Mikhail Andreevich froze in the bathroom, straining to listen to the conversation beyond the wall. The partition between the kitchen and the bathroom was thin, and the voice of Artyom—the young man dating his daughter Marina—was clear:
— Svetka has money stashed in the wardrobe; take it. But be careful so her mother doesn’t notice…
“Svetka has money hidden in the wardrobe, take it. But make sure her mother doesn’t notice”—overheard the conversation, the daughter’s father picking up snippets of the fiancé’s talk.
At first, Mikhail was merely curious, but the longer he listened, the more anxiety gripped him.
— Got it? How much is there? Excellent, plenty. Hand half over to Max from the auto repair shop; keep the rest with you for now. I’ll drop by in the evening, and we’ll decide what to do next. But if Svetlana finds out… Well, you know. I don’t want to be the one pulling you out behind bars. Mikhail Andreevich swallowed nervously. Artyom laughed and continued the conversation with his unseen partner:
— Me? I know where to get some. Such an opportunity doesn’t come along often. Just a little bit more and I’ll be living like a king.
Mikhail felt a chill run down his spine from that sinister laugh.
— Alright, Kirill, I can’t talk now. I’m not at home. Yes, I’ll call back later. Agreed, then.
Silence followed. Mikhail Andreevich remained frozen in the bathroom, hesitant to leave—he did not want to reveal his presence. Now he knew someone else’s secret, and witnesses to such conversations were rarely welcomed.
His daughter Marina had been living on her own for six months. He and his wife worried about her—after all, she was a young woman who had just graduated from university, a homebody. How was she managing on her own in a rented apartment? What if she got into trouble? What if someone deceived her?
Marina would only exhale an irritated sigh at her parents’ constant fears:
— Mom, Dad, relax! I’m twenty-four years old! Let me live on my own. I want to be responsible for my own life. And I’m not alone—I have a boyfriend; I’ll introduce you to him soon.
A week later, she brought her boyfriend over for lunch.
Elena Pavlovna, Mikhail’s wife, had been bustling in the kitchen since early morning, eager to delight the guests with delicious dishes. She had even made her husband vacuum and dust.
— And don’t forget the wardrobes, — she ordered. — Marina said that Artyom is very tall, he might notice the dust up high. I don’t want him thinking we’re slovenly. And clear out the old boxes from the shelves. Why are you storing them there?
Mikhail, grumbling discontentedly, climbed a stepladder and began tidying up the upper shelves. Yet he couldn’t help feeling nervous in anticipation of the meeting.
What if this Artyom turned out to be a bad person? Could he be mistreating Marina? Mikhail was already predisposed to view the unfamiliar young man negatively. He didn’t want his daughter to be given away to some unknown person. But he realized that no one would ever ask for his opinion. All he could do was resign himself.
Mikhail and Elena owned a book publishing company that brought in a steady income. They lived in a spacious apartment, but managed without a maid—Elena preferred doing everything herself.
Their daughter Marina had lived with them for a long time until she decided to become independent and rented an apartment in another neighborhood, closer to her work. The parents were confident about their daughter’s prosperous future—her bank account held an impressive sum.
At two in the afternoon, a doorbell rang. Elena hurried to answer it, with Mikhail following. By that time, a specially set-up table covered with a festive tablecloth was already in the living room. The table was crowded with salads, hot dishes, and sparkling crystal glasses from the sideboard.
Marina burst into the hall, chirping cheerfully. The corridor filled with the scent of her overly sweet perfume. Mikhail Andreevich involuntarily sneezed. Behind his daughter stood Artyom.
“Did she pick him just to spite us, to get under our skin?” Mikhail thought, tilting his head to get a good look at the potential son-in-law. He couldn’t believe that there could be genuine feelings between this giant and his delicate daughter.
Huge, over 190 centimeters tall, built as if he lived in a gym, with chiseled muscles that threatened to tear his shirt apart—Artyom looked like a gangster from the crime movies that Mikhail Andreevich enjoyed watching in the evenings.
When the young couple went off to wash their hands, the man pulled his wife aside and whispered his first impressions of Artyom.
— Misha, stop it, — Elena frowned. — He’s a decent guy, polite. A little shy. He loves our Marina. Did you see how his eyes light up when he looks at her? And the fact that he’s big is even a plus. Marina will be safe as if behind a stone wall; no one will hurt her.
“No one but him,” Mikhail thought, but he kept silent.
The family lunch went smoothly. Mikhail periodically watched Artyom, hoping to notice something suspicious. Yet the young man behaved impeccably: using the cutlery skillfully, not slurping, delicately dabbing his lips with a napkin. In short, a perfectly well-mannered young man—not the Neanderthal Mikhail Andreevich had imagined.
Artyom worked as a fitness trainer at a sports club, where they had met Marina. The girl had decided to get in shape but was overwhelmed by unfamiliar gym equipment. She hesitated in the middle of the hall until Artyom approached and offered her a first training session.
— That’s how we met, — Marina smiled, intertwining her fingers with Artyom’s. — Isn’t it just like a movie?
