The word “drugs” was sobering. Everything suddenly fell into place. Next was Evgeny Arkadievich. An old acquaintance, a lawyer who had once helped Lyudmila Sergeevna with inheritance matters. He listened in silence, not interrupting, only occasionally making notes in his notepad. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair.
— “This is a classic scheme,” he said calmly. “Very old. Very dirty.”
— “What kind?”
— “Weaken a person with medication. Create the impression of age-related decline. Then—documents. Deeds of gift, powers of attorney, re-registrations. Often through trusted notaries.”
Lyudmila Sergeevna felt a chill run down her spine.
— “And the child?” she asked. “Why is the child there?”
Evgeny Arkadievich sighed.
— “A witness no one would believe. A backdrop. A legend. A heroic woman with a difficult adopted child inspires trust. Especially in lonely old people.” He looked at her intently. “You understand that this is most likely not the first case?”
The realization didn’t come immediately. It came in waves. Lyudmila Sergeevna began to recall names. The neighbor downstairs who suddenly had distant relatives show up. The lonely man from the next building whom Alena had once cared for, and who then suddenly disappeared—they said his children took him. An old acquaintance from the clinic who signed some papers after a stroke and died in a nursing home six months later. Notaries. Apartments. Too many coincidences.
— “This has been going on for years,” Evgeny Arkadievich said. “Such people rarely stop on their own. They are only stopped by circumstances.”
Lyudmila Sergeevna returned home a different person. Kirill was sitting at the table, drawing. He looked up, saw her gaze, and understood everything without words.
— “Did I say everything right?” he asked cautiously.
She went to him, hugged him, held him as tightly as she hadn’t hugged anyone in a long time.
— “You said everything you could,” she answered. “The rest is my job.”
Later, sitting in the kitchen, Lyudmila Sergeevna laid out the papers in front of her: test results, notes, dates, names. For the first time in a long while, her mind was clear. The car pulled up in the afternoon, right when Lyudmila Sergeevna was expecting it. She heard the familiar sound of the engine from the kitchen and caught herself feeling no fuss, no fear. Only composure. Cold, clear, measured, as if before an important conversation she had long been preparing for…
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