Anatoly froze in the middle of the living room, holding a folder of documents. His face went pale, then flushed.
“What do you mean, ‘out of your apartment’? We bought it together!”
“NO,” Elena cut him off, gripping the certificate of title in her hand. “This is my grandmother Vera Pavlovna’s apartment. She signed a deed of gift to me five years ago. And you simply lived here, enjoying my hospitality.”
Anatoly set the folder down on the coffee table. Confusion flickered in his eyes, then turned to anger.
“Elena, are you out of your mind? We’ve been married eight years! We have a joint business, accounts…”
“We were married,” she corrected, pulling another document from her purse. “I filed for divorce a month ago. As for the business… Your company ‘AnatolyStroy’ no longer exists.”
“What do you mean it no longer exists?!”
Elena sat in an armchair, crossing her legs. Her voice was calm, even cold.
“Very simple. Remember how three years ago you asked me to sign some papers? Said it was for tax optimization. I trusted you and signed. Turns out you transferred the company to me. Completely. And now I, as the sole owner, have decided to liquidate it.”
Anatoly grabbed the back of the sofa.
“You couldn’t… That’s my business! I built it from scratch!”
“From scratch?” Elena smirked. “With my father Viktor Semyonovich’s money? Remember how you swore to him you’d take care of me? That you’d never betray me?”
“Elena, listen—”
“NO, you listen!” She stood and walked to the window. The evening city stretched out beyond the glass. “Do you know how many times your mistress Miloslava called me this past month?”
Anatoly flinched.
“Who’s Miloslava?”
“Your secretary. A twenty-three-year-old blonde with false eyelashes. The one you promised an apartment in that new residential complex. Using company money, by the way.”
“How did you—”
“I have all your messages, Tolya. ALL of them. And the photos from that trip to Sochi when you were supposedly at a construction expo. And the bank statements—how much you spent on her gifts.”
A tall man in a dark suit entered the room. Anatoly recognized Svyatogor—Elena’s lawyer.
“Elena Viktorovna,” Svyatogor said, “the documents are ready. Mr. Anatoly Petrovich must vacate the premises within twenty-four hours.”
“Svyatogor, this is illegal!” Anatoly exploded. “I have a right—”
“According to the prenuptial agreement you signed eight years ago,” the lawyer interrupted, “in the event of infidelity, the guilty party forfeits all rights to marital property. Moreover, as it turns out, you have no marital property. Everything is in Elena Viktorovna’s name.”
Anatoly lunged for the folder he had brought.
“I have proof! Elena cheated on me too! Here are the photos!”
He snatched several pictures and tossed them onto the table. The photos showed Elena with an unfamiliar man in a restaurant.
Elena picked one up and examined it.
“That’s Dobromysl Igorevich. My cousin from Novosibirsk. He came for Aunt Marina’s jubilee. You, by the way, refused to attend the family celebration. Said you had an important meeting. With Miloslava, I presume.”
“That’s not your cousin! I checked!”
“Checked?” Elena raised an eyebrow. “So you were following me? Hired a detective?”
“I had a right to know!”
“GET OUT!” she shouted. “Take your things and leave! And don’t you dare show up here again!”
At that moment the door opened, and an elderly woman—Anatoly’s mother, Zinaida Stepanovna—came into the apartment. Behind her followed his sister Varsenika and her husband Ratibor.
“What is going on here?” Zinaida demanded imperiously. “Tolya, why is your wife shouting?”
“Mom, she’s throwing me out!”
Zinaida shot Elena a contemptuous look.
“Oh really? After everything my son has done for you?”
“And what exactly has he done for me?” Elena asked calmly.
“He married you! A simple girl from the provinces!”
“I’m a third-generation Muscovite, Zinaida Stepanovna. It was your son who came from Saratov fifteen years ago without a kopeck to his name.”
“How dare you!” Varsenika cut in. “My brother is a successful entrepreneur!”
“He was,” Svyatogor corrected. “The company was liquidated three days ago.”
“What?!” Ratibor stepped forward. “Tolya, what does that mean? You promised me a contract to supply materials!”
“There will be no more contracts,” Elena said curtly. “The company is gone.”
“You’ve ruined my son!” Zinaida screeched. “Witch!”
“Your son ruined himself. He withdrew three million from the company’s accounts. Thought I wouldn’t find out. The money went to the account of one Miloslava Krasnova.”