— More like a love story! — Elena Pavlovna chimed in.
“Or rather a crime drama,” Mikhail thought, but again he remained silent.
Surely, Artyom was up to something on the side. For example, holding a victim while the boss prepared for interrogation…
As he pondered how many abandoned warehouses suitable for shady dealings there were in their city, Mikhail accidentally knocked over a glass onto his shirt.
— Misha! — Elena cried out in alarm, grabbing some napkins. — Go change. I’ll wash the stain later.
“Washing is now Artyom’s problem,” the man grimly thought, heading to the bedroom for a clean shirt.
After changing, he returned to the bathroom. Just as he was about to leave, he heard that very phone conversation coming from the kitchen…
“I was right, right a thousand times,” the words echoed in his mind. “Marinka got in touch with that thug. She’s giving instructions to his partner on how to rob some Svetlana. And what did he say about that chance? About Marina, perhaps? Is he planning to rob her too? What a mess!”
— Dad, Artyom! Where are you? — his daughter’s voice rang from the corridor.
— In the kitchen! — replied the young man, while Mikhail crouched like a guerrilla. Let them think he was still in the bedroom.
After waiting until the couple returned to the living room, Mikhail Andreevich cautiously slipped out of the bathroom and, as if nothing had happened, rejoined the meal. Artyom carried on as usual, as though that suspicious call had never occurred.
Mikhail decided to warn his daughter. While Elena was questioning Artyom about the proper technique for squats, he leaned over to Marina:
— Are you sure about your Artyom? — he asked sternly.
— Of course, — the girl replied in surprise. — What’s the matter?
— I don’t like him, — the father shared his doubts. — I happened to overhear a conversation you had with some Kirill. You were discussing some Svetlana. He said he’d drop by in the evening. They even talked about money. You’d better be cautious about dating him. If he ever asks to withdraw money from your account—don’t you dare agree.
Marina snapped:
— Dad, you’re at it again! — she retorted. — You caught a snippet and are making up wild stories. Leave Artyom alone! In all our time together, he hasn’t asked for a single penny.
“My little girl is gone,” Mikhail thought sadly. “And soon her money will vanish too. What should I do?”
One thing he knew for sure: he had to act quickly and cautiously, without drawing unnecessary attention. Artyom must not suspect that Mikhail was aware of his plans. Let him remain in the dark for now.
When Marina and Artyom left, Mikhail Andreevich finally devised a way to drive the young man away from his daughter without too much fuss.
The next day, he called Marina to ask when Artyom would be free—pretending he wanted to invite him to a restaurant.
— I want to have a “man-to-man” talk, — he explained.
— Just no more of your stunts, — Marina warned. — I know you. Don’t you dare embarrass me.
— What are you saying, sweetheart, — Mikhail reassured her. — I just want to talk.
Marina softened and helped arrange a meeting for the next day at a restaurant in the city center.
— Mikhail Andreevich? — Artyom was seated at a small table, looking somewhat comical against the backdrop of elegant furniture. — Marina said you had something to discuss with me?
— Yes, — Mikhail leaned forward. — Since you’re practically part of our family now, I want to share a little secret with you. Like a man-to-man talk.
Of course, Mikhail didn’t really consider Artyom a family member—after all, he and Marina had only been dating briefly. But he had to win the young man over somehow.
— If it’s a secret, maybe you shouldn’t reveal it? — Artyom raised an eyebrow questioningly. He clearly felt uneasy under the intense scrutiny of his girlfriend’s father.
“Trying to dodge the conversation,” Mikhail noted to himself.
— No, no, you must hear this, — he began dramatically. — As you know, our family is well off.
— I wasn’t aware of that, — Artyom shook his head.
— Oh, come on, Artyom, don’t be modest, — Mikhail clapped him on the hand in a friendly manner. — I can see what you’re thinking. Marina is an heiress, and being with her is your ticket to a worry-free future…
— I don’t think anything like that! — the young man snapped indignantly, clenching his fist. — Who do you take me for? I’m not with Marina for her money!
— You’ve seen our apartment, you know about our publishing business.
— So what? I met Marina long before I knew about any of that.
— Well said, — Mikhail nodded. — But you still need to know something. — Leaning closer, he lowered his voice:
— We’re on the brink of bankruptcy.
Artyom was taken aback. What does one say in such situations?
— I… I’m really sorry to hear that.
— Thanks for your sympathy. But we’re completely out of money, — Mikhail snapped harshly. He hoped that the young man would take this as a cue to back off from Marina, since there was nothing left to gain. — All that remains are debts that we’ll be paying for years.
— I see, — the young man sighed. — And what’s the total debt?
Mikhail Andreevich paused for a moment. What number should he name?
— Three million.
Artyom exhaled heavily and slumped back in his chair.
— That’s a serious sum! — he said, looking at Mikhail Andreevich with genuine sympathy. — How did it come to this? I thought the publishing business was stable.
“Got him!” Mikhail rejoiced inwardly.
— Anything can happen in life, — he shrugged. — These are turbulent times. The internet has taken over, and paper books are no longer in favor.
