“Why are you so fixated on my inheritance?!” Larisa snapped at her husband, who was once again sorting through the documents for the antique workshop. “It’s MINE! Want me to repeat that?”
Andrey slowly raised his eyes from the folder of papers. Irritation flashed in his gaze, something he hadn’t bothered to hide for the last few weeks.
“Lara, we’ve been married for four years. What’s yours is mine too,” he said slowly, as if explaining basic truths to a child. “And besides, your grandpa left you that workshop three months ago. You don’t even know what to do with it.”
Larisa clenched her fists. The old workshop on Tverskaya, which Grandpa Pavel had run for more than forty years, was sacred to her. It wasn’t just tools and unfinished pieces stored there — it was the entire history of their family.
“I don’t know what to do with it?” She stepped closer, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “I’m going to continue Grandpa’s work! Restore antique furniture, just like he taught me since childhood!”
Andrey snorted contemptuously and got up from the table. His expensive suit contrasted sharply with the simple furnishings of their rented apartment.
“You? Messing around with dusty chairs?” He walked a slow circle around his wife, looking her over appraisingly. “Larisa, be realistic. That workshop is worth at least three million. We’ll sell it and buy an apartment. And your hobby… we’ll find you some handicraft courses.”
“HOBBY?!” Larisa couldn’t hold back. “Grandpa taught me this craft for fifteen years! I know every tool in that workshop, every technique!”
A figure appeared in the doorway — Inga, Andrey’s sister. A tall blonde in a tight dress, she gave her sister-in-law a disdainful once-over.
“What’s with the yelling?” she drawled, walking in without being invited. “Andryusha, you promised to pick me up for lunch.”
“In a minute, darling,” Andrey turned to his sister with a smile he never gave his wife. “I’m just explaining obvious things to Larisa.”
Inga walked over to the window, deliberately wrinkling her nose at the sight of the old furniture.
“Still clinging to that junk from her grandpa?” She turned to her brother. “Andrey, how much longer? Eduard already found a buyer. The Japanese are ready to pay four million in cash.”
Larisa froze. Eduard — Inga’s husband — worked in real estate. Could it be that they’d already…?
“What buyer?” her voice came out hollow. “I am NOT SELLING the workshop!”
“No one’s asking you,” Inga cut her off, taking a compact mirror out of her bag. “Andrey is your husband. By law he has the right to half. And with his consent we can push the deal through.”
“It’s MY INHERITANCE!” Larisa raised her voice. “Grandpa left it to ME!”
Andrey walked up to his wife and laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at his touch.
“Sweetheart, think rationally. Your grandpa was a wonderful man, but times have changed. Antique workshops are useless to anyone now. But money…” he spread his hands meaningfully. “We could start a new life. Move to a prestigious neighborhood.”
“And buy me a new car,” Inga added. “Andryusha promised.”
Larisa recoiled from her husband, staring at him with confusion and disgust.
“You promised your sister a car with money from MY inheritance?”
“Don’t dramatize,” Andrey grimaced. “Inga is my sister. Your family. What’s wrong with helping your loved ones?”
“Loved ones?” Larisa laughed a nervous little laugh. “She called me a ‘village idiot’ at our wedding!”
“It was a joke,” Inga waved it off. “You’re just too sensitive. By the way, Edik’s already scheduled the meeting with the buyers. Tomorrow at two.”
“WHAT?!” Larisa couldn’t believe her ears. “You already… without telling me…”
Andrey pulled a document from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I prepared a power of attorney for the sale. You just need to sign it.”
Larisa snatched the paper from him and quickly scanned the text. A general power of attorney in Andrey’s name, giving him the right to sell the property.
“Have you lost your mind?” She tore the document in half. “NEVER! You hear me? I will NEVER sign this!”
Andrey’s face twisted with rage. The mask of a caring husband fell away for good.
“You won’t sign?” He stepped right up to her. “Oh, I think you will. After all, you live in the apartment that I pay rent for. You eat the food I buy. You wear clothes paid for with my salary!”
“I work too!” Larisa shot back. “I’m a restorer at the museum!”
“A restorer,” Inga snorted. “Twenty-five thousand a month! You couldn’t even rent a room on that money!”
“At least I’m doing what I love!” Larisa straightened up. “And I’m not trying to rummage through other people’s pockets!”
“Other people’s?” Andrey grabbed her by the wrist. “We’re husband and wife! What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine! Or does that rule only work one way for you?”
Larisa yanked her hand free.
“Let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Oh, she’s hurting,” Inga mimicked. “Grandpa will croak, leave you millions, and you’re going to be stingy and not share with your husband? Selfish cow!”
“Grandpa is ALREADY dead!” Tears welled up in Larisa’s eyes. “Three months ago! And you both know that perfectly well!”
“So what?” Andrey shrugged. “He lived a long life. Eighty is a great age. It’s time to stop clinging to the past.”
