“Too early to say for sure,” Larin answered. “The connections are there. It’s possible he only saw a profitable business alliance through his daughter’s relationship and didn’t know the criminal side. Time will tell.”
By November, when the city had turned cold and gray, it was time for the final act. Gleb filed for divorce exactly as planned. In his petition, I was painted as a classic freeloader living off the hard-earned income of an honest businessman.
He asked for minimal support and argued against any meaningful division of assets. “Don’t take it so hard,” he said in that condescending tone of his as he handed me the paperwork. “I’m not a monster.”
“I’ll rent you a decent apartment. I’ll make sure you have enough to get by. Say, two thousand a month? That should be plenty for modest needs.” Two thousand dollars a month after spending fortunes on his mistress. Generosity worthy of a parade.
I let tears gather in my eyes because that was what he expected. “Gleb, how can you do this after all these years?” I asked softly. “Zoe, let’s not make this dramatic,” he said, already irritated by emotion.
“There’s been nothing between us for a long time. You know that. You’re a nice woman. You’ll find someone more appropriate for your level.” For your level. I filed the phrase away carefully. I wanted to remember every insult.
The hearing was set for late November. Major Larin assured me that by then investigators would have a complete case ready for charges. “We can arrest him now if you want,” he offered at our last meeting. “No,” I said with a small smile. “I want to see his face when he realizes he lost on every front.”
That moment, I told him, would be worth every humiliation of the past eight years. The day of the hearing was cold and windy. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk, and people fought with their umbrellas outside the courthouse.
I deliberately wore the plainest dress I owned—black, shapeless, forgettable. Let them see exactly what they expected to see. Gleb pulled up in his Porsche with a whole team of attorneys.
Stanislav Krasnov, a star in high-end divorce cases, looked like a shark in a tailored suit. Gleb gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. “Try not to worry, Zoe. This will be quick and painless,” he said.
I lowered my eyes and nodded, hiding my smile. If only he knew how quick and painless it was about to be—and for whom. Regina Dorokhov arrived ten minutes later in a suit that probably cost half my supposed annual support…
