“Vera Nikolaevna. We met at Masha’s birthday parties. And at your sister’s funeral five years ago.”
The old man peered more closely. Then his face softened.
“Ah. Yes, I remember. Tall, pretty. Dmitry used to speak highly of you.” He frowned. “But I heard you two divorced.”
“We did. That’s why I’m here.”
Vitaly Ignatyevich hesitated. He looked frightened—perhaps Dmitry had warned him this kind of visit might come.
“Please,” Vera said. “I just need to talk. Fifteen minutes. I’m not here to hurt you.”
The old man sighed and removed the chain.
The apartment was exactly as Gromov had described it. Small, poor, with worn furniture and the smell of old age. Faded photographs on the walls, a geranium in a cracked pot on the windowsill. Vitaly Ignatyevich led her into the kitchen and put a kettle on.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to a stool. “I’ll make tea. Sorry, I don’t have much to offer.”
“Tea is fine. Thank you.”
He still took out a package of cheap cookies and emptied them onto a plate.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
Vera took a deep breath. She had to be careful.
“Vitaly Ignatyevich, do you know a company called Granite?”
The old man froze. His face went pale instantly.
“How do you…” He stopped himself and coughed. “I don’t know any Granite. I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know the company is registered in your name. And I know you’re not the real owner. It was used for certain financial transactions.”
Vitaly Ignatyevich turned toward the window. His narrow shoulders sagged.
“You should go,” he said quietly. “Please. Just go.”
“Vitaly Ignatyevich, listen to me. I’m not your enemy. I’m as much a victim of Dmitry as you are.”
“Victim?” He turned back to her. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “You don’t know what that means. You’re still young. Healthy. I’m sixty-eight. I have a bad heart and a pension that barely covers my medicine. And if Dmitry finds out I spoke to you…”
“He won’t.”
“He will!” the old man snapped. “He always does. He has eyes and ears everywhere. Did I sign those papers? Yes, I did. Because he told me it would help the family. Said he’d take care of me. And then…” He waved a hand. “Then suddenly I’m the owner of a company moving millions, and I don’t see a dime. Just threats.”
Vera leaned forward.
“Threats? What kind of threats?”
“That if I told anyone, I’d go to prison. That the paperwork was set up so all the responsibility landed on me. That they’d make me the fall guy for everything.” His voice shook. “I’m almost seventy. I wouldn’t last a year in prison.”
Vera felt her heart tighten with pity. This man was trapped just as she was. Only his cage was smaller.
“Vitaly Ignatyevich,” she said gently, “I understand why you’re afraid. I really do. But think about how long this can go on. You live in fear and poverty while your nephew prospers using your name. Is that fair?”
The old man said nothing.
“If we gather evidence against Dmitry, you would be a witness, not the accused. I know a good attorney. He can help make sure it’s handled properly.”
“A witness…” Vitaly Ignatyevich gave a crooked little smile. “And then Dmitry gets out in a few years with all his connections and comes looking for me.”
“If we win, he loses those connections. Loses the money. Loses the influence. He becomes just another man.”
The old man studied her for a long time.
“Do you really believe that?”