“Who is Miloslava?” Varsenika snapped, turning to her brother.
“Nobody! It’s slander!”
A young woman with bright red hair appeared in the doorway, keys in her hand.
“Tolik, I came like you asked… Oh!” She froze at the sight of the gathering.
“Miloslava,” Elena said coolly. “How timely.”
“I… I should probably go…”
“STOP!” Zinaida commanded. “Who are you?”
“I… I’m Miloslava. I work—worked with Mr. Anatoly Petrovich.”
“And why are you here?” Varsenika narrowed her eyes.
“Tolya—I mean Mr. Anatoly Petrovich—said we’d live here. That he was divorced and…”
“DIVORCED?!” Zinaida exploded. “Tolya, what is happening?!”
Anatoly stared at the floor in silence.
“I’m PREGNANT,” Miloslava said quietly.
A dead silence fell over the room.
“You’re lying!” Varsenika shouted. “You set this up on purpose!”
“I have medical certificates…” Miloslava fumbled in her purse.
“GET OUT!” Zinaida screamed at her. “Don’t you come near my son!”
“But he promised to marry me!”
“He’s married!” barked Ratibor.
“Not anymore,” Svyatogor put in. “The divorce is finalized.”
Elena stepped up to Miloslava.
“Girl, you’d better leave. And think about whether you want to tie your life to a man who betrays everyone.”
“He loves me!”
“He loves ONLY HIMSELF. Ask him why the company really shut down.”
Miloslava looked at Anatoly questioningly.
“Tolya?”
“It’s temporary difficulties,” he muttered.
“Temporary?” Elena pulled a tablet from her purse. “Here’s the tax audit report. Tax arrears of fifteen million rubles. The company was in my name, but Anatoly handled all the operations. He used fake documents and siphoned money through shell companies.”
“That’s not true!” Anatoly shouted.
“It is true. And the tax authorities have already opened an investigation. A criminal case, I might add.”
Ratibor grabbed Anatoly by the shoulder.
“What have you done, you idiot?! I put all my savings into your company!”
“Let go!”
“What savings?” Varsenika asked, stunned. “Ratibor, what are you talking about?”
“I… I invested in your brother’s business. He promised to double the money in six months.”
“How much?” Varsenika asked in an icy tone.
“Two million.”
“TWO MILLION?! That’s the money for the kids’ apartment!”
“A classic Ponzi scheme,” Svyatogor commented. “Ms. Elena Viktorovna, you should know—your husband… pardon, ex-husband—was raising funds from private investors with promises of unrealistic returns.”
“How many people?” Elena asked.
“According to our information, around thirty. Total about fifty million.”
Miloslava edged toward the door.
“I… I have to go…”
“Where?!” Anatoly lunged toward her. “Mila, wait!”
“NO! You lied to me! You said you had a successful business, that you’d buy me an apartment!”
“I will! Just give me time!”
“With what money?” Varsenika asked venomously. “If you fleeced my husband too?”
“I didn’t fleece anyone! It’s a temporary liquidity issue!”
Another man appeared in the doorway—a man of about fifty.
“Mr. Anatoly Petrovich?” he addressed him.
“Yes… And you are?”
“Mstislav Arkadyevich Volkonsky. I represent a group of your company’s investors. We are filing a class action.”
“For what?!”
“Fraud on a particularly large scale. We have all the documents you signed. Promises of guaranteed returns that weren’t backed by real assets.”
Zinaida clutched her heart.
“Tolya… what is happening?”
“Mom, it’s a misunderstanding!”
“I’m afraid not,” Svyatogor interjected. “Mr. Volkonsky, I believe your clients have every reason to sue.”
“Absolutely. And we intend to seek not only the return of funds, but also damages for emotional distress.”
“But he has no money!” Miloslava cried. “He told me he put everything into new projects!”
“What projects?” Mstislav Arkadyevich inquired. “As far as we know, the company hasn’t carried out any real activity for the past six months. It only attracted new funds to pay interest to earlier investors.”
“That’s slander!” Anatoly roared. “I demand a lawyer!”
“By all means,” Mstislav Arkadyevich nodded. “You’ll need one. The Investigative Committee is already interested in your activities.”
Varsenika seized her brother.
“Give back my husband’s money! IMMEDIATELY!”
