Page 4
***
“I need a drink,” I say, my voice strained.
“You've had three.”
“I need a fourth.”
Evaria pours vodka into five glasses.
We're sitting around a polished mahogany table in an office that smells like leather, old books, and money. Papa's lawyer sits opposite us.
Viktor Sokolov has handled our family's legal affairs since before I was born. He's somewhere in his seventies, permanently exhausted and possibly the only man alive who could tell Yaroslav Maximov to shut up without being shot.
Today, he looks particularly tired, which is concerning.
Milana takes the glass Evaria slides toward her while Viktor clears his throat.
“Perhaps we should wait until after we've discussed your father's estate.”
Milana drinks the entire shot.
“Too late.”
I rub my forehead.
“Can we just get this over with?”
“Yes.” Viktor adjusts the papers in front of him. “Your father left very specific instructions regarding the reading of his will.”
“Of course he did,” Zhenya says.
“He requested all five of you be present.”
“We are.”
“He also requested it take place immediately following his funeral,” he continues in that flat, droll, voice.
“Because apparently controlling his entire funeral from beyond the grave wasn't sufficiently dramatic, he is now controlling our schedules, too,” Evaria mutters.
Viktor removes his glasses. “I would advise all of you to allow me to finish before reacting.”
Silence. I look at my sisters.
Zhenya looks at me.
Galana slowly lowers her vodka.
“Oh, that's bad,” Milana says.
Viktor sighs.
“It isn't necessarily bad.” Evaria squeaks.
“Nobody says allow me to finish before reacting before announcing something good,” I tell her.
“Your father was an extremely wealthy man,” Viktor starts.
“We know.”
