Marina slowly set down the calculator she had just used to total up the family budget. A ringing silence hung in their living room. Outside the March sun lit up the roofs of Moscow, but inside the room was half-dark—Igor had deliberately drawn the curtains before the talk.
“So you mean your mother is going to live in MY apartment?” Marina pulled the documents out of a folder. “Igor, do you realize how absurd your proposal is?”
“An absolutely NORMAL proposal,” he said, slouched in the armchair with one leg crossed over the other. “Formally the apartment will be yours—on paper. But Mom is old, she needs care. And I’ll come to her every day, help out. It’s convenient: you keep the apartment, as the law says, and Mom is looked after.”
Marina studied his face carefully. In fifteen years of marriage she had learned to read between the lines. Igor was hiding something, and that “something” was clearly connected to money.
“Valentina Petrovna lives perfectly well in her two-room flat in Khimki,” Marina remarked calmly. “She’s seventy-two, she does Nordic walking and runs knitting classes at the local community center. What care?”
“None of your business!” Igor snapped. “I’ve DECIDED, and that’s final. You sign the divorce agreement with that condition—or you won’t get anything at all. I’ll drag you through court for years, wear you down with proceedings.”
Marina took out a notebook and began writing something down. Igor twitched nervously.
“What are you scribbling there?”
“Calculating,” she replied curtly. “Your salary as a senior manager at a construction firm is one hundred eighty thousand rubles. My salary as a senior economist is ninety thousand. Over fifteen years of marriage I contributed to the family budget…”
“What does it matter!” Igor sprang up from the chair. “You didn’t work for three years when Alice was little!”
“Two years and seven months,” Marina corrected. “And even on maternity leave I did bookkeeping remotely for three sole proprietors. The income was thirty thousand a month. All receipts are saved, all transfers are recorded.”
“Are you out of your mind with your numbers!” Igor began pacing. “What receipts, what transfers! We were a FAMILY!”
“We were,” Marina agreed. “And that’s exactly why I documented every kopek. Do you know how many times your mother ‘borrowed’ money from us and never paid it back? Thirty-seven times. Total amount—eight hundred forty-three thousand rubles.”
Igor stopped in the middle of the room. His face turned a dark shade of red.
“DON’T YOU DARE talk about my mother! She helped us with Alice!”
“She helped fourteen times in fifteen years,” Marina said, flipping a page in the notebook. “Total time—forty-two days. At the average cost of a nanny in Moscow, that’s about one hundred twenty-six thousand rubles. That leaves a debt of seven hundred seventeen thousand.”
“You… you’re some kind of MONSTER!” Igor exhaled. “Who even keeps statistics like that in a family?”
“I do. Because I’m an economist. And because I noticed a strange pattern—your mother’s money always ‘disappeared’ two or three days before your ‘corporate parties.’ Remember that August when she urgently needed two hundred thousand for surgery? And the next day you bought a new watch. A Breitling Navitimer, model AB0127, price—two hundred twelve thousand rubles.”
Their daughter Alice peeked out from her room.
“Mom, Dad—why are you yelling?”
“Go do your homework, sunshine,” Igor said quickly. “Your mom and I are just… talking.”
When the door closed behind their daughter, he turned back to his wife.
“Fine, you want the truth? Mom is selling her apartment in Khimki. The buyers are already lined up—they’re offering a good price, twelve million. But she needs somewhere to live, right? So she’ll live in our… I mean, in your apartment.”
“Why would Valentina Petrovna sell her apartment?” Marina made a note in her notebook.
“She wants to travel in her old age,” Igor looked away. “It’s her dream.”
Marina opened her laptop and started searching.
“Strange. Here’s her social media page. Her last post was yesterday: ‘Knitted a new throw for the living room. So nice that I don’t have to go anywhere—home is best.’ And not a single post about travel in the last five years.”
“You’re spying on my mother?” Igor protested.
“I’m tracking FACTS,” Marina cut him off. “And the facts say you’re lying. Who needs those twelve million? You?”
Igor stayed silent, clenching and unclenching his fists. Marina continued:
“Three months ago you started coming home late. But not from work. I checked—your office pass logs you out at six p.m., and you get home at eleven. Five hours, Igor. Where do you put them?”
“That’s none of your—”
“It’s MY business, because you’re spending our joint money. In three months, four hundred eighty thousand rubles have been charged to the credit card. Restaurants, gifts, the Metropol Hotel—luxury suite, six times.”
“How do you—” Igor began, then stopped.
“I’m the one who does our family accounts, remember?” Marina opened a new file on her laptop. “I have access to all our accounts. And I see every transaction. Here, for example—a purchase at a jewelry boutique on Tverskaya: one hundred fifty thousand rubles. Diamond earrings. You didn’t give them to me. Or to Alice.”
