He signed, barely glancing at the documents, in a hurry to lock in his luck before it slipped away. After he left, Nesterov didn’t hide a predatory smile as he collected the signed papers into a folder.
— He just took out a loan secured by property that, according to the divorce court’s decision, is your property, Arina Kirillovna. The workshop at the factory, the premises on Vaynera, the country house in the village — all of it is registered in your name. To offer someone else’s property as collateral falls under Article 159 of the Criminal Code, ‘Fraud on a particularly large scale.’ Up to ten years.
Arina nodded, leaning back in her chair.
— And the targets we set are physically impossible to meet. We have already blocked his main distribution channels by pressuring key distributors.
Nikiforov brought the file on Yana Trunikova a week later: a thick folder with photographs, bank statements, medical reports. Yana on romantic dinners with a tattooed man named Timur, the owner of a chain of car washes, known for his criminal connections. Regular transfers from Arseny’s company accounts to her lover’s accounts — hundreds of thousands monthly. And most importantly: the term of her pregnancy, according to the prenatal clinic, was 20 weeks.
Arina did a simple calculation that any schoolchild could have done. Conception occurred about 4.5 months ago. During that period, Arseny was on a business trip in the capital, at a textile exhibition, for a whole week without a break. Hotel cameras in the city recorded Yana with Timur, entering and leaving a room over several days.
— Arseny’s blood type is O-positive. Yana’s is A-positive. The fetus, according to the screening results, has type B. The child is not his, — she stated, closing the folder.
— Yana was planning to clean him out and run away with her lover as soon as she got access to a sufficient amount of money, — Nikiforov confirmed. — A classic scheme.
Arseny, buoyed by the signed contract and the prospect of saving his business, invited Arina to dinner — “to celebrate the beginning of our partnership.” A restaurant in a historic 19th-century mansion in the city center, candles in silver candelabras, white tablecloths, live music from behind a screen. He turned on the charm full blast, confessing his remorse with the air of a man tormented by his conscience.
— My mother was pressuring me, you understand, she has always been a domineering woman. And Yana — a mistake of youth, a burden I am ready to cast off. I have always loved only you, Arina. I’m ready to leave her tomorrow, send my mother to a nursing home, just to get you back and start all over again.
The voice recorder in her handbag was recording every word, every intonation, every sigh.
— I’ll think about it, — she said, getting up from the table and draping her coat over her shoulders. — Enjoy your dinner, Arseny Viktorovich. It might be your last dinner of this caliber.
The three months were up in mid-March, when snow still lay on the city streets in dirty drifts. The “Renaissance-Invest” team arrived at the office with security and court bailiffs in uniform. He sat at his desk, confident in another fake report showing a 200% sales growth. But an unannounced on-site inspection revealed empty warehouses, idle equipment, and fictitious counterparties that existed only on paper.
— The police are in the reception area, — Nesterov announced, putting the documents back in his briefcase. — Article 159, part 4. Up to ten years in prison.
Arseny jumped up, knocking over his chair with a crash, ran out through the back door to his car, and sped to the hospital — to say goodbye to his mother before the inevitable arrest. In Alla Mikhailovna’s room, cluttered with medical equipment, he found Yana frantically packing his watches and gold cufflinks into her bag.
— You! What are you doing?!
— Before it’s too late, before the cops get here…
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