Chapter 6 - The Lie He Carried Back to Chicago
Vadim locked down the residence without making it look locked down.
Elara noticed only because she had begun paying attention.
Different guards appeared near the western entrance.
Staff schedules changed.
Two vehicles that usually sat outside disappeared.
Nobody announced danger.
That made it feel more real.
At breakfast, Vadim explained.
“Taras sent someone here instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“We have only part of the message.”
“Show me.”
He did.
A screenshot contained six words.
Keep her calm. Find the blue file.
Elara read it twice.
“What blue file?”
“We don’t know.”
“And ‘her’ means me?”
“Probably.”
She handed the phone back.
“Who received it?”
“We traced the number to a device used near the estate.”
“So somebody here is working for my father.”
“Yes.”
Elara looked around the elegant dining room.
Yesterday it had felt almost safe.
Now every doorway seemed to hide possibility.
“Why would Dad think I have a file?”
Vadim answered, “Maybe he thinks I do.”
“What could be in it?”
“We’ll ask Natalia.”
Her sister arrived that afternoon.
Elara waited at the top of the stairs as Natalia entered.
For the first time in years, Natalia Fagan did not look immaculate.
Her hair was tied hastily.
No makeup.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
She saw Elara.
“El.”
Elara hadn’t heard the childhood nickname in years.
Natalia climbed the stairs.
For one second both women hesitated.
Then Natalia hugged her.
Elara stayed rigid.
Eventually she stepped back.
“You knew.”
Natalia’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry.”
“You knew Dad was sending me here.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what he told Vadim about me.”
“Not everything.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Natalia lowered her gaze.
“I knew he lied about your relationships.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Dad said if the deal failed, Fagan Logistics collapsed. Thousands of people would lose jobs. He made it sound like—”
“Like I was a reasonable sacrifice?”
Natalia flinched.
“I was afraid.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Vadim appeared at the lower end of the hall but stayed away.
He allowed the sisters privacy.
Natalia wiped her eyes.
“I found something after you left.”
“What?”
“A file in Dad’s private office.”
“Blue?”
Natalia looked startled.
“How did you know?”
Elara and Vadim exchanged a glance.
“What was in it?”
“Copies of accounts. Transfers. Signatures.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
Elara’s anger vanished beneath dread.
Natalia continued.
“There was also correspondence with someone named Viktor Morozov.”
Vadim moved instantly.
“What?”
Natalia looked toward him.
“You know him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Who is he?”
Vadim’s voice turned cold.
“A man I removed from my organization three years ago.”
“Why?”
“He stole from me.”
Elara’s mind raced.
“Dad knows him?”
“Apparently.”
Natalia reached into her bag.
“I photographed some pages.”
She handed her phone to Vadim.
He scrolled.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
“These transfers weren’t only hiding Fagan money.”
Elara stepped closer.
“What were they doing?”
“Moving funds connected to Morozov.”
“Through my name?”
“Yes.”
Natalia began crying.
“I’m sorry, Elara.”
Elara stared at the screen.
Six years of documents.
Six years.
“Why me?”
Natalia covered her mouth.
Elara turned.
“Why did he choose me?”
Her sister couldn’t answer.
Elara’s voice broke.
“Why not you?”
Natalia began shaking.
Vadim intervened quietly.
“Because Taras believed nobody would examine Elara closely.”
The cruelty of the answer filled the room.
The daughter Taras considered invisible had become financially useful precisely because she was invisible.
Elara sank into a chair.
Vadim crouched nearby.
Again, he did not touch her.
“What happens now?”
“We prove the signatures were forged.”
“And Morozov?”
“I handle him.”
Elara looked at him sharply.
“No.”
Vadim’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want people disappearing because of me.”
“Morozov’s problems existed before you.”
“I still want this handled legally.”
A long silence.
Vadim finally nodded.
“We gather evidence.”
Natalia looked relieved.
Then Mikhail entered.
“We found our leak.”
Everyone turned.
“Who?”
“Sergei Petrov.”
Vadim frowned.
Elara recognized the name.
One of the household security coordinators.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“When?”
“Approximately forty minutes ago.”
Vadim swore quietly.
Mikhail continued.
“We searched his quarters.”
“And?”
“We found cash.”
“From Taras?”
“Likely.”
Mikhail glanced at Elara.
“And a photograph.”
He handed it to her.
The image showed Elara leaving her university library in Chicago five years earlier.
She stared at herself.
Younger.
Unaware.
“What is this?”
“There are more.”
Mikhail placed several photographs on the table.
Elara outside a bookstore.
Elara entering a café.
Elara walking through a park.
Different years.
Different seasons.
Her skin went cold.
“Someone was watching me.”
Natalia looked horrified.
Vadim examined the photographs.
“These aren’t surveillance from my people.”
Elara looked at him.
“Morozov?”
“Possibly.”
The final photograph had writing on the back.
Mikhail turned it over.
Three words.
Fagan’s weak point.
Elara stared.
All her life she had believed her father considered her insignificant.
Now she realized something worse.
Other people had noticed.
They had seen how little Taras valued her.
And somebody had decided that made her useful.
Vadim picked up the photographs one by one.
His expression revealed nothing.
But when he spoke, his voice was colder than Elara had ever heard.
“Taras thought he was sending me a liability.”
He looked at Elara.
“He may have sent me the only person capable of proving what all of them did.”
That evening, Elara stood alone before the library window.
Vadim joined her.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
She almost smiled.
“Do you know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“I should want to go home.”
Vadim waited.
“But I don’t know where home is.”
He looked out at the snow.
“You don’t have to decide yet.”
Elara nodded.
After a moment she extended her hand.
Vadim looked down.
It was the first time she had initiated contact.
He placed his hand beneath hers.
Elara curled her fingers around his.
No audience.
No priest.
No obligation.
Just a choice.
Behind them, unnoticed on the desk, Natalia’s phone lit up with a new message from Chicago.
It contained only one sentence.
May you like
Tell Elara to come home, or the truth about her mother comes out.
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