Chapter Twenty-Seven
In which there are hard conversations and plenty of denial.
Dmitri…
We meet with Adam and his father at their accounting firm on Washington Street.
Their offices are on the twelfth floor with a magnificent view of the bridge.
Efrem started in a little storefront in the Meatpacking District.
When Father sent him the Morozov business and contacts for allies interested in a legitimate front, the Zaitsev Firm moved into a series of increasingly elaborate buildings until settling here.
Adam greets us with a handshake and a huge grin. "This is a surprise. Dad will be right in. Can I get you a coffee? Something stronger?"
When Efrem bustles in, all smiles, and takes a seat, Father tells them what happened. Plain, unvarnished truth.
"You kidnapped my brother?" Adam asks. He laces his hands over his head. "I don't believe you, Ilya is a fuck up, but he wouldn't- This can't be real."
"I'm sorry, moy drug, my friend. It's true," Father says to Efrem. "He was involved in the same human trafficking ring who kidnapped Dmitri's…" He glances at me for a moment. "...guest, Ava."
Efrem's in his late sixties and looks ten years older today, his face red and haggard. "No…" he says, staring at the table. "That's impossible."
"After Ava correctly identified Ilya's voice," I say, "Roman and I followed him to his new place. I broke down the door. The girl was there. His captive is eighteen years old. Your son bought a child."
"This is impossible," Efrem croaks. "We've been friends for thirty years, Maksim! You're- you're lying. How could you do this? How could you blame my son?"
I slam my hand on the table, making it shake. "She was wearing a fucking shock collar," I roar. "Your son held a girl captive for six months. He locked a shock collar around her neck to keep her from escaping."
"You're lying!" Efrem shoots to his feet, clumsily knocking his chair over. "I will not stay here and hear this filth about my son."
"We brought you the surveillance videos," Father says. "We can show you the apartment. You can speak to the detectives we called after we took him."
"Is he in police custody?" Adam asks, leaning forward. "Why haven't we heard from them?"
"We have him," I say.
His eyes narrow. "Did you hurt him?"
Drawing in a deep breath, I nod. "Yes."
"How could you!" he shouts, looking like I'd punched him.
"Did you hear anything we just said?" I understand his pain, and it will take a while for this to sink in. Still… "Adam, how can you overlook the crucial information about the eighteen-year-old girl your brother fucking bought like a pet, wearing a shock collar in captivity?"
"Your fucking family is judging him?" The denial is over, now Adam's into the anger stage.
"You, being the judge and jury of my brother?
After all the death you've caused, the crime we have covered up, your dirty money and you have the fucking audacity to judge Ilya? Just- take us to him. Take us now."
"I can show you all the evidence," I force myself to stay calm, emotionless. Like a Pakhan should be. Like my father is now. "You'll see that I'm telling the truth. You know I'm not lying to you. I can see it."
"What we need to know is what you're going to do with him once you truly accept what's happened here," Father says.
"That will be for our family to decide," Efrem says, straightening his jacket with shaking hands.
"Son, deal with these… people. Let me make it clear that this is the last time I will ever speak to you, Maksim.
We are no longer friends. We are no longer family.
All your accounts will be divested immediately from our firm.
Deem yourselves lucky that-" he shuts up.
Even in his rage, Efrem's not irrational enough to threaten us with exposure.
Especially when we've brought in so many other high profile criminal clients.
"Understood," Father says coldly. "I am sorry to see it end this way."
"I would've been sorry too," Efrem chokes out. "Until you kidnapped and beat my son."
There's a chill radiating from Father that seems to cool Efrem's bluster.
"Your son gave money to the Red Trade. You are fortunate he is still breathing.
You are fortunate we don't demand recompense from your family in the form of his life.
Plan on paying five million dollars to that girl for her care and support.
You are welcome to leave now. My captain will take you to Ilya. "
Efrem sweeps from the office, not waiting for his son to follow him.
Adam's eyes are red. He can't look at me and I think the realization is crushing him. The silence stretches out until I take pity on him. "Let me show you what we have."
Father stands up, buttoning his jacket. "I will see you back at the office," he says. As he leaves, I see his shoulder droop, just the slightest bit.
To Adam's credit, he doesn't say a word. He watches the videos and reads through the reports. When he sees the pictures of Ilya and the girl dressed like a child, he puts his hand to his mouth with a convulsive heave.
"Ilya's always dated younger girls, but…"
"He wasn't dating her, brother," I say, the words hard to pull from my throat.
"Don't call me that again." His voice is monotone, like he has no remaining emotion to spare. "I can't accept this."
"Not even what you see with your own eyes?" I ask.
"He's my brother-" Adam stops. "That's no longer a phrase that means anything." He looks at me with tears in his eyes. "You said this happened to Ava, too. Is that why she suddenly appeared in your life?"