“Maybe I bought them for Mom!” Igor blurted.
“Valentina Petrovna hasn’t worn earrings for ten years—metal allergy,” Marina replied evenly. “She told me herself. More than once. So who are the earrings for, Igoryok?”
He sank heavily back into the chair.
“There’s… someone. But it’s NOT what you think!”
“I’m not thinking—I KNOW. Elena Andreevna, twenty-eight, sales manager at your company. Height—one seventy-five, weight—about sixty kilos, clothing size—forty-six. Prefers Italian cuisine and semi-sweet white wine.”
“Did you hire a private detective?!” Igor gasped.
“Why would I?” Marina shrugged. “It’s enough to analyze your purchases. Restaurant ‘Italia’—eight times, always a table for two, always the same wine. A women’s size 46 Valentino dress—gift on February twenty-third. A strange date for a gift, until you learn it’s Elena’s birthday. Public information from your company’s corporate site.”
Igor wiped his sweaty forehead.
“So what? Yes, I have… a relationship. But that’s not a reason to give you the apartment!”
“The apartment will be mine anyway by law—it’s in my name, a wedding gift from my parents. You’re just registered here. But dividing the rest of the property is more interesting,” Marina opened another folder of documents. “You see, Igor, I calculated your real income.”
“What do you mean, ‘real’?”
“Your salary is one hundred eighty thousand. But you spend an average of three hundred twenty thousand a month. The difference is one hundred forty thousand. Over a year—that’s one million six hundred eighty thousand. Where does that money come from, Igor?”
“Bonuses, incentives…”
“All your official bonuses go through accounting. Last year you got three hundred thousand in bonuses. That’s IT. That leaves an unexplained income of one million three hundred eighty thousand rubles a year.”
Igor went pale.
“You won’t prove anything.”
“I don’t have to prove anything. In the divorce I’ll submit these calculations and ask the court to divide not only official income, but the real one. The court will order a financial audit. I think your management will be VERY interested in where a chief procurement manager gets extra money.”
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m dealing in NUMBERS. Look—last year your company bought construction materials totaling two hundred million rubles. Prices were inflated by an average of three to four percent compared to market. That’s six to eight million rubles in overpayment. And if we assume you get a kickback of twenty percent of the overpayment…”
“ENOUGH!” Igor shouted. “What do you want?”
Marina closed the laptop and looked at her husband steadily.
“I want FAIRNESS. A divorce with no conditions. The apartment stays with me and Alice—it’s mine anyway. Child support—twenty-five percent of your official salary, as the law requires. And none of your mother living in my apartment.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll send my calculations not only to the court, but to your CEO as well. Mr. Vorontsov is very particular about financial cleanliness. Remember how he fired Semyonov for taking three thousand rubles from the till?”
Igor jumped up and started darting around the room.
“You’ll destroy me! My job, my reputation, my mom…”
“Your mother will get her twelve million for the apartment and live quite comfortably—unless you take that money from her. And that’s exactly what you planned, isn’t it? Sell your mother’s apartment, take the money for yourself and Elena’s new home, and move Valentina Petrovna into my apartment. Elegant. Only it won’t work.”
The doorbell rang. Igor flinched.
“Who could that be?”
“Your mother,” Marina answered calmly as she stood to open the door. “I invited her for tea. And I’m going to tell her a few things.”
“NO!” Igor lunged for the door, but Marina was already opening it.
Valentina Petrovna entered, taking off her coat.
“Marinochka, dear, thank you for inviting me! Igoryok, you’re home too? Wonderful!”
“Mom, maybe not now…” Igor started, but Marina cut him off.
“Valentina Petrovna, come into the living room. We need to discuss something important. It concerns your apartment in Khimki.”
The elderly woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“My apartment? What about it?”
“Igor says you’re going to sell it for twelve million.”
“SELL?!” Valentina Petrovna threw up her hands. “I’ve lived there my whole life! My friends are there, my knitting club, my favorite clinic nearby! Igor, what nonsense is this?”
Igor blushed.
“Mom, I just… it’s a misunderstanding…”
“No misunderstanding,” Marina said, pulling documents from the folder. “Here’s a copy of a preliminary sale agreement for your apartment. The signature is forged, but the handwriting looks a lot like yours, Valentina Petrovna. Igor did his best—he must have practiced.”
“What?!” the elderly woman clutched her chest. “Igor, is that true?”
“Mom, I’ll explain everything…”
“And while you’re at it, explain where the money went that you borrowed from us ‘for Valentina Petrovna,’” Marina added. “Eight hundred forty-three thousand rubles. For medicines, surgeries, treatment… And your mother, as it turns out, didn’t even know about those loans.”
“Igor Mikhailovich,” Valentina Petrovna rose slowly, steel entering her voice. “So you LIED to your wife that you were taking money for me?”
“Mom, it’s not like—”
“Then how is it?!” the elderly woman stamped her foot. “Marinochka is showing you numbers and documents! You wanted to sell MY apartment? Where were you planning to put me?”
Marina answered calmly:
“With us. Meaning with me. After the divorce the apartment stays with me, but you were supposed to live here. And Igor planned to spend the money from your apartment on a new place for himself and his… mistress.”
“Mistress?!” Valentina Petrovna sank back down. “You have another woman?”
Igor was silent, staring at the floor.
“You know what,” Valentina Petrovna said, turning decisively to Marina. “Show me all your calculations. EVERY last kopek. I want to know what my son spent the family money on.”
For the next hour, Marina methodically laid out the facts—every purchase, every transfer, every restaurant visit. Valentina Petrovna listened, her face growing darker and darker.
“Four hundred eighty thousand in three months on some other woman,” she concluded. “And for my birthday—a bouquet for fifteen hundred. Thank you, son, your daughter-in-law opened my eyes.”
“Mom, don’t listen to her! She’s twisting everything!”
“NUMBERS don’t lie, Igoryok,” Valentina Petrovna snapped. “I may be a pensioner, but I’m not a fool. Marina calculated it all correctly. And you… you’re a TRAITOR. You betrayed your wife, and you tried to set me up.”
She turned to Marina.
“Dear, if you need my help during the divorce—testimony or anything else—come to me. And I’ll visit Alice too, if you allow it. My granddaughter isn’t to blame.”
“Of course, Valentina Petrovna. Alice loves you.”
“Mom, what, you’re on her side?!” Igor howled.
“I’m on the side of the TRUTH,” the elderly woman replied harshly. “And you know what? Forget my address. Forget my phone number too. You thought you’d sell my apartment… I’ll cut you out of the will, I’ll deed it all to my granddaughter! You won’t get a kopek!”
She marched toward the door, but paused on the threshold.
“Marina, you’re doing everything right. Mathematics is a great thing. It brings a swindler into the light. Good luck, my dear.”
When the door closed behind Valentina Petrovna, silence fell over the apartment. Igor sat in the chair, head in his hands.
“You ruined everything,” he said dully.
“No, Igor. You ruined everything yourself. I just CALCULATED your ruins. In rubles and kopeks.”
Marina gathered the documents back into the folder and stood.
“Tomorrow I’m expecting you at the notary’s. Ten a.m. We’ll sign the divorce agreement on my terms. If you don’t show up—at eleven all my calculations will be on Mr. Vorontsov’s desk.”
“I’ll come,” Igor nodded, defeated.
“And one more thing,” Marina stopped in the doorway. “I also calculated something for your mistress. For example: of the jewelry and clothes you gave her—two million three hundred thousand rubles total—half was bought with MY money. From our joint account. That’s dissipation of marital property. It can be recovered. With interest.”
“You contacted her?!” Igor blurted.
“Not yet. But if you keep being stubborn—I will. And I’ll tell her about your financial schemes at work. I think she’ll be VERY interested to know who she’s involved with. A man who steals from his company and forges his mother’s signature isn’t exactly a good match.”
Igor sprang up.
“That’s blackmail!”
“That’s MATHEMATICS,” Marina corrected. “A simple equation: you stole—you’ll repay. Or you’ll lose everything. The choice is yours.”
A month later the divorce was finalized. Igor moved into a rented one-room apartment on the outskirts of Moscow—Elena dumped him when she learned the truth about his schemes. At work, a financial audit began after an anonymous letter (Marina did send part of her calculations, without stating the amounts). Igor was demoted to an ordinary manager with a sixty-thousand-ruble salary.
Valentina Petrovna kept her word—she struck her son from the will, leaving everything to her granddaughter Alice. And she regularly visited her former daughter-in-law, bringing her signature cabbage pies.
And Marina hung a beautiful framed quote in her office with her life motto: “Numbers don’t lie. They simply show the truth in its purest form.”
When six months later Igor tried to reduce child support, citing his lower income, Marina simply submitted her calculations of his real income from previous years to the court. The court kept the child support unchanged and ordered Igor to pay the arrears.
“You destroyed me with your numbers!” he shouted after the hearing.
“No,” Marina answered calmly. “You destroyed yourself with your lies. I just CALCULATED it. Down to the last kopek