At that moment Eduard — Inga’s husband — came into the apartment. A short, slightly overweight man with a receding hairline, he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
“So, are the documents ready?” he asked briskly. “The Japanese don’t like waiting.”
“Lariska’s digging her heels in,” Inga reported with annoyance. “Turns out she’s greedy.”
“Greedy?” Eduard whistled. “Four million doesn’t just lie around on the sidewalk. Andrey, you said you’d settle things with your wife.”
“I will,” Andrey said darkly. “Larisa, I’m asking nicely one last time. Will you sign the power of attorney?”
“NO!”
“Then we’ll do it the hard way,” Andrey nodded at Eduard. “Show her.”
Eduard took out a tablet and played a video. On the screen Larisa was in her grandpa’s workshop, sorting through tools and humming something. The camera zoomed in — she was holding an old jewelry box.
“Recognize this?” Eduard asked. “This is footage from the security camera. You’re taking out an eighteenth-century antique box. Value — about half a million.”
“But that’s…” Larisa faltered. “That’s my grandmother’s box! Grandpa kept it in the workshop, and I took it home!”
“And can you prove that?” Inga smiled. “Do you have any documents saying it’s a family heirloom? Receipts? Papers?”
“Of course not… It’s just our family piece…”
“Exactly,” Andrey said, taking the tablet from Eduard. “But to the police it’ll look like theft. A museum restorer steals an antique from a workshop. Nice headline, isn’t it? Your career is finished, and the sentence will be quite real too.”
Larisa looked at the three of them — her husband, his sister and her husband — and could not believe what was happening. Was this really the same Andrey who swore he loved her? Who promised to support her in everything?
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
“We’re offering a reasonable solution,” Eduard corrected her. “You sign the power of attorney, you get your share of the money — everybody’s happy. If you refuse, the video goes to the police. The choice is yours.”
Larisa’s phone rang. The screen showed “Nikolai”. He was her grandfather’s old friend, an antique dealer too.
“Hello, Uncle Kolya?” Larisa’s voice shook.
“Lara, you need to get to the workshop right now!” the old man’s worried voice made her tense up. “Some people are here with documents, they say the workshop’s been sold!”
“WHAT?!” Larisa jumped up. “But how…”
She turned to Andrey. He spread his hands with an innocent look.
“I told you — we’re short on time. We had to take action.”
“But I haven’t signed ANYTHING!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Inga cut in. “Andrey has the marriage certificate. Edik took care of everything through his contacts. On paper it’s as if you gave your consent.”
“THAT’S ILLEGAL!”
“Prove it,” Eduard shrugged. “Court, lawyers, forensics… years will go by. And the workshop will be demolished in a week. They’re putting in a car dealership there.”
Larisa grabbed her bag and rushed to the door, but Andrey blocked her way.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“OUT OF MY WAY!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re staying home until this is all over.”
“You have no right!” Larisa struggled to break free. “This is abuse! Unlawful imprisonment!”
“Go ahead and complain,” Inga smirked. “ ‘My husband won’t let me wander around the city.’ Oh, the horror. The police will die laughing.”
The phone started ringing again. Nikolai.
“Don’t you dare pick up,” Andrey ordered.
But Larisa managed to answer and put it on speaker.
“Larisa! They’re breaking down the door!” the old man shouted. “Call the police! This is a hostile takeover!”
“Uncle Kolya!” Larisa cried, but Andrey snatched the phone from her and hung up.
“That’s enough hysterics,” he opened the bedroom door. “You’re going to sit here and think. When you calm down, we’ll talk.”
He practically shoved his wife into the room and locked the door from the outside. Larisa pounded on it with her fists.
“LET ME OUT! You have no right! That’s MY workshop! MY inheritance!”
“Yell all you want,” came Inga’s voice. “The neighbors are at their dachas, no one will hear you.”
Larisa leaned her back against the door, breathing hard. She needed to calm down. She needed to think. She looked around — the window!
She ran to it and tried to open it, but Andrey had clearly thought of that too — the frame was taped over. Second floor, jumping would be dangerous.
No phone. But… the laptop! Her old laptop was on the nightstand. Larisa turned it on and opened her messenger.
“Marina, urgent!” she wrote to her friend. “Andrey is keeping me locked up at home, he’s illegally selling my grandpa’s workshop! Call the police!”
The reply came a minute later: “I’m on my way! Hang in there!”
Voices could be heard behind the door.
“Great deal,” Eduard was saying. “My commission is five hundred thousand. You can go to the Maldives.”
“I’d rather buy a new fur coat,” Inga replied. “And a bag. I saw one in a boutique yesterday — gorgeous.”
“And what about Larisa?” Andrey asked. “She won’t calm down.”
“You’ll divorce her,” Eduard said simply. “Find someone else. Younger and richer.”
“Exactly!” Inga chimed in. “Remember Alina? The daughter of that restaurant chain owner? She’s still crazy about you.”