"I rescued her the night I came to pick up Ilya.
She was kept in an apartment a few doors down from his.
Ava had a suggestion that she thought might help you," I say.
"She thought that you could talk Ilya's captive.
Her name is Jeannie. I spoke with her. She said that if it was important, she could talk to you.
Only you," I clarify, "not your father."
He laughs, a short bitter burst. "I have to go," he says. "I have to talk to Ilya…" He doesn't move, arms hanging limply. "I don't know what to do."
"I understand."
"We'll speak tomorrow." He won't look at me, turning towards the door. "Tomorrow."
The next day…
Adam calls me. "I want to speak to the girl- Jeannie, you said." He sounds like a stranger. "And I want to talk to Ava."
"I will have to be present," I say. "Ava anticipated you would ask and she has already given permission. But if you are cruel to her in any way, it is over."
He chuckles bitterly. "It's all over."
We meet at my parent's house. Jeannie has been staying there with Mother. "Jeannie's family is arriving tomorrow," I say, walking through the house with Adam. It's a six-story brownstone near Central Park, they moved here when she was pregnant with me.
Adam's folks live two blocks away.
We walk silently down the hall. I can feel the distance between us as I remember all the times we stormed through here, laughing.
The first time I brought him here, shitfaced drunk, to sleep at our place so his parents wouldn't catch him.
The night he stayed with me when one of our closest friends was killed in an explosion.
Ava and Jeannie are sitting on a big flowered couch under the window in my mother's office. The room is crammed with mountains of medical books, vases of flowers, and an explosion of plants.
Mother lightly touches Adam's shoulder before stepping back, realizing it's not welcome. "I'm so sorry Adam," she says softly. Jeannie stays where she is, drawing up her knees and trying to make herself as small as she can. Ava scoots a little closer, putting an arm around her hunched shoulders.
"Jeannie…" Adam clears his throat. "May I speak to you?"
"If Ava stays," her voice is muffled, "it's all right."
Mother frowns. "Are you sure, dear?" Jeannie looks up just enough to nod.
"You will speak to them with the same respect as you would your wife. Do you understand?" I don't want to leave. Ava shouldn't have to relive this. Neither should Jeannie.
He swallows convulsively, "I understand."
It takes everything I have to shut the door. To have a piece of wood stand between me and Ava's safety.
Mother sighs. "I'm going to make some tea, if I can hold off Galina, our cook, from doing it first. Do you want some?"
"No, thank you." I'm staring at the door.
"Would you like a drink of your father's strongest vodka?"
"Yes, please," I say.
She returns holding a glass, followed by a guard carrying a chair from the dining room. "I know you're not going to leave this spot so at least be comfortable." She kisses my cheek. "I'll be in the living room if you need me."
The study is not quite soundproofed, so I can hear voices rise and fall over the next twenty minutes, but no shouting. Every cell in my body is surging to protect Ava from his questions. The door finally opens, and Adam stands there, his hands limp at his sides. He's gutted.
"You were telling the truth."
"Yes. I'm sorry, Adam."
"Stop saying you're sorry," he snaps. "It doesn't mean anything. I'm going to suggest to Dad that we turn Ilya into the police." His chin goes up a fraction. "We are a legitimate corporation. We are- we were a law-abiding family."
If they turn Ilya into the police, the traffickers will likely kill him before they can even make the arrest, but I say nothing, because Adam knows that too. Mother comes into the front hall to say goodbye, but he can't look at her, turning his head away as he leaves.
Ava and Jeannie are huddled on the couch. Jeannie is weeping softly and as she looks up at me, I see the red scars around her neck; marks from multiple shocks that tell me she never quite gave up.
"That was very brave," I say hoarsely.
"Is he going to be punished?" she says. "Ilya, he's going to jail, right?
"Yes, they're turning him into the police." I say. Ava's gaze meets mine and she already knows the unsaid part of that answer. If they tried that hard to kill her, what will happen to Ilya is inevitable. A jail cell will do nothing to stop it.
Mother comes back in, sitting next to Jeannie and offers her a mug of tea, wrapping her shaking hands around it.
"I'll talk to you soon, okay?" Ava says softly. "You can call me. Anytime you want to. Day or night."
Jeannie nods, the mug making a clinking sound against her teeth as her trembling fingers try to hold it steady.
The hallway is quiet, and Ava wraps her arms around me. We stand for a moment, swaying slightly. "I wish there was a better way to say 'I'm sorry' that would make this less painful for you," she says, her voice muffled against my chest.
"You have nothing to apologize for," I say. "Nothing, my brave, beautiful girl." I should be comforting her, being willing to face that hell again, having to hear Jeannie's story, and she's worried about how I feel?
There are a thousand things we need to do. Ava has a rotation at the Morozov clinic. I have meetings. Always, fucking meetings. But we stand there in the quiet, not moving.