“I know where to start. Granite is the key. The company was registered four years ago, just before your marriage started falling apart, correct?”
Vera nodded. Four years earlier she and Dmitry had gone on vacation by the ocean. That was the first time she noticed he kept his phone turned away from her. She had chalked it up to business confidentiality.
“Then he was planning ahead,” Gromov said. “That’s good for us. The longer a scheme runs, the more people get pulled into it. And the more people involved, the better the odds of finding the weak link.”
“Weak link?”
“Someone willing to talk. A disgruntled employee. A former partner. A contractor who got burned. Men like your ex-husband usually leave a long trail of unhappy people behind them.”
Gromov attacked the case with professional energy. Within a week he had his first results.
“Granite is formally owned by one Vitaly Ignatyevich Chernykh,” he reported at a meeting in the same coffee shop. “Sixty-eight years old. Former engineer. Retired. Lives in a one-bedroom apartment on the edge of town, survives on a tiny pension. Yet on paper he owns a company moving millions of dollars.”
“A front man,” Anton Sergeyevich said. “Obviously. Those people are usually recruited for a small fee to sign documents and ask no questions.”
“But here’s the interesting part.” Gromov pulled a photograph from his folder. “Vitaly Ignatyevich is your ex-husband’s uncle. His mother’s brother.”
Vera flinched. She remembered the man. Quiet, almost invisible, someone who occasionally showed up at family gatherings. Dmitry used to refer to him as the poor relation and treated him with mild condescension.
“Dmitry used his own uncle?”
“He did. And from what I can tell, he barely paid him anything. I checked around. Vitaly Ignatyevich lives very modestly. If someone showed him what he’s really been dragged into, he might talk.”
The hope in Vera’s chest grew stronger. For the first time in a long while, she felt solid ground under her feet. But the relief didn’t last. That same evening Masha called. Vera was surprised—her daughter rarely reached out, usually limiting herself to short messages once a week. After the divorce, things between them had become strained. Dmitry had gotten to her first with his version of events, and Masha had apparently believed him.
“Mom,” Masha said, her voice tight. “I need to talk to you.”
“Of course, sweetheart. What happened?”
A pause.
“Dad says you hired a private investigator. That you’re digging into his business and trying to start a scandal. Mom, is that true?”
Vera went cold. How had Dmitry found out? It had only been a week.
“Masha, listen to me…”
“Dad says you’re trying to ruin him. That you can’t accept the divorce. That you’re doing this because he moved on.”
“That’s not true.” Vera tried to keep her voice steady, though everything inside her was shaking. “Masha, your father cheated me. He cheated the court. He stole our money, including the inheritance your grandfather left me.”
“Mom, stop.” Irritation sharpened Masha’s voice. “Dad said you’d say that. He said you’re obsessed, that you need help.”
“He’s lying to you, Masha. The same way he lied to me for twenty years.”
“Or maybe you’re the one lying?” Masha was almost shouting now. “You were always so nice, so caring, the perfect mother. And now suddenly you’re capable of… what? Spying? Revenge? I don’t even recognize you.”
Vera closed her eyes. Her daughter’s words hurt more than all the humiliations of the past few months.
“Masha, please. Let me explain.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it. Dad said if you don’t stop, he’ll stop paying my tuition. He’ll say his assets are frozen because of your legal attacks. And then I’ll have to come home and leave school.”
There it was. Vera finally understood. Dmitry was using their daughter as leverage. As a weapon. He knew there was nothing in the world more important to Vera than Masha.
“That’s blackmail,” she whispered.
“That’s reality, Mom. My reality. I’ve got a year and a half left before graduation. Are you really going to wreck my future over your grudge?”
Vera said nothing. What could she say?
“Please stop.” Masha’s voice softened. “I’m asking you. For me.”
“Masha, promise me…”
Vera stared at the wall of her shabby room. At the water stains. The peeling paint. The one window looking out onto a dark courtyard. This was her life now. And it would stay her life if she backed down. But Masha… Masha mattered more than anything.
“Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll stop.”
Masha let out a breath of relief.
“Thank you, Mom. I knew you’d understand. Love you.”
The call ended. Vera set the phone down and sat very still for a long time. Then she called Anton Sergeyevich.
“Vera Nikolaevna? Is something wrong?”