Larisa recoiled from the door. They were discussing her replacement like she was a broken appliance.
Suddenly there was noise outside. The sound of cars pulling up, voices.
“Police! Open up!”
Larisa rushed to the door.
“I’M IN HERE! They’re holding me against my will!”
There was a crash — the front door was being broken down. Then the stomp of footsteps, shouting.
“Hands on your head! On the floor!”
The bedroom door opened. A police officer and Marina stood on the threshold.
“Lara! Are you okay?” her friend ran to her.
“Yes, but the workshop… Grandpa’s workshop!”
“Don’t worry,” Marina hugged her. “I spoke to Nikolai. He managed to call the police and some journalists. Your workshop is cordoned off. The raiders have been detained.”
They walked into the living room. Andrey, Inga and Eduard were standing against the wall, hands on their heads. The police were checking their documents.
“This is a misunderstanding!” Andrey was yelling. “I’m her husband! I have the right!”
“You don’t have the right to unlawful imprisonment,” the officer snapped. “Or to forged documents.”
“What forgery?” Inga screeched.
“Your husband,” the officer nodded toward Eduard, “used a fake power of attorney for the deal. The notary who supposedly certified it died two years ago.”
Eduard turned pale. Inga drew back from him.
“You said everything was legal!”
“Shut up!” he barked.
Andrey turned to Larisa.
“Lara, sweetheart, this is all just a misunderstanding! Tell them! We’re husband and wife!”
Larisa walked up to him, looking him straight in the eye.
“We were,” she said, taking off her wedding ring and throwing it at his feet. “As of this moment, we’re not. I’ll file for divorce tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Inga shrieked. “After everything Andrey’s done for you!”
“Done?” Larisa turned to her sister-in-law. “He tried to steal my inheritance, blackmailed me and held me prisoner! That’s what you call ‘done’?”
“Ms. Semyonova,” the investigator addressed her, “you’ll need to come with us to give a statement. And file an official complaint.”
“Of course,” Larisa nodded.
As the police led the detainees away, Andrey looked back over his shoulder.
“You’ll REGRET this! You’ll end up alone, with nobody! Who’s going to want you at thirty?”
“GET OUT!” Larisa shouted. “And don’t you dare ever show up in my life again!”
The door slammed. Larisa was left standing in the middle of the trashed apartment with Marina.
“How are you?” her friend asked quietly.
“You know…” Larisa took a deep breath. “I’m scared. But at the same time… I feel light. Like a weight has fallen off my shoulders.”
“Want to go to the workshop?” Marina suggested. “Nikolai is waiting.”
An hour later they were standing in her grandfather’s workshop. The old machines, the smell of wood and varnish, the tools in their places. Nikolai hugged Larisa.
“Good girl. Pavel would have been proud of you.”
“Uncle Kolya,” Larisa looked around. “I want to revive the workshop. But I don’t know if I can handle it on my own.”
“Who said you’re on your own?” the old man smiled. “I have a grandson, Igor. A talented restorer, he just got back from Italy. He’s looking for work. If you’d like, I’ll introduce you.”
A week later there was a knock on the workshop door. Larisa opened it — on the doorstep stood a young man with kind brown eyes.
“Larisa? I’m Igor, Nikolai Petrovich’s grandson. He said you need an assistant?”
“Yes, come in!” she stepped aside.
Igor looked around, his face lighting up with delight.
“Incredible! This is a real treasure trove! These machines are museum pieces! And the tools…” he walked over to the shelves. “This is a nineteenth-century set!”
“Grandpa spent his whole life collecting them,” Larisa smiled.
“And you know how to use all this?”
“Grandpa started teaching me when I was ten. Want me to show you?”
They worked the whole day. Igor turned out to be not only a talented craftsman but also great company. Time flew by.
“Larisa,” he said as they were closing the workshop, “thank you for today. I haven’t enjoyed my work this much in a long time.”
“No, thank you. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to work with someone who understands and values our craft.”
A month passed. Andrey was given a two-year suspended sentence for unlawful imprisonment. Eduard received three years in a penal colony for fraud. Inga got off with a fine, but her reputation was ruined.
Larisa’s workshop was thriving. Orders were pouring in. Igor had become not just an assistant, but a friend. Maybe even something more — but that’s another story.
One evening Larisa stood in the workshop, looking at her grandfather’s portrait.
“Thank you, Grandpa. For the workshop. For everything you taught me. And for helping me see the truth.”
She heard footsteps behind her. Igor came over with two cups of tea.
“What are you thankful for?” he asked.
“For everything,” Larisa smiled. “For the fact that life goes on. And that it’s beautiful.”
They stood side by side, drinking tea and watching the sunset through the workshop’s old windows. There was a lot of work ahead, many plans. And most importantly — there was no room in that future for lies and betrayal.
Only honesty, respect, and love for their craft.
And the hope for happiness that always comes to those who truly deserve it.
