Matvey Tikhonovich Bazhenov, the young CEO of the “Titan” holding company, met her standing by the window, his hands behind his back.
— Sit down, — he threw a copy of her marriage certificate on the table. — What is this, Nelli Lvovna?
— That is my personal life, Matvey Tikhonovich, — Nelli began, clasping her hands under the table. — I don’t think it…
— Your personal life, — he interrupted sharply, — has just become my personal headache.
He turned on the projector. A shareholder chart appeared on the wall. Next to the name Matvey Tikhonovich Bazhenov was the number 20%. And above it, in the largest rectangle with 30%, was Tikhon Ignatievich Bazhenov.
— This cook of yours, — Matvey spat the word out like a slap, — is my father, Nelli Lvovna. The majority shareholder of the holding company where you work. Congratulations, you’ve just become my stepmother.
Nelli didn’t remember how she got to the address on the piece of paper. She expected to see a mansion, but the navigator led her to an ordinary nine-story panel building in a residential area. The apartment was modest: clean, but with no hint of wealth.
Tikhon opened the door in an apron stained with tomato paste.
— Come in, Nelli Lvovna, the solyanka is almost ready.
— Are you mocking me?! — her voice broke into a scream. — You own a third of the company, and I find out from your son?!
He didn’t answer, just went to the kitchen. Nelli stood in the hallway, looking at a photo of a beautiful woman on the wall — obviously, his late wife.
— Eat first, — his voice came from the kitchen. — You can’t think clearly on an empty stomach.
The solyanka smelled so intoxicating that Nelli gave in. She went to the kitchen and sat down at the small table.
— My great-grandfather owned a tavern, — Tikhon began after she had finished eating. — Raya and I, — he nodded at the photo, — started with a small café at the market. Then things took off: restaurants, a chain. When she was dying, she didn’t ask for delicacies, but for my solyanka. The very same one I used to cook when we lived in a Khrushchev-era apartment.
He poured some tea…
