Anatoly froze in the middle of the living room, holding a folder of documents in his hands. His face turned pale, then flushed red.
“What do you mean, ‘out of your apartment’? We bought it together!”
“NO,” Elena cut him off, gripping the ownership certificate in her hand. “This is my grandmother Vera Pavlovna’s apartment. She transferred it to me as a gift five years ago. You simply lived here and enjoyed my hospitality.”
Anatoly lowered the folder onto the coffee table. Confusion flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger.
“Elena, have you lost your mind? We’ve been married for eight years! We have a joint business, accounts…”
“Were married,” she corrected him, taking another document from her handbag. “I filed for divorce a month ago. And as for the business… your company, AnatolyStroy, no longer exists.”
“What do you mean, it no longer exists?!”
Elena sat down in an armchair and crossed her legs. Her voice sounded calm, even cold.
“It’s very simple. Remember three years ago when you asked me to sign some papers? You said it was for tax optimization. I trusted you and signed them. It turned out you had transferred the company into my name. Completely. And now, as the sole owner, I have decided to liquidate it.”
Anatoly grabbed the back of the sofa.
“You couldn’t… That’s my business! I built it from scratch!”
“From scratch?” Elena smirked. “With my father Viktor Semyonovich’s money. Remember how you swore to him that you would take care of me? That you would never betray me?”
“Elena, listen…”
“NO, you listen!” She stood up and walked over to the window. Beyond the glass, the evening city stretched out below. “Do you know how many times your mistress Miloslava has called me this past month?”
Anatoly flinched.
“What Miloslava?”
“Your secretary. A twenty-three-year-old blonde with fake eyelashes. The one you promised an apartment in a new residential complex. By the way, using the company’s money.”
“How did you…”
“I have all your messages, Tolya. ALL of them. And the photos from that trip to Sochi, when you were supposedly at a construction exhibition. And the account statements showing how much you spent on her gifts.”
A tall man in a formal suit entered the room. Anatoly recognized Svyatogor, Elena’s lawyer.
“Elena Viktorovna,” Svyatogor said, “the documents are ready. Mr. Anatoly Petrovich must vacate the premises within twenty-four hours.”
“Svyatogor, this is illegal!” Anatoly exploded. “I have the right…”
“According to the prenuptial agreement you signed eight years ago,” the lawyer interrupted, “in the event of infidelity, the guilty party loses all rights to jointly acquired property. However, as it turns out, you have no jointly acquired property. Everything is registered in Elena Viktorovna’s name.”
Anatoly rushed to the folder of documents he had brought with him.
“I have proof! Elena cheated on me too! Here are the photographs!”
He snatched out several pictures and threw them onto the table. The photos showed Elena with an unfamiliar man in a restaurant.
Elena picked up one of the photographs and examined it carefully.
“This is Dobromysl Igorevich. My cousin from Novosibirsk. He came for Aunt Marina’s anniversary. You, by the way, refused to attend the family celebration. You said you had an important meeting. With Miloslava, I assume.”
“He’s not your cousin! I checked!”
“Checked?” Elena raised an eyebrow. “So you were watching me? You hired a detective?”
“I had the right to know!”
“GET OUT!” she shouted. “Take your things and leave! And don’t you dare show up here again!”
At that moment, the door opened, and an elderly woman entered the apartment — Anatoly’s mother, Zinaida Stepanovna. Behind her came his sister Varsenika and her husband Ratibor.
“What is going on here?” Zinaida Stepanovna asked imperiously. “Tolya, why is your wife shouting?”
“Mom, she’s throwing me out of the house!”
Zinaida Stepanovna cast Elena a contemptuous look.
“Is that so? After everything my son has done for you?”
“And what exactly has he done for me?” Elena asked calmly.
“He married you! A simple girl from the provinces!”
“I am a third-generation Muscovite, Zinaida Stepanovna. Your son was the one who came from Saratov fifteen years ago, without a kopeck to his name.”
“How dare you!” Varsenika intervened. “My brother is a successful entrepreneur!”
“Was,” Svyatogor corrected her. “The company was liquidated three days ago.”
“What?!” Ratibor stepped forward. “Tolya, what does this mean? You promised me a contract to supply materials!”
“There will be no more contracts,” Elena said sharply. “The company is gone.”
“You ruined my son!” Zinaida Stepanovna shrieked. “You witch!”