After spending a little more time at the restaurant, the men began to prepare to leave.
— Artyom, just don’t mention our bankruptcy to Marina, — Mikhail requested while paying the bill to the waitress. — She needn’t know for now.
— Of course, I won’t, — Artyom nodded, putting on his jacket. — I don’t want to upset her either. She’s already having problems at work. A new boss has come in, nitpicking over every little thing.
“Mother hasn’t mentioned any of this to me!” Mikhail bitterly thought. His daughter always claimed everything was fine. “And she’s sharing these things with that scoundrel? My dear Marina is all grown up now; the parents have lost their authority.”
A week passed. All was quiet. Mikhail Andreevich sincerely hoped that Artyom had taken the hint correctly. There was no money, no rich bride for Marina anymore—nothing to gain. The chance had been missed.
Mikhail didn’t want to admit it to himself, but during their meeting at the restaurant, Artyom hadn’t seemed as intimidating as he had initially imagined. Beneath his aggressive exterior, he was just an ordinary, somewhat shy young man.
“It’s all just a façade,” Mikhail consoled himself. “One mustn’t forget poor Svetlana. The guy is just a master of pretense.”
That coming weekend, he decided to visit his daughter. He could have talked over the phone, but Mikhail wanted to be sure in person that Artyom was no longer in her life. He did not want to see his daughter abandoned and in tears over unrequited love—it was for her own good! It was better to endure the pain of a breakup now than to be robbed later.
However, his daughter greeted him with a gentle smile. There was not a trace of tears on her face; Marina was in good spirits and busy preparing dinner.
— So, where’s Artyom? — Mikhail asked casually. — At work?
— He went away for a few days to his hometown. He had some matters to attend to there. He warned that he’d be busy, so he hasn’t called. It’s been two days since he’s been here, — the girl sighed sadly.
“Success!” Mikhail rejoiced internally. They had dinner together, and the man left home with a sense of duty fulfilled.
A few days later, Marina called him. She said that soon she and Artyom would come over to her parents’ place, and they better be home—apparently, Artyom had something important to discuss with them.
Mikhail Andreevich grew anxious. Why had Artyom returned? What could he possibly want? Had he perhaps uncovered the deception and was coming to set things straight? What if he wasn’t alone, but arrived with some thugs? Would they really be here to squeeze the publishing business dry? “Oh, I shouldn’t have started all this,” the man despaired. “Now we’re really in trouble.”
Artyom and Marina arrived, and the whole family gathered in the living room. The young man, slightly embarrassed, pulled out a bag filled with tightly bundled banknotes from his backpack and handed it over to Mikhail.
— Mikhail Andreevich, Elena Pavlovna, I understand how difficult things are for you right now. We’re about to become one family, so I can’t stand aside.
— What is this? — Elena’s eyes widened.
— Money. Three million, for the publishing company.
— Where from? And why? — the woman stammered.
— I sold my car. It’s nothing serious; you need it more right now. Mikhail Andreevich mentioned that you were on the brink of bankruptcy, that the debts need to be paid off…
Chaos ensued.
— Dad, what bankruptcy? You never mentioned anything! — Marina protested, barely holding back tears.
— Artyom, dear, your car… — Elena exclaimed, flailing her hands. — Maybe we can still buy it out? Although we might have to pay extra… My goodness, why did you do this…
— It’s nothing serious, really, — Artyom repeated, turning red as a beet. — I was going to sell it anyway to buy a new one. Now I just have to wait a little longer until I can save up again.
Mikhail wished he could sink into the floor. He never imagined that Artyom would sell his own car to pay off their fabricated debts. What a disgrace!
It took some time for everything to be sorted out. Mikhail, who had stirred up this entire mess, confessed his suspicions and explained his strange method of “testing” his future son-in-law.
— How could you think that Artyom was capable of such things? — Marina couldn’t stop reproaching.
— I accidentally overheard his conversation in the kitchen, — Mikhail admitted. — He and some Kirill were discussing how to rob Svetlana…
At that moment, Artyom laughed, and Marina joined in. The parents exchanged puzzled glances.
— Dad, you got it all wrong! It wasn’t real. I mean, Kirill is real…
— He’s my friend, — Artyom explained. — We play an online game together. There was a mission—to steal money from a character named Svetlana. The higher your level in the game, the more virtual currency you earn.
— Artyom plays that game every evening to beat people up, — Marina complained with feigned offense.
— And what about that “rare chance” you mentioned? — Mikhail asked. — Was that about Marina?
— No, — Artyom smiled. — It was about the daily prize draw in the game. I got a golden ingot—it gives extra points and new earning opportunities.
Mikhail felt like the biggest fool. It turned out he had taken a conversation about a computer game at face value and had concocted all sorts of wild theories. Now he felt painfully embarrassed in front of his future son-in-law.
There was no doubt in Mikhail Andreevich’s mind that Artyom would make a wonderful son-in-law. Who else would sell his own car to help his beloved girl’s family? Only someone truly close and devoted.
For their wedding, Mikhail gave the newlyweds a special gift—a new car. And its price far exceeded that so-called three million…
