Arkady raised his head upon hearing the name. He looked at his father-in-law. For a second, his face froze, and something sharp, dangerous, like the blade of a hidden knife, flashed in his eyes. And then his expression changed, as if someone had flipped a switch, and Arkady smiled broadly.
“Dad!” he exclaimed, stepping off Anya’s body and heading toward Viktor with open arms. “God, what a surprise! What a wonderful surprise. Why didn’t you warn us? We would have met you properly.”
Viktor didn’t return the hug. He looked past his son-in-law at his daughter, who was still lying on the floor. Anya slowly turned her head and looked at him. There was no recognition in her eyes, only emptiness and something resembling fear.
“Anya,” Viktor called, and his voice sounded hoarse.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her lips moved.
“Dad?” she whispered so quietly that he barely heard. “Dad, are you alive?”
Arkady turned to the guests, still smiling.
“Friends, I apologize for this little scene. My wife and her father haven’t seen each other for a long time, so she got emotional. You know how emotional women are. Let’s give them a family moment.”
He signaled the security guard at the door, and he began gently guiding the guests back into the living room. People left, looking back with curiosity, whispering about what they had seen. Grekov didn’t move. He stood looking at Viktor, and something resembling a plea could be read in his gaze.
Arkady walked over to Anya and helped her up. She moved like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings. Her arms hung limply by her sides, and Viktor saw marks on the inner crooks of her elbows. Small bruises. Injection points. Many points.
“Honey, look who’s here!” Arkady purred, holding his wife by the waist. “Your dad! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Anya looked at Viktor, and slowly, very slowly, something alive appeared in her eyes. Recognition. And along with it—fear. Such intense fear that she shuddered with her whole body.
“You’re alive?” she repeated. “He said you died. Showed a newspaper, an obituary.”
“What?” Viktor stepped toward her. “What obituary? Anya, what are you talking about?”
Arkady laughed, and this laugh sounded absolutely natural, absolutely carefree.
“My poor girl. You see, Dad, how confused she gets? It’s all the illness. Hallucinations, delirium. Doctors say it’s a form of schizophrenia triggered by drugs. Yes, it’s hard for me to talk about this, but… Your daughter has become addicted to illicit substances. I’m doing everything possible to help her. The best doctors, the best medications. But so far, unfortunately, without much progress.”
Viktor looked his son-in-law in the eye. Thirty years of surgical practice had taught him to see lies. To see fear hidden by bravado. To see calculation behind a smile.
“I want to talk to my daughter alone,” he said.
“Of course, of course,” Arkady nodded. “But first let’s get you settled. We have plenty of guest rooms. You must be tired from the road. And I’ll put Anya to rest now; she needs to take her medicine.”
“I want to talk to her now.”
“Dad, please,” Arkady lowered his voice and moved closer. “Don’t make a scene in front of the guests. These are important people. My business depends on them. Let’s discuss everything calmly, like family. I’ll take Anya upstairs, and then you and I will talk man to man. Okay?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Anya by the elbow and led her to the stairs to the second floor. She followed him obediently, like a child, only looking back at her father once, and there was so much pain in her gaze that Viktor’s breath caught.
He wanted to go after them. He took a step toward the stairs, and then two large men in black suits appeared in front of him as if from underground. Security.
“Sorry, sir,” one of them said politely but firmly. “The boss asked you to wait for him in the study.”
Viktor could have tried to pass, could have made a scandal. But he understood that it would achieve nothing. Two guards against one sixty-year-old man. Even if he broke through upstairs, what then? Arkady would call the police, and formally he would be right. Trespassing. Assault. He needed information. He needed a plan.
“Fine,” Viktor said. “Where is the study?”
He was led through the foyer, past the living room where the party continued as if nothing had happened, to the far wing of the house. The study turned out to be a spacious room with oak panels on the walls, a massive desk, and leather armchairs. Behind the glass of a bookcase stood books that clearly no one had ever read: spines too even, bindings too identical.
The guards remained outside the door. Viktor walked to the window and looked out at the dark garden. His hands were trembling. Not from fear—from rage he was holding back with all his might.
The door opened, and Grekov entered. He looked ten years older from the moment he saw Viktor in the foyer. He closed the door behind him, stood there, not daring to come closer.
“Viktor Sergeyevich…” he began, and his voice trembled. “I didn’t know. I swear to you by everything holy, I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” Viktor didn’t turn away from the window.
“What he’s doing to her. I thought she was happy. I introduced them. It’s me. My sin.”
Now Viktor turned. He looked at the man whose life he had saved twenty years ago.
“Tell me,” he said. “Everything from the very beginning.”
Grekov sank into a chair as if his legs refused to hold him.
“Two years ago,” he began, “I was at a charity evening. Arkady was there too; he’s the son of my old business partner. We were talking. He mentioned he was looking for a wife. I remembered your daughter. She was working at a publishing house then; I met her a couple of times at presentations. Smart, beautiful, modest—the ideal wife for a man of his circle.”
He fell silent, rubbing his forehead.
“I introduced them. Arranged a meeting at a reception. They liked each other. Six months later, the wedding. I was there, saw how she looked at him. She was in love. Truly in love. And then… then I went to Europe for six months. Business. When I returned, I started hearing rumors. That Arkady’s young wife was unwell. That she had drug problems. That he was taking her to doctors. I wanted to visit them, but Arkady found a reason to refuse every time. Quarantine, or Anya feeling unwell, or they went away for treatment.”
Grekov looked up at Viktor.
“Today I saw her for the first time in a year. And I saw you. And I understood.”
“What did you understand?”
“That he is doing to her the same thing he did to the others.”
Viktor felt the cold in his chest turn to ice.
“What others?”
Grekov opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the door swung open, and Arkady entered the study. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold and attentive, like a man assessing an opponent.
“Igor Petrovich,” he said reproachfully. “You left the guests for a private conversation? That’s not very polite.”
Grekov stood up, and Viktor saw him pale. Fear. This influential man was afraid of a thirty-five-year-old boy.
“I just…” Grekov began.
“I understand,” Arkady interrupted. “You wanted to pay your respects to my wife’s father. Very touching. And now, please, return to the guests. I need to talk to my father-in-law alone.”
Grekov looked at Viktor. In his gaze was something resembling an apology. And a warning.
“We’ll see each other again,” he said quietly and left.
Arkady closed the door behind him and turned to Viktor. The smile disappeared from his face like an erased drawing.
“Well then,” he said, walking to the desk and sitting in the master’s chair. “Let’s talk. Man to man.”
Arkady leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, examining Viktor with the expression of a man who is in complete control of the situation. There wasn’t a trace left of the welcoming smile he had shown the guests. Now it was the face of a predator that had cornered its prey and was enjoying its helplessness…
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