Chapter 2 – Karik
My office was quiet and dimly lit as it usually was at this time of night. I stood behind my desk with a hand in my pocket while facing the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside, the city was alive, buzzing with activity under the cold, distant stars. Somehow, the crescent moon hung in the sky behind a small cloud, its soft glow draped over the concrete landscape.
Skyscraper lights twinkled in the distance, and the faint wail of sirens drifted through the night. A thin thread of smoke curled around my face as the scent of tobacco filled the room.
Behind me, a clipped recording of a student presentation was playing in the background. At first, I didn’t think it was something worth my time. But after I was told that it was the reopening of a case that should’ve stayed buried, my interest was piqued.
One of my loyal men who was at the hearing that day at the university had recorded the whole thing. He was the one who urged me to listen, saying it was important.
I’d played it three times already, intrigued by the student’s findings and her confidence in her work. The first time, I listened for errors, hoping to find gaps in her logic. I thought she was an amateur and was convinced that if I listened carefully enough, I’d catch her flaws.
I didn’t.
The second time, I listened for sources. Someone must’ve fed her the information. At this point, my mind flew straight to Vetrov’s relatives. They were my first suspects, especially because she mentioned something along those lines during her presentation.
A few questions popped up in my head.
Who assigned her the case?
Was someone pulling strings behind this student?
Why did she request a reopening of the case?
Who was she working with?
Who was she?
This third time, I just listened, smoking in the dark. The office was so quiet that, even at low volume, the recording still sounded loud. I released a puff of smoke, paying close attention to the sound of her voice and the traces of anxiety laced underneath.
She sounded confident on the surface, but deep down, she was battling with anxiety. And that begged the question: Why was she anxious? Stage fright, or something much darker?
Whoever this student was, she’d caught my attention because I was now interested in her interest in this case.
“This doesn’t read like an investigation. It reads more like a constructed narrative that was successfully sold to the general public.”
That was a pretty bold statement coming from someone struggling to mask her fear and anxiety. At this point, I thought it was time to add a face to the voice, to know who this mysterious student was.
Good thing her file was handed to me together with the recording.
I turned around, facing the lit screen of the laptop on my desk. Sinking into my leather armchair, I dropped what’s left of my cigar into the ashtray and pulled up her file.
Eliza Hendy.
The photograph was a student ID image: plain background, fluorescent lights—the kind of photo no one looked good in. Yet, this girl still managed to appear stunning.
According to this, she was only twenty-one years old. Light brown hair. Warm hazel eyes that complemented her oval baby face. And a strange kind of innocence.
Interesting.
Third-year student. Criminal Justice. Part-time barista at a place called Joe’s.
I flipped through the pages, hoping to find something linking her to Daniel Vetrov’s case. But I found nothing. This girl was clean. Just a regular student with no known political affiliations.
She had no ties to law enforcement or financial backing that raised any flags. Nothing whatsoever.
I leaned back in my chair, stroking my jaw as I wondered what this meant. Could she be working alone? Perhaps just a patriotic citizen seeking justice for an innocent man.
If this were a solo move and she truly had no connection to power, she would be playing with fire. Her curiosity was about to get her into a lot of trouble. The kind she’d never experienced in all her twenty-one years on planet Earth.
This girl was too close to the truth. And if guided by the wrong person, she could become a force to reckon with.
I must get to her first.
I grabbed my phone and called Sergei, my lieutenant.
“Boss,” he answered on the other line.
“My office. Now.”
Less than a minute later, the front door opened, and he walked in, shoes scuffing against the floor.
“You called.” He stopped in front of my desk.
“Find her.” I slid the file over toward him. “I need to know everything about this girl,” I began. “Where she lives. Schedule. Routines. Work hours. I need to know who she talks to, who her friends are, and who she trusts.”
“Got it.” He flipped her file open, his cold eyes scanning the information on his target. “Anything else?”
“Just observe and report back to me,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’ll handle the rest myself.”
He gave a curt nod and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Reclined in my chair, I drummed my fingers on the mahogany table, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
It was only a matter of time before Sergei found her. Then the truth would unfold.