“Your son ruined himself. He withdrew three million from the company’s accounts. He thought I wouldn’t find out. The money went to the account of a certain Miloslava Krasnova.”
“Who is Miloslava?” Varsenika asked sharply, turning to her brother.
“Nobody! This is slander!”
A young woman with bright red hair appeared in the doorway. She was holding keys in her hands.
“Tolik, I came like you asked… Oh!” She froze when she saw everyone gathered there.
“Miloslava,” Elena said coldly. “Right on time.”
“I… I should probably go…”
“STOP!” Zinaida Stepanovna ordered. “Who are you?”
“I… I’m Miloslava. I work… I worked with Anatoly Petrovich.”
“And why are you here?” Varsenika narrowed her eyes.
“Tolik… I mean, Anatoly Petrovich said we would live here. That he was divorced and…”
“DIVORCED?!” Zinaida Stepanovna exploded. “Tolya, what is going on?!”
Anatoly remained silent, staring at the floor.
“I’M PREGNANT,” Miloslava said quietly.
A dead silence hung in the room.
“You’re lying!” Varsenika shouted. “You set this whole thing up!”
“I have medical certificates…” Miloslava reached into her handbag.
“GET OUT!” Zinaida Stepanovna screamed at her. “And don’t come anywhere near my son!”
“But he promised to marry me!”
“He is married!” Ratibor barked.
“Not anymore,” Svyatogor added. “The divorce has been finalized.”
Elena approached Miloslava.
“Girl, you’d better leave. And think carefully about whether you want to tie your life to a man who betrays everyone around him.”
“He loves me!”
“He loves ONLY HIMSELF. Ask him why the company really closed.”
Miloslava looked at Anatoly questioningly.
“Tolik?”
“These are temporary difficulties,” he muttered.
“Temporary?” Elena took a tablet from her handbag. “Here is the tax audit report. The arrears amount to fifteen million rubles. The company was registered in my name, but Anatoly handled all the operations. He used fake documents and siphoned money through shell companies.”
“That’s not true!” Anatoly shouted.
“It is true. And the tax authorities have already opened an investigation. A CRIMINAL case, by the way.”
Ratibor grabbed Anatoly by the shoulder.
“What have you done, you idiot?! I invested all my savings in your company!”
“Let go!”
“What savings?” Varsenika asked in surprise. “Ratibor, what are you talking about?”
“I… I invested in your brother’s business. He promised to double the investment in six months.”
“How much?” Varsenika asked in an icy tone.
“Two million.”
“TWO MILLION?! That was the money for the children’s apartment!”
“He promised three percent a month!”
“A classic pyramid scheme,” Svyatogor commented. “Mrs. Elena Viktorovna, you should know that your husband… forgive me, your former husband, was attracting funds from private investors by promising unrealistic returns.”
“How many people?” Elena asked.
“According to our information, around thirty. The total amount is about fifty million.”
Miloslava backed toward the door.
“I… I need to go…”
“Where?!” Anatoly rushed toward her. “Mila, wait!”
“NO! You lied to me! You said you had a successful business, that you would buy me an apartment!”
“I will! Just give me time!”
“With what money?” Varsenika asked angrily. “If you even robbed my husband?”
“I didn’t rob anyone! These are temporary liquidity problems!”
Another person appeared in the doorway — a man of about fifty.
“Anatoly Petrovich?” he asked.
“Yes… Who are you?”
“Mstislav Arkadyevich Volkonsky. I represent a group of investors in your company. We are filing a class-action lawsuit.”
“For what?!”
“Fraud on an especially large scale. We have all the documents signed by you. Promises of guaranteed returns that were not backed by real assets.”
Zinaida Stepanovna clutched her heart.
“Tolya… what is happening?”
“Mom, this is a misunderstanding!”
“I’m afraid not,” Svyatogor intervened. “Mr. Volkonsky, I believe your clients have every reason to sue.”
“Absolutely. And we intend to seek not only the return of the funds, but also compensation for moral damages.”
“But he has no money!” Miloslava exclaimed. “He said he invested everything in new projects!”
“What projects?” Mstislav Arkadyevich asked. “As far as we know, the company has not carried out any real activity for the last six months. It only attracted new funds to pay interest to previous investors.”
“This is slander!” Anatoly screamed. “I demand a lawyer!”
“Demand one,” Mstislav Arkadyevich nodded. “You’ll need him. The Investigative Committee has already taken an interest in your activities.”
Varsenika seized her brother.
