13. Emory
EMORY
I don't trust the main roads anymore after being confronted by Rashid and those men that my father works for, so I cut through the park and cross at the pedestrian bridge, keeping my hood up and my hands deep in my pockets the whole way.
Every time someone walks too close behind me I feel afraid, and I have to force myself not to turn around.
After being yanked off the street and thrown into that SUV, I don't think I'll ever walk anywhere again without being afraid.
The administration building is at the far end of campus past the library.
I push through the front entrance and cross the lobby toward the stairs, keeping my head down as a group of students passes me going the other direction.
I've made up my mind that this is the only thing I can do. We can't stay in St. Petersburg where men are hunting us, so I have to get my money back and buy those train tickets.
I push through the glass door at the administration offices, and the receptionist looks up from her computer as I walk up timidly.
"I need to see a financial advisor, Please..." My hand perches on the counter, but she doesn't look impressed.
She checks something on her screen. "Do you have an appointment?" Then she looks at me, down her nose over the pair of wire-rim glasses she wears.
"No," I say nervously. I didn't realize you had to have an appointment. I just need to cancel my classes and get my money back. "I just need to talk to someone about my tuition."
"Galina Petrovna handles tuition matters, but she's with a student right now." The woman talks as she types, but her eyes bounce between me and the screen. "It could be about thirty minutes if you'd like to wait."
"I'll wait." That comment earns me a pinched expression as she works her jaw and sighs.
"Can I get your name for the list?"
"Emory Rostova."
She types it down and gestures to the chairs along the wall without looking up again. I sit down and my knee starts bouncing immediately.
My whole life I've wanted to be an art student and make paintings like the famous artists of the past.
Batya used to tell me I was starry-eyed and dreaming, but when he saw my artwork as early as year six and was impressed, he believed in me.
He still believes in me.
But at this point it's gotten too dangerous to continue what I’m doing here.
And with the way he's been blowing through money—apparently a lot of it—I may never get to return.
If I do, it won't be the Repin academy… formerly known as the Imperial Academy of Arts, one of the most prestigious universities in all of Russia.
I feel my phone buzz a few times and pull it out to see who is calling, but the woman looks up with a scowl. "Ma'am, phones have to be turned off in the waiting area."
"I just need to check something real quick. Someone's been calling me."
"I understand, but it's building policy. You're welcome to step into the hallway if you need to make a call." I chew the inside of my cheek as I see it's a missed call from Irina.
She never calls unless there are issues with Lex, but he's only been there about twenty minutes.
I look at the door to Galina's office. If I leave and she comes out I could lose my spot and have to wait another half hour. "What if she calls me in while I'm out there?"
The woman scowls at me again, lifting one eyebrow and I get the point.
She's not going to get up and come get me if my spot in line opens up.
I hold the power button until the screen goes dark as I shove it back in my pocket.
Whatever it is can wait.
Or it can't, but right now I have to be here and I have to do this. That money will get us out of the city to someplace safe.
The chair is hard and the clock on the wall ticks so loudly it makes me nervous.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
I think about my paintings.
The two I sold at the school's autumn showcase went for almost nothing, but the woman who bought the larger one stood in front of it for fifteen minutes before she asked the price.
She loved it. I want people to love my art.
And I want them to search me out. That'll be near impossible without the right schooling.
And without this degree I can't get licensed. Without the license I can't open a gallery.
And I'm about to walk away from my dream because of my father's past catching up with him. It doesn’t seem fair.
The door to the advisor's office opens and a young man walks out looking relieved.
Galina Petrovna appears behind him, a tall woman with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a folder under her arm.
"Emory Rostova?"
I stand up and follow her in.
Her office is small and organized.
She sits behind her desk and gestures to the chair across from her, which is made of hard plastic, probably to make these visits short and sweet for her.
Who wants to sit in a chair that uncomfortable for longer than they have to? I sink into it and take a calming breath.
"What can I do for you today?" she asks, folding her hands on the desk as she cocks her head, studying me.
I practiced what I was going to say on the walk over here, but now that I'm sitting across from this woman it all sounds wrong in my head.
Students don't just pull out and run like this. If she asks me what I'm running from, I don't know what I'll tell her.
I can't exactly express the truth, that my father stole from one mob and I'm pregnant by the head of their enemy.
It's all culminated into this perfect storm, and now I have to live life on the run.
"I have a family emergency that's going to take me out of the city for a while. I don't know how long." I pause and swallow hard, feeling my insides tremble. "I need to cancel all my classes and I'd like my tuition refunded."