“I don’t have it!”
“What do you mean, you don’t?! Where did it go?!”
“I… I invested it…”
“Where?!”
Anatoly stayed silent.
“In cryptocurrency,” Elena said quietly. “I saw the transaction history. He bought some tokens of a new cryptocurrency that promised a thousand percent return. The project turned out to be a scam. The creators disappeared with the money.”
“WHAT?!” Ratibor grabbed Anatoly by the lapels. “You blew my kids’ money on some cryptocurrency?!”
“Let go! It was supposed to work!”
“Supposed to?!” Varsenika burst into tears. “We saved that money for ten years!”
Zinaida sank onto the sofa.
“Tolya… how could you… People trusted you…”
“Everything will work out, Mom! I’ll find a way!”
“What way?” Mstislav Arkadyevich shook his head. “Young man, you’re facing up to ten years in prison. If you’re lucky.”
“Elena!” Anatoly rushed to his ex-wife. “Help me! You know I didn’t want to deceive anyone!”
“Didn’t want to?” She stepped back from him. “You deceived EVERYONE. Me, the investors, even your own mistress.”
“I’ll make it right! Give me a chance!”
“A chance? After you lied to me for years? Cheated? Used my father’s money for your schemes?”
“That was business!”
“NO, it was fraud. And now you’ll have to answer for it.”
Svyatogor approached Elena.
“Elena Viktorovna, you should leave. These people are clearly agitated.”
“We’re leaving,” she nodded. “Anatoly, you have two hours to pack. Then the locks will be changed.”
“You can’t!”
“I can and I will. Svyatogor, make sure he doesn’t take anything except personal items.”
“Of course.”
Elena headed for the exit. In the doorway she turned.
“By the way, Miloslava. The child you’re carrying… I hope you realize there won’t be any child support? Your Tolik will soon have nothing. And nowhere to live.”
“But… but he said—”
“He said a lot of things. To everyone. And look how it ended.”
Elena left the apartment. Svyatogor followed.
In the living room remained Anatoly, his relatives, Miloslava, and the representative of the defrauded investors.
“So what about the money?” Ratibor still had his brother-in-law by the sleeve.
“I told you—there isn’t any!”
“Then sell what you have! The car, for example!”
“The car is leased. And the payments are three months overdue.”
“The watch! You’ve got a Swiss watch worth a million!”
“A fake,” Anatoly admitted wearily. “I bought a replica for thirty thousand.”
“You—”
Ratibor drew back his fist, but Varsenika stopped him.
“DON’T! He isn’t worth you going to jail over him!”
Mstislav Arkadyevich took out his phone.
“Hello, Vsevolod Ignatyevich? Yes, I’m with him. No, there’s no money and none expected. Yes, go ahead and file the claim. Start the bankruptcy proceedings too.”
“Bankruptcy?!” Anatoly squealed.
“What did you think? Debts don’t disappear on their own. By the way, do you have other loans?”
“A few… consumer loans…”
“How much?”
“Around five million.”
“Tolya!” Zinaida sobbed. “Why did you take on so many loans?”
“I had to maintain the image of a successful businessman…”
“An image?!” Varsenika exploded. “You ruined everyone for the sake of an image?!”
Miloslava was quietly sobbing in the corner.
“I didn’t know… He told me he was rich… Showed me photos of a yacht…”
“The yacht was rented for a day for a photoshoot,” Mstislav Arkadyevich said dryly. “We checked.”
“How did you find out?”
“We have good lawyers and investigators. When fifty million is at stake, people are willing to pay for an investigation.”
Zinaida stood up from the sofa.
“Tolya, where are you going to live?”
“I… I don’t know…”
“Don’t you dare come to us!” Varsenika snapped. “Not after what you did to us!”
“But I’m your brother!”
“Was. You’re NOTHING to me now.”
Varsenika took her husband by the arm.
“Let’s go, Ratibor. There’s nothing more for us here.”
They left. Staggering, Zinaida followed them out. On the threshold she turned.
“I don’t recognize you, Tolya. You’ve become a MONSTER.”
“Mom!”
But she was already gone.
Miloslava came up to Anatoly.
“What am I supposed to do now? I’m going to have a baby!”
“I’ll figure something out…”
“What are you going to figure out?! You have nothing! You lied to everyone!”
She slapped him and ran out of the apartment, sobbing loudly.