“Return my husband’s money! IMMEDIATELY!”
“I don’t have it!”
“How can you not have it?! Where did you put it?!”
“I… I invested it…”
“Where?!”
Anatoly remained silent.
“In cryptocurrency,” Elena said quietly. “I saw the transaction history. He bought some tokens of a new cryptocurrency that promised a thousand percent profit. The project turned out to be a scam. The creators disappeared with the money.”
“WHAT?!” Ratibor grabbed Anatoly by the collar. “You blew my children’s money on some cryptocurrency?!”
“Let go! It was supposed to work!”
“Supposed to?!” Varsenika burst into tears. “We saved that money for ten years!”
Zinaida Stepanovna sank onto the sofa.
“Tolya… how could you… People trusted you…”
“Everything will be fine, Mom! I’ll find a way out!”
“What way out?” Mstislav Arkadyevich shook his head. “Young man, you are facing up to ten years in prison. And that’s if you’re lucky.”
“Elena!” Anatoly rushed toward his ex-wife. “Help me! You know I didn’t mean to deceive anyone!”
“DIDN’T MEAN TO?” She stepped away from him. “You deceived EVERYONE. Me, the investors, even your own mistress.”
“I’ll change! Give me a chance!”
“A chance? After you lied to me for years? Cheated on me? Used my father’s money for your schemes?”
“It was business!”
“NO, it was fraud. And now you’ll have to answer for it.”
Svyatogor approached Elena.
“Elena Viktorovna, you should leave the premises. These people are clearly aggressive.”
“We’re leaving,” she nodded. “Anatoly, you have two hours to pack your things. After that, the locks will be changed.”
“You can’t!”
“I can, and I will. Svyatogor, make sure he doesn’t take anything except his personal belongings.”
“Of course.”
Elena headed for the exit. In the doorway, she turned back.
“By the way, Miloslava. That child you’re carrying… I hope you understand that you won’t be getting any child support. Your Tolik will soon not have a single kopeck. And he’ll have nowhere to live.”
“But… but he said…”
“He said many things. To everyone. And look how it ended.”
Elena left the apartment. Svyatogor followed her.
Anatoly, his relatives, Miloslava, and the representative of the deceived investors remained in the living room.
“So, what about the money?” Ratibor still hadn’t let go of his brother-in-law.
“I told you — it’s gone!”
“Then sell whatever you have! The car, for example!”
“The car is leased. And the payments are three months overdue.”
“The watch! You have a Swiss watch worth a million!”
“It’s fake,” Anatoly admitted wearily. “I bought a replica for thirty thousand.”
“You…”
Ratibor swung his arm, but Varsenika held him back.
“DON’T! He’s not worth going to prison over!”
Mstislav Arkadyevich took out his phone.
“Hello, Vsevolod Ignatievich? Yes, I’m with him. No, there is no money and none expected. Yes, file the complaint. Start the bankruptcy procedure too.”
“Bankruptcy?!” Anatoly shrieked.
“What did you expect? Debts don’t disappear on their own. By the way, do you have any other loans?”
“A few… consumer loans…”
“The amount?”
“Around five million.”
“Tolya!” Zinaida Stepanovna sobbed. “Why did you take out so many loans?”
“I needed to maintain the image of a successful businessman…”
“Image?!” Varsenika exploded. “You ruined everyone for the sake of an image?!”
Miloslava was quietly sobbing in the corner.
“I didn’t know… He said he was rich… He showed me photos of a yacht…”
“The yacht was rented for one day for a photoshoot,” Mstislav Arkadyevich noted dryly. “We checked.”
“How did you find out?”
“We have good lawyers and detectives. When fifty million is involved, people are willing to pay for an investigation.”
Zinaida Stepanovna rose from the sofa.
“Tolya, where will you live?”
“I… I don’t know…”
“Don’t even think about coming to us!” Varsenika snapped. “Not after what you did to us!”
“But I’m your brother!”
“You were. Now you are NOBODY to me.”
Varsenika took her husband by the arm.
“Let’s go, Ratibor. There’s nothing more for us to do here.”
They left. Zinaida Stepanovna followed them, staggering. At the threshold, she turned back.
“I don’t recognize you, Tolya. You have become a MONSTER.”
“Mom!”
But she had already gone.
Miloslava approached Anatoly.
“What am I supposed to do now? I’m going to have a child!”
“I’ll think of something…”
“WHAT will you think of?! You have nothing! You lied to everyone!”
