Chapter 6 - Victor’s Final Night in Chicago
Olivia stared at Victor across the penthouse.
“Your uncle knew my grandmother?”
Victor stood beside the window.
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't know until I saw the photograph.”
“What did she steal?”
“Evidence.”
Olivia's anger disappeared.
“What evidence?”
Victor exhaled.
“Twenty-seven years ago, my uncle controlled part of my family's organization in St. Petersburg.”
Olivia said nothing.
Victor continued.
“He was brutal. Even by the standards of my family.”
“And my grandmother?”
“She worked as an accountant for a shipping company he used.”
Olivia sat slowly.
Victor continued.
“She discovered records proving he was stealing from everyone.”
“Your family?”
“Everybody.”
“And she kept evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect herself.”
Olivia remembered her grandmother's locked metal box.
The one nobody had been allowed to touch.
A box Olivia had packed after the funeral.
A box now sitting inside her apartment closet.
Victor noticed her expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Olivia.”
She looked at him.
“I might know where it is.”
Victor became perfectly still.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don't go home.”
“Victor—”
“If my uncle believes you have those records, your apartment is the first place he will search.”
“My grandmother's things are there.”
“Things can be replaced.”
“Not hers.”
Victor crossed the room.
“You cannot be replaced.”
The words came out harder than he'd intended.
Olivia stared at him.
Jack looked away, suddenly fascinated by the wall.
Victor lowered his voice.
“We will retrieve the box safely.”
“We?”
“You're not going alone.”
Thirty minutes later, Olivia stood outside her apartment building with Victor and Jack.
The door to her apartment was already open.
Her heart stopped.
Victor caught her arm.
“Stay behind me.”
They entered.
Drawers had been ripped open.
Furniture overturned.
Her grandmother's photographs scattered across the floor.
Olivia rushed toward the bedroom.
Victor caught her.
“Olivia.”
“The box.”
“Jack first.”
Jack checked the room.
“Clear.”
Olivia opened the closet.
The metal box remained beneath a stack of blankets.
She nearly laughed.
“They didn't find it.”
Victor crouched beside her.
“Why?”
Olivia pulled the box free.
“Because my grandmother was paranoid.”
She turned it over.
The bottom had been disguised beneath a removable wooden panel.
Inside were old papers.
A ledger.
Several photographs.
And one cassette tape.
Victor stared at them.
“This is enough.”
“To do what?”
“To end this.”
Olivia looked at him.
“How?”
Victor took the ledger.
“My uncle has survived because everyone feared him more than they trusted one another.”
He looked at the papers.
“This changes that.”
“I don't want anyone killed.”
Victor's expression softened.
“Neither do I.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I'm trying to become more predictable.”
“Terrible first attempt.”
Victor smiled faintly.
By sunrise, federal investigators had arrived.
Victor's attorney delivered copies of the documents.
Rachel and Gable gave statements.
Ethan survived and identified the man who had taken him.
Victor's uncle disappeared before authorities reached his location.
But his network did not.
Accounts were frozen.
Associates began cooperating.
The threats stopped.
At noon, Olivia stood in the hotel lobby holding her housekeeping cart.
Victor appeared near the elevators with Jack and two bodyguards.
Suitcases waited beside them.
“You're leaving.”
Victor nodded.
“Today.”
“Back to Russia?”
“Eventually.”
Olivia tried to sound casual.
“Good.”
Victor's eyebrow rose.
“Good?”
“You've ruined my week.”
“I spilled one coffee.”
“You also brought surveillance, federal agents and approximately forty men in black suits into my workplace.”
“Thirty-two.”
“That's your defense?”
“No.”
For several seconds, neither knew what to say.
Victor reached inside his jacket.
Olivia groaned.
“Don't.”
He paused.
“What?”
“If that's another hundred-dollar bill, I swear—”
Victor laughed.
“No.”
He withdrew a small card.
A telephone number.
“No name?”
“You know my name.”
“I thought criminals liked mysterious business cards.”
Victor handed it to her.
“If you ever need anything.”
Olivia looked at it.
“I don't.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer.
“Then call when you want something.”
She looked at him.
“What would I possibly want from you?”
Victor's answer was quiet.
“Dinner.”
Olivia blinked.
Jack looked at the ceiling again.
Victor continued.
“One dinner. No bodyguards at the table.”
“Are they allowed in the restaurant?”
“They will complain if they aren't.”
Olivia smiled.
“You're leaving Chicago.”
“I return.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am rarely refused.”
“You've known me long enough to know that's a terrible argument.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“That is why I asked instead of ordered.”
Olivia looked at the card again.
Then slipped it into her pocket.
“No promises.”
Victor nodded.
“No promises.”
He walked toward the lobby doors.
Then Olivia called after him.
“Victor.”
He stopped.
She spoke in Russian.
“My grandmother would've disliked you.”
Victor smiled.
“I know.”
Olivia continued.
“But eventually, she might have fed you.”
His expression softened.
“In Russia, that is practically a marriage proposal.”
Olivia laughed.
“Get out of my hotel.”
May you like
Victor left smiling.
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