Chapter Twenty-One
Lauren
I snap awake for the second time today.
Pain shoots through my chest when I realize I’m alone, but it soon eases when I pat the space next to me. It’s still warm, and there’s a dent in the mattress from when Nikolai was sleeping next to me.
For the first time, it brings a small smile to my face.
The day is drawing to a close, judging from the dull, gray sky outside. Today has been strange. I have been in bed all day, but my body feels restored. When I go to stretch, I feel life in my muscles again. I don’t even realize how tense they’ve been until now.
It’s almost like I’ve been reborn.
I collapse back into the bed, allowing the pillow to catch my head and take my weight. There’s a strange, harmonious feeling in the air around me. It takes me back to when my mother was alive.
She was the nurturing one. The one who made me feel reassured. Her presence injected something positive into the air every morning that made life feel sweet. And now, years later, as I lie here in Nikolai’s bed, I feel the exact same way.
A soft knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. I sit up as Nikolai enters. There’s no urge to straighten my posture anymore. I don’t feel the need to challenge him with my eyes, or present myself in a way that will give him the impression that I’m not to be messed with.
“You awake?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep.
The door widens. I don’t know how I expected him to look, but it wasn’t this. He isn’t wearing a suit. Instead, he wears a plain gray t-shirt that drapes from his shoulders. A black pair of sweatpants hangs loosely from his hips, totally different from what I’m used to seeing him wear.
“I’m ordering dinner. Thai okay?”
An involuntary smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, sounds good.”
He eyes me for a moment and I meet his gaze. It’s like there’s this quiet understanding between us that we’re no longer enemies in competition. Even though I don’t think we quite know what we mean to each other yet.
“I have a quick work project to finish,” I say. “I’ll be out by the time dinner arrives.”
He nods and turns around, leaving me alone in the room.
I jump off the bed as soon as the door closes, finding my belongings. I dart over to the corner where I left my clothes, dipping my hand in the blouse pocket, praying the USB stick is still there.
Thank God it is.
I pull it out, grab my laptop bag that has been propped up against the wall, and return to the bed, my legs slipping back under the warmth of the comforter.
Raising the laptop lid, I type in my login, my fingers a little stiff over the keys.
It’s been a few days since I last logged into my work computer. Hopefully, Father has been too preoccupied to notice.
I blow out a breath. Things have been hectic with the attack and then moving to Nikolai’s penthouse, but it’s finally time to face the truth. Nikolai and I might finally have an understanding of one another, but I’m not going to let that distract me from my mission.
I stare at the USB in my hands.
Time to rip off the band-aid, Lauren.
I pop the flash drive into the computer and wait for the contents to load. Once the external hard drive appears on the system, I double-tap without thinking too much, and wait for the files to appear.
There’s a lot. Way more than I initially realized.
Investment documentation, old invoices, client profiles, and the like.
I keep browsing until a rush of adrenaline flies through me.
Shit.
I blink the leftover drowsiness away from