After verifying a few details, she pulls up my file on her computer and scrolls through it, clicking a few things.
"I can process the cancellation today. That's not an issue.
" She turns the screen slightly so I can see a breakdown of charges and credits.
"However, per our terms and conditions, tuition is only partially reimbursable after the fourth week of the semester. You're in week nine."
"How much would I get back?" I stare at the numbers on her screen, which don’t make much sense to me until she speaks.
"It's roughly one hundred twenty thousand rubles if you tally it up."
It's less than half of what I paid.
Significantly less.
It makes my gut feel queasy and I feel myself wilting.
That's emergency escape money, not enough to start over somewhere.
We could get train fare and food, maybe, but it wouldn't sustain us until we find new jobs and a place to live.
And Batya doesn’t have anything to show for all his thieving.
"That's it?"
"I'm afraid so. The policy is outlined in the enrollment agreement you signed. I can print you a copy if you'd like to review it." She's so polite and matter of fact it angers me.
I don't want a copy. I want my money.
I want Rashid to fuck off and those Gusev men to leave us alone.
I want Batya to be healthy again and stop drinking, and I want my son to grow up safe.
It's so much I have to stop myself from shouting at her in anger.
"When would I see the refund?"
"It typically takes two to three weeks for the funds to appear in your bank account. Sometimes a bit longer depending on your institution."
Two to three weeks? I don't have two to three weeks. Those men gave Batya one week and we're already two days into it. I need that money now, not sitting in some processing queue.
Something in my chest busts open and I feel my eyes flood before I can stop it.
I press my fingers against my mouth and look at the ceiling but it doesn't help.
The tears come anyway. I sob in grief and clamp my eyes shut against the world.
This isn't fair.
I don't deserve to have all of this piling up on me at once.
For once in my life I deserve to have something peaceful and safe.
"Are you alright?" Galina asks. She pulls a tissue box from her desk drawer and pushes it toward me. "Is there something else going on? We have counseling services available if you need someone to talk to."
I'm not alright. Nothing about this is alright.
My father stole money from dangerous people and gambled it away.
Armed men destroyed my apartment and threatened to kill us.
The refund won't come fast enough to save us. I am not okay and I don't pretend to be.
I take a tissue and wipe my face, ignoring her questions. There's nothing she can do anyway and telling her would just put her at risk too. "Just process the cancellation, please."
She nods and types for a few minutes while I sit there trying to pull myself together.
When she finishes she prints a confirmation sheet and slides it across the desk for me to sign.
I sign it and push it back without reading it.
Shame is so heavy in my chest it feels suffocating. Batya will be so disappointed, especially if this money comes too late. It's already too little.
"I'm sorry about your situation," she says as I stand up. "If you're ever in a position to re-enroll, your credits will transfer."
I thank her sadly, but walk out knowing I won't be back.
Whether I'm dead or just destitute somewhere raising my son on my own, I'll never be able to afford this school again.
I scrimped and saved for the first classes and Batya paid for the successive ones, probably with stolen money, and now that dream is dead.
The hallway's empty as I take the stairs down and push through the front door into the cold.
The wind cuts right through my coat and I pull my hood tighter as I dig my phone out and hold the power button.
The screen lights up and I wait for it to boot while I walk toward the street, watching the loading bar crawl across the screen.
When it loads, the notifications come in one after another.
I've got four missed calls from Irina, two voicemails and a text that just says CALL ME NOW in all caps.
My chest tightens and I tap her name to call back. I've never had any issues with her watching Lex, but she sure knows how to get my attention.
I'm panicked as the line rings once before another call comes in over it, and I see Irina's number flash on the screen again.
I swipe to answer.
"Irina, I'm sorry, my phone was off. What's?—"
"Emory, listen to me." She's breathless and frantic. "Someone came to the apartment. A man. He had men with him and they had guns and he took Lex."
I stop walking, watching traffic pass on the street at the end of the courtyard. She's not making sense. "What do you mean he took Lex? Who took him?" He couldn't...
"He said his name was Rashid Krasnov. He left his business card, Em."
Everything pauses around me as if suspended in time.
The traffic noise, the wind, my own breathing.
All of it just stops, and the phone feels like it weighs a hundred pounds in my hand.
"He said to give it to you so you'd know where Lex is. Emory, Remmy wanted to fight him but there were too many of them and they had guns pointed at us. I'm so sorry. I tried to stop him but I couldn't?—"
Her voice keeps going but the words stop making sense.
My knees buckle and I grab a nearby bench to keep from going down on the concrete.
Rashid has my son.