Chapter 3 - Twelve Years of Lies
Victor’s mansion stood on the edge of Brookline behind stone walls, iron gates, and enough security cameras to make Aliyah wonder how anyone had entered unnoticed.
She should have gone home.
Instead, twenty minutes later, she was standing inside Victor’s bedroom looking at a dead woman's handwriting.
The Polaroid rested beneath glass now.
Victor had ordered everyone not to touch it.
Aliyah leaned closer.
SHE LOOKS LIKE ELENA.
“You're certain?”
“I watched Elena write my name thousands of times.”
“People can imitate handwriting.”
“Yes.”
“You sound like you don't believe that.”
Victor stared at the white rose.
“Elena always bought white roses.”
A tall man entered.
“Victor.”
He was perhaps fifty, silver at the temples, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed.
Victor introduced him as Nikolai Petrov, his oldest friend and head of security.
Nikolai barely acknowledged Aliyah.
“The cameras were looped for nine minutes,” he said. “Professional job.”
“Inside help?”
“Possibly.”
Nikolai's gaze shifted toward Aliyah.
“Or someone brought trouble through the front door.”
Victor's voice cooled.
“Careful.”
Aliyah stepped forward.
“No, let him finish.”
Nikolai did.
“You appear in Victor's life, and twenty-four hours later someone breaches a house that hasn't been breached in fifteen years.”
“I spilled soup.”
“Conveniently.”
Aliyah almost laughed.
“You think I orchestrated an elaborate conspiracy by tripping over furniture?”
“I think coincidences are expensive.”
Victor stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Nikolai left reluctantly.
Aliyah picked up her coat.
“I should go.”
Victor caught her wrist.
Both froze.
His grip wasn't hard.
But Victor looked at his own hand as though it belonged to someone else.
He had touched her deliberately.
He released her.
“Sorry.”
Aliyah studied him.
“You really haven't touched anyone in twelve years?”
“Not voluntarily.”
“No handshakes?”
“No.”
“Hugs?”
“No.”
“Doctors?”
“When unavoidable.”
“That sounds lonely.”
His eyes lifted.
“I became accustomed to it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Victor said nothing.
Aliyah remained.
Later that evening, he showed her Elena's study.
Nothing had been moved since her death.
Photographs lined a bookshelf.
Aliyah approached one.
Elena Malenkov had been beautiful.
Dark hair. Gentle eyes. An easy smile.
Aliyah understood the message immediately.
There was a resemblance.
Not enough to confuse them.
Enough to disturb Victor.
“I don't look that much like her.”
“No.”
“Then why did someone say I do?”
“To manipulate me.”
“It's working.”
Victor gave her a sharp look.
“You've been staring at that photograph for five minutes.”
To her surprise, his mouth almost curved.
“You're irritating.”
“So I've been told.”
Aliyah examined another photograph.
Elena stood beside a younger Victor at a charity gala. Behind them was Nikolai.
And beside Nikolai stood another man.
Aliyah pointed.
“Who is that?”
Victor's expression changed.
“Sergei Volkov.”
“Belov's boss?”
“Yes.”
Aliyah looked between the men.
“You knew him personally.”
“He was my business partner.”
“Before becoming your enemy?”
“Before Elena died.”
There it was.
The connection.
“What happened the night she died?”
Victor walked toward the window.
“She left a charity dinner at ten forty. Her brakes failed on Storrow Drive. The car went through a barrier.”
“Accident?”
“That was the official finding.”
“And unofficially?”
Victor's voice hardened.
“I believed Sergei ordered it.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena had discovered financial records proving he was stealing from our companies.”
“Did you have evidence?”
“No.”
“So what did you do?”
He turned.
“I destroyed everything he owned.”
Aliyah realized exactly what kind of man stood before her.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he disappeared first.”
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Aliyah opened the message.
A photograph loaded.
Her mother.
Leaving a grocery store in Cambridge.
Aliyah stopped breathing.
Another message appeared.
ASK VICTOR WHAT ELENA FOUND BEFORE SHE DIED.
Victor took the phone.
His face became lethal.
A third message arrived.
ASK HIM WHY HE NEVER SAW HER BODY.
Aliyah looked up.
Victor did not move.
“You never saw her body?”
His silence answered.
“Victor.”
“The car burned.”
“But you said—”
“I identified her through dental records.”
“Who handled them?”
Victor's eyes changed.
Aliyah already knew the answer before he spoke.
“Nikolai.”
A noise came from the hallway.
Both turned.
The door stood open.
Nikolai was gone.
On the desk where he'd been standing moments earlier sat an old brass key.
And beneath it, a note.
Victor picked it up.
May you like
Three words.
SHE SURVIVED.