Mstislav Arkadyevich straightened his tie.
“Well then, Mr. Anatoly Petrovich, see you in court. And I advise you to find a good lawyer. A very good one. Though I doubt it will help.”
He left as well.
Anatoly was alone in the apartment that no longer belonged to him. He sank onto the sofa and cradled his head in his hands.
How could it all have turned out like this? Just yesterday he’d been a successful businessman with a beautiful wife, a mistress, an expensive car… And today he had nothing left.
His phone rang. The screen showed “Bank.”
“Hello…”
“Mr. Anatoly Petrovich? This is the bank’s security service. We have a court order to freeze all your accounts due to suspected fraud. Your cards have been canceled.”
“But… how am I supposed to—”
“Consult your attorney. Good day.”
The line went dead.
Anatoly looked at his phone. A top-of-the-line smartphone. Bought on credit, of course. Which he could no longer pay.
An hour passed. Anatoly mechanically packed his things into a duffel bag. Clothes, documents, a phone charger… His whole life now fit into one bag.
There was a knock at the door.
“Mr. Anatoly Petrovich, time’s up,” came Svyatogor’s voice. “Please leave the premises.”
Anatoly picked up the bag and left the apartment. Svyatogor stood in the hallway with a locksmith.
“The keys, please.”
Anatoly silently handed over the ring.
“And the car keys as well. The vehicle is registered to Elena Viktorovna.”
“But how am I—”
“That’s not our concern. The car will be turned over to the leasing company to cover the debt.”
Anatoly handed over the car keys.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“That’s your personal affair. I can only advise you to find a lawyer. The Investigative Committee expects you tomorrow at ten in the morning.”
Svyatogor nodded to the locksmith, who began changing the lock.
Anatoly went down into the courtyard. A light autumn drizzle was starting. He took out his phone to call a taxi, then remembered—his cards were blocked. He had no cash—he’d long since gotten used to paying by card.
He dialed an old friend, German.
“German? It’s Tolya. Listen, here’s the situation…”
“Tolya? You still dare call me after stiffing me for a million and a half?!”
“German, I’ll explain everything…”
“Explain it in court! And don’t call me again!”
Click.
Anatoly dialed another number. Then another. And another. Everyone hung up the moment they heard his name.
He stood in the middle of the yard with a bag in his hand. A man who, that very morning, had considered himself master of his fate, now didn’t know where he would spend the night.
His phone rang. An unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Anatoly Petrovich? This is Kapiton Fyodorovich Grozny, lead investigator for high-profile cases. You are charged with fraud on a particularly large scale. I strongly recommend you appear tomorrow at ten a.m. Otherwise you will be declared wanted.”
“I’ll come…”
“And one more thing, Mr. Anatoly Petrovich. Do not attempt to leave the city.”
Anatoly lowered the phone.
The rain grew heavier. He raised his collar and trudged away from the home where he had lived for eight years. A home that had never been his.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from the bank: “Dear client, we remind you of the need to repay overdue debt in the amount of 5,247,358 rubles. If unpaid within three days, forced collection procedures will be initiated.”
Another message followed, from an unknown number: “Tolya, it’s Miloslava. I had an abortion. Don’t look for me.”
Anatoly stopped in the middle of the street. The rain ran down his face, mixing with tears he didn’t notice.
Meanwhile, in the warm apartment, Elena sat by the fireplace with a glass of red wine. Nearby lay the documents for a new company—an event-planning agency she intended to open. Her own business, honest and transparent.
“Elena Viktorovna,” came Svyatogor’s voice from the hall, “the locks are changed. Your former spouse has left the premises.”
“Thank you, Svyatogor. Would you like some tea?”
“With pleasure.”
The lawyer came into the living room and sat in the armchair opposite.
“A hard day,” he observed.
“Hard, but necessary. You know, I put up with it for three years. I thought he’d change. That he’d stop lying, manipulating, cheating… But when I learned about the Ponzi scheme, I realized—enough.”
Six months later, Anatoly sat at a battered desk in a tiny microfinance office, calling up delinquent borrowers for twenty thousand a month. The investigation dragged on, the lawyer kept asking for money he didn’t have, and in the evenings he returned to a rented room. When Elena met him by chance on the street, she looked straight through him, as if at an empty space—and in that look there was something scarier than any curse.
