“For you, it’s free. You got my son out of trouble once. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“So do I.”
At home, Stepan hid the camera in a desk drawer. Nadezhda mustn’t know. At least not yet.
Two days later, Artem came over for lunch. Daria excitedly talked about the wedding preparations: the dress was ready, the flowers were ordered, the restaurant was booked.
“Dad, stop it! The wedding is in a week,” she laughed, watching Stepan meticulously examine the invitation samples. “Everything will be wonderful.”
Stepan nodded. He was waiting for the right moment. The moment came after lunch. Artem went out for a smoke, leaving his car unlocked. Stepan, claiming a headache, went out for some fresh air. It took thirty seconds to install the camera. He attached it under the dashboard. A place where no one would find it.
“Dad!” Daria came out onto the porch. “What are you doing there?”
Stepan straightened up, his heart pounding.
“Nothing. Just looking at the car. It’s a nice one.”
“Good grief, Dad!” Daria rolled her eyes. “You’ve already checked him a hundred times. Relax.”
Nadezhda appeared in the doorway. She shook her head.
“Stepa, stop it! People will think you’ve lost your mind.”
“Maybe I have,” he muttered under his breath.
Artem returned, and they all sat down for tea. Stepan smiled, joked, and was more gracious than ever. But inside, everything was tense. Three days. He had to wait three days.
Those three days dragged on endlessly. Stepan barely slept, replaying all possible scenarios in his mind. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the recording would only show Artem listening to music and talking on the phone about work. Maybe.
But on the fourth day, when he retrieved the camera from the car (Artem had come for lunch again), his hands were shaking. That evening, after Nadezhda had fallen asleep, Stepan turned on the recording. The laptop screen glowed in the dark study. Stepan put on headphones so as not to wake Nadezhda and pressed play.
The first few hours of the recording were empty; the camera only captured the parked car. Then Artem got behind the wheel and turned on some music. Stepan fast-forwarded, stopping at the phone conversations. Ordinary work calls: construction materials, deadlines, contractors. Nothing suspicious.
“Maybe I really am an old paranoid,” Stepan thought, rubbing his tired eyes. He was about to turn off the recording when something new appeared on the screen.
Artem parked in some wasteland; the camera caught part of the window and a piece of an abandoned building. A woman got into the car. Stepan turned up the volume.
“So?” The woman’s voice was hoarse, from smoking. “Is everything going according to plan?”
“Like clockwork,” Artem smirked. “The wedding is just around the corner. I’ll play the happy husband for a couple of months, and then…”
“And then unfortunate accidents? Why be so crude?”
“No, Zhanna. First, we’ll transfer everything to my name. The house, the land, her apartment downtown. Then a divorce. I’ll say she cheated on me. I’ll prepare the evidence.”
Stepan felt the blood drain from his face. His fingers clenched into fists.
“And what if her daddy the investigator suspects something?” the woman asked. “You said he looks at you like a wolf.”
Artem laughed.
“The old fool doesn’t have a clue anymore. He looks at me with his piggy eyes and thinks he understands something. And I smile at him and think: soon, grandpa, soon your little daughter will become my cash cow.”
Stepan clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His hands were shaking.
“And if she doesn’t agree to a divorce?” the woman persisted.
“She’ll agree. I know how to be persuasive.”
“And if she doesn’t agree, then what?”
“Unfortunate accidents do happen, after all. Do you know how many people fall down the stairs each year? Drown in bathtubs?”
The woman giggled.
“You’re a monster, Artemchik.”
“I’m a pragmatist, Zhanna. I just take what I need. That naive little fool looks at me with love-struck eyes and thinks I’m her prince. And I’m thinking about how much her daddy’s house is worth.”
“How much?”
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