She slapped him and ran out of the apartment, sobbing loudly.
Mstislav Arkadyevich adjusted his tie.
“Well then, Anatoly Petrovich, I’ll see you in court. And I advise you to find a good lawyer. A very good one. Though I doubt he’ll help.”
He left too.
Anatoly was left alone in the apartment that no longer belonged to him. He sank onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands.
How could everything have turned out like this? Just yesterday, he had been a successful entrepreneur with a beautiful wife, a mistress, an expensive car… And today he had nothing left.
The phone rang. The screen showed: “Bank.”
“Hello…”
“Anatoly Petrovich? This is the bank’s security department. We have a court order to block all your accounts in connection with suspected fraud. Your cards have been canceled.”
“But… how am I…”
“Contact your lawyer. Goodbye.”
The line went dead.
Anatoly looked at his phone. An expensive latest-model smartphone. Bought on credit, of course. A loan he would no longer be able to pay.
An hour passed. Anatoly mechanically packed his things into a sports bag. Clothes, documents, a phone charger… His entire life now fit into one bag.
There was a knock at the door.
“Anatoly Petrovich, your time is up,” Svyatogor’s voice sounded. “Leave the premises.”
Anatoly picked up the bag and walked out of the apartment. Svyatogor was standing in the corridor with a locksmith.
“The keys, please.”
Anatoly silently handed over the key ring.
“And the car keys as well. The car is registered in Elena Viktorovna’s name.”
“But how am I…”
“That is not our problem. The car will be handed over to the leasing company to cover the debt.”
Anatoly gave up the car keys.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“That is your personal matter. I can only advise you to find a lawyer. Tomorrow at ten in the morning, you are expected at the Investigative Committee.”
Svyatogor nodded to the locksmith, and he began changing the lock.
Anatoly went down into the courtyard. A fine autumn drizzle had begun. He took out his phone to call a taxi, but then remembered — his cards were blocked. He had no cash. He had long since grown used to paying by card.
He dialed the number of an old friend, German.
“German? It’s Tolya. Listen, there’s this situation…”
“Tolya? You still dare call me after cheating me out of one and a half million?!”
“German, I’ll explain everything…”
“Explain it in court! And don’t call me again!”
The line went dead.
Anatoly dialed another number. Then another. And another. Everyone hung up as soon as they heard his name.
He stood in the middle of the courtyard with a bag in his hand. The man who that morning still considered himself master of life now had no idea where he would spend the night.
The phone rang. An unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Anatoly Petrovich? This is Kapiton Fyodorovich Grozny, investigator for especially important cases. You are being charged with fraud on an especially large scale. I strongly recommend that you appear tomorrow at ten in the morning. Otherwise, you will be declared wanted.”
“I’ll come…”
“And one more thing, Anatoly Petrovich. Do not attempt to leave the city.”
Anatoly lowered the phone.
The rain grew heavier. He raised the collar of his jacket and trudged away from the house where he had lived for eight years. The house that had never been his.
The phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from the bank: “Dear client, we remind you of the need to repay overdue debt in the amount of 5,247,358 rubles. If payment is not made within 3 days, forced collection proceedings will be initiated.”
Another message followed, from an unknown number: “Tolya, it’s Miloslava. I had an abortion. Don’t look for me.”
Anatoly stopped in the middle of the street. Rain ran down his face, mixing with tears he did not notice.
And in the warm apartment, Elena sat by the fireplace with a glass of red wine. Beside her lay documents for a new company — an event agency she planned to open. Her own business, honest and transparent.
“Elena Viktorovna,” Svyatogor’s voice sounded from the hallway, “the locks have been changed. Your former husband has left the premises.”
“Thank you, Svyatogor. Would you like some tea?”
“With pleasure.”
The lawyer entered the living room and sat in the armchair opposite her.
“A difficult day,” he remarked.
“Difficult, but necessary. You know, I endured it for three years. I thought he would change. That he would stop lying, manipulating, cheating… But when I found out about that pyramid scheme, I understood — enough.”
Six months later, Anatoly sat at a worn-out desk in the tiny office of a microfinance company, calling debtors over small loans for twenty thousand rubles a month. The investigation dragged on, his lawyer demanded money he did not have, and in the evenings he returned to a rented little room. As for Elena, when she happened to meet him on the street, she looked straight through him with indifference, as if he were an empty space — and there was something in that gaze more terrifying than any curse.
