turns one sheet, takes a bite of apple, then taps a registrar stamp with her finger. “This was processed outside his loop.”

Leonid leans in. “How do you know?”

“The fucking naming pattern matches, the sequence tracks, and even the boring drafting style fits,” she says, sliding the page toward him. “But it went through a different registry office.”

I tap the file and keep my eyes on the stamp. “He kept the same pattern so it passes as routine, and he filed this one through a different office so it sits outside the chain we’re tracking and won’t trip the usual flags.”

I step back from Elena’s chair and walk to the wall, where my grandfather looks down from an old portrait in a black suit and medals he never wore in public. I turn back to the table.

“Abramov,” I say. “Put eyes on that registry office. Staff, exits, after-hours access, courier movement, everything.”

Abramov already has his tablet up. “Done.”

I look at Petrov. “If money touched that office, find who paid it.”

Petrov closes his file. “I’ll pull the payment trail.”

Voronina rests her elbow on the table and studies the page. “She’s right.”

Elena lifts her tea. “That part stands on its own.”

Petrov tears off a piece of dark bread and eats it with roast chicken. He looks annoyed. “Plain Russian, please.”

Elena lines up three pages. “The shell feeds into the warehouse group, and the warehouse group feeds into the holding company. Sergei built notes around the later transfers, but this acknowledgment was accepted before he buried the rest.”

I look at the continuation line. “If you sign there?”

“It moves without him.”

Dima steps closer from the wall. “So we have one clean handle.”

“One small handle,” Elena says, breaking off a piece of rye bread. “Don’t get romantic.”

I almost smile.

Abramov sets his coffee down. “One office is already under watch, and we expand from there. Filatov in Moscow records. Semyonov in corporate maintenance. Alina Rykova in the regional archive.”

Voronina turns to him. “Rykova matters. She handles sealed acknowledgment scans from older packets, and if Sergei added anything after the first signing, she can find it.”

Dima nods once. “Filatov has debts. Semyonov has a son who likes cars he can’t afford. Rykova has an elderly mother in private care, and she doesn’t scare easily, so we pay clean and let her feel professional.”

Elena pauses with her cup halfway up. “You profile registrars.”

Dima looks at her. “We have hobbies.”