— She left me, — he continued in a choked voice. — As soon as she realized the money was gone, she threw a tantrum. The hotel manager called security. We were kicked out! She said horrible things to me, called me a nobody, turned around and left. Said she’d find herself another sponsor. I don’t even know where she is! — He sobbed again. — I’m sitting in some coffee shop on the outskirts. I don’t even have money for water. My passport is still at the hotel. They won’t give it back until I pay for the booking. Lera, I’m trapped!
This was even worse than I had imagined. A complete, total fiasco.
— And what do you want from me? — My voice sounded like metal scraping on glass.
— Help me! — he squeezed out. — I’m begging you, Lerochka! Forgive me! Send me a little money! Just a little! Just for a ticket back! Economy class! And to get my passport back! I’ll pay it all back! I swear, I’ll pay it all back! I’ll work three jobs! I’ll give you everything! Just get me out of here! Please!
He was crying. The man who just a day ago considered himself the king of the world, who had condescendingly texted me “good luck, you beggar,” was now sobbing into the phone and begging for help. The humiliation was complete. I listened to him until the end. I let him talk it all out, pour out all his fear and despair. And when he fell silent, waiting for my answer, I took a deep breath.
— You know, Yegor, — I said slowly and distinctly. — I was just thinking about your genius startup at the airport. Remember you asked me to help with the documents for a grant? I found a couple of interesting inconsistencies in them, passed them on to the right people for review. I think when you get back, they’ll have some questions for you. If you get back, that is.
He fell silent. Even his sobs stopped.
— As for the money… — I continued, savoring every word. — No, Yegor, I won’t be sending you any money. Earn it. After all, you’re a capable man, who, as you said, could change the world. So get started. At least with a ticket home.
I paused, and then uttered the four words he knew so well:
— Good luck, you beggar.
And I hung up, immediately blocking his new number. It was all over.
A week passed. Outside the cafe window, rain was pouring down, washing the dust and fatigue from the city streets. I sat across from Alisa, slowly stirring the foam on my cappuccino. I had filed for divorce and division of property. Though, there was nothing left to divide. The apartment was mine, inherited from my grandmother, and the car was also registered in my name. And all of Yegor’s assets, including his failed startup, were now under investigation.
He hadn’t called again. I heard from mutual acquaintances that he had somehow gotten out of Dubai. Apparently, his parents helped by mortgaging their summer house. He returned to the capital, thinner, haggard, and angry at the world. He tried to get to me at work, but Alisa’s security team politely turned him away at the entrance.
— So, any regrets? — Alisa asked, sipping her latte.
I looked at her, then out the window at the people hurrying under their umbrellas. Everyone was busy with their own lives, their own problems, their own joys. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like one of them. Not someone’s other half, not a support system, but just myself.
— Not for a second, — I answered honestly. — You know, it’s a strange feeling. For the first couple of days, there was a kind of euphoria from the revenge, then emptiness. And now? Now it’s just peace. It’s as if for many years I carried a heavy, uncomfortable backpack on my shoulders, filled with the stones of his lies and my hopes. And now I’ve thrown it off. And it feels so light…
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