You did a lavish renovation for your mom, and now you’re demanding 300 thousand from me?” — Vika exclaimed indignantly.
Vika was waving a printout of bank transactions in front of her husband’s face. Andrey sat at the kitchen table, staring into his phone. He wore a wrinkled T-shirt with the logo of some long-forgotten rock band, and he clearly hadn’t slept well — shadows lay under his eyes, and his stubble grew uneven patches. […]
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