Deceitful Lies by Brook Wilder
Chapter 45
Andrei
We spend twenty-four hours straight looking for Emma, but no one is talking, and it’s not a cover-up by the Novikovs.
Perhaps he really is working alone, and greed is his only motivation. It changed Gerald Reyes from a loving husband and father into a scumbag. Gerald Reyes may have squirreled away billions, not millions, especially if he stole from everyone.
I’m tempted to ask the other Bratvas for information, but I’m not crazy. So far, it seems that only Igor and I are in pursuit of the money.
Maybe Kenney found something that day we hadn’t. Maybe he found the will. I don’t have it, and Paige said she didn’t know about it. Or maybe she does? Her secrets are in layers. Each one I uncover only leads to several more underneath.
She hasn’t returned to our suite, preferring to stay in Emma’s room or Eva’s. Her actions display disloyalty. And although no one speaks out against me, I sense the disapproving expressions when I pass the household staff in the hallways.
They side with Eva for how I’m treating my own mother.
Was this how they saw Vasily?
I don’t bother to go to my suite when I enter the house. I go straight to Eva’s, and the door is unlocked. Natasha has decided to sit inside my mother’s rooms and watch her. They stop talking as I enter and stare at me over the rim of porcelain cups as they sip coffee.
Eva is dressed in a flowing floral dress and stands to greet me as if I’m a guest at her private party. “Andrei Vasilyevich, would you care for some coffee?”
Her formality does not go unnoticed.
“No, I’m here to look through your papers.”
My gaze takes in her living room, and she has kept several old pieces of Vasily’s furniture. I wanted them out, put in a dumpster, or taken away, but she brought them up here. It looks like a tribute to him. I say nothing, reminding myself the dining room hasn’t changed. I thought she would’ve wanted to forget.
My gaze rests on a painting of a mother and child, a depiction of a life we never led. The boy smiles as his mother holds him close, a memory of happiness kept from us by Vasily.
In her rooms, she has rewritten history instead of pursuing a new life without him.
“Why do you want to search my papers?” she asks innocently, pretending in front of Natasha that we are a happy family.
I look at Natasha and bark, “Out.”
Natasha looks too comfortable, sitting by my mother. But now, she has the sense to move quickly and place her coffee cup down. Natasha refuses to look at either of us as she hurries out the door.
Eva moves the cup off the lacquered tabletop and places it on the tray. She calmly wipes the damp ring off the deep red surface as my temper builds inside my chest.
“Mother, I would never have left Sonya penniless.”
She places the napkin on the tray but refuses to look at me.
“It may have been your intention not to leave her without money,” she says, all pretenses of politeness now fading away. “But what if something had happened to change your circumstances, Andrei Vasilyevich?”
“Like what?” I ask sarcastically. “Like me being shot?”
Eva meets my gaze with a look as hard as mine. “You have a wife, and soon, a child. Sonya will receive less and less. One day, you may become just like Vasily and choose to cut her off completely.”
“I will never be my father.”
“Yet you’ve confined me here, waiting with bated breath for your inevitable return, unsure of what mood you might be in.” She takes a moment to gather herself. “As he would, Andrei Vasilyevich.”
I ignore her attempt at swaying me.
“Where are the bank statements, Mother?”
With grace, she leads me to a small room off the dining room.
Her suite wasn’t designed to be an apartment with hallways leading into each room. Originally, it was only a bedroom, which she took when Vasily stopped sharing his with her. A door was put in, connecting the bedroom to the one next to it. Each year, another door was added to the room next to it until she had a shotgun apartment that ended with the last room in the hallway.
The small room was probably a closet, but it’s been converted into a small office. Windowless and claustrophobic, I feel like a giant trapped in a dollhouse. Eva unlocks the delicate scrolled desk pushed against the wall, revealing cubbyholes filled with papers. She reaches for a bundle and hands it to me.
The return address is from the Fall River Credit Union, a small local bank that I would never think to check.
Exactly as Gerald said.
“Would you like some coffee, Andrei Vasilyevich, while you search?” Eva tilts her chin high, and despite her petite frame, she challenges me. She will never raise her voice or fly into a hysterical rage. Her dignity is a shield against men like my father and me.
“Mother, I am not your enemy.”
“Nor am I yours,” she replies. “But you insist on treating me as one, Andrei Vasilyevich. Your lack of trust—”
“My lack of trust.” I hold the bundle of letters in her face. “What about yours? The evidence is right here.”
Mother flinches and refuses to meet my eyes as she moves quickly to the door. “Call me if you need anything, Andrei Vasilyevich.”
“I only need the truth, Mother.”
Eva hesitates and then leaves me alone in the room. I sit down heavily on a scrawny chair with daintily carved legs and a velvet seat. It creaks under my weight as I tear the rubber band off that holds the bundle together. The Fall River statements only go back a few years; she has to have more hidden, but the total amount deposited is over 1.5 million. It’s a joint account in Mother and Sonya’s names. Everything is under Kuzmina, her maiden name.
No patronymic for Sonya. Mother has covered her tracks well.
My gaze scans the other bundles of papers on her neatly organized desk. I wonder if there could be a letter, a note, an address book, or even a birth certificate that would reveal Sonya’s paternity.
Suddenly, I’m distracted and pulling papers out, examining each one for a clue of other deceits and lies. But there is nothing past just a few years; she’s carefully hidden the most damning evidence. I’m debating flipping the desk over and searching it for a hidden drawer when I’m interrupted.
“Andrei Vasilyevich?” Viktor stands in the doorway, looking hesitant to speak as he eyes the messy piles of papers scattered at my feet.
“Chto?” I ask.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I want to offer to go out and look for Emma Reyes. Not for any other reason than to help Paige Geraldovna.”
“No, Viktor,” I reply. “If you are out there, it may be worse for you both.”
He nods thoughtfully, his eyes still on the papers scattered on the floor. “If you need my help …”
It takes me a moment to reply, but there is one thing he can help me with.
“Come here and help me flip this desk.”
