And he left. But not like someone retreating, but like someone going for reinforcements. Zinaida Petrovna watched him go and felt the old fear pierce her again.
— They’ll do the same thing to me again, — she whispered. — They’ll come with papers, with the police.
Matvey looked at her seriously.
— Yes, — he said. — They will try.
Gleb clenched his jaw.
— And this time, we’ll be ready.
Denis looked around, saw the phones.
— But first, — he said, — we need to get her out of here before fear makes her fall silent.
Zinaida Petrovna swallowed. Because the miracle was already here, but so was the system. And the system, when it feels it’s losing control, attacks.
The air became strange after Rogov left, as if he had left a trail of poison. The phones continued to record. People continued to whisper. And Zinaida Petrovna, though three men stood before her, felt the same old fear. The fear of papers, procedures, of the world crushing you without even touching you.
Matvey spoke quietly:
— We need to move. We’re in plain sight here.
Zinaida Petrovna clutched her apron.
— Where? — she asked in a trembling voice.
Gleb looked at the stall, the pot, the pan.
— First, close this down, — he said. — We won’t give them a reason to say you ran away.
Denis stood before the crowd and raised his hand, not shouting, just marking a boundary.
— Excuse me, — he said. — Please don’t film the woman. Show some respect.
Someone lowered their phone out of shame. Others moved closer, curious. One woman threw out:
— Well, if cars like that showed up, there must be something behind it.
Zinaida Petrovna felt shame like a blow. The same corner where she used to be invisible now stared at her, as if her poverty had been a disguise.
Matvey approached the stall and calmly began to pack things up. He didn’t touch anything hastily, so as not to create a spectacle. Gleb turned off the gas. Denis arranged the stools. Zinaida Petrovna watched them and felt a strange mix of gratitude and panic.
— Don’t get into trouble because of me, — she whispered.
Matvey looked at her firmly.
— Zinaida Petrovna, you got into trouble for us when you had nothing, — he said. — Now it’s our turn.
At that moment, a message came to Gleb’s phone. Then another. And another. His face hardened.
— It’s started, — he muttered.
— What? — asked Matvey.
Gleb turned the screen. It was a post that was quickly gaining views on local pages. A photo of the stall, taken from a distance, with a venomous headline: “Elderly Woman Receives Luxury Cars—Money Laundering at a Street Stall.”
Zinaida Petrovna felt her stomach clench.
— Laundering… — she whispered, as if the word didn’t fit into her life.
Denis clenched his jaw.
— Rogov is pushing this, — he said. — And if it spreads, inspectors and the police will be here tomorrow with a reason.
Matvey looked at Zinaida Petrovna seriously.
— Is your permit in order? — he asked.
Zinaida Petrovna looked down.
— I have what I’ve always had, — she whispered. — I pay what they ask so they don’t bother me.
Gleb tensed up.
— You pay Rogov?
Zinaida Petrovna hesitated. Then she nodded, ashamed.
— Every month, — she said. — If I don’t pay, they’ll shut me down. That’s how it is here.
Matvey closed his eyes for a second, containing his anger.
— Then this isn’t just a rumor, — he said. — This is extortion.
Denis glanced down the street, as if he could already see the people in vests approaching.
— And his fees are not enough for Rogov. Now he wants to latch onto you, — he said.
At that moment, Zinaida Petrovna heard a phrase that took her breath away. It was spoken by two men standing nearby, whispering:
— She’s probably an old fraud, that’s why such cars come to her.
Zinaida Petrovna wanted to cry but swallowed her tears out of habit. The shame made her want to disappear. Matvey noticed. And then a change became visible. He was not just a man with money. He was a man with a debt in his chest.
— Enough, — he said. And his voice was no longer soft.
Gleb looked at him.
— What are you thinking?
Matvey picked up his phone and dialed a number.
— We’ll do what’s never done here, — he said. — We’ll call upstairs.
Denis raised an eyebrow.
— To whom?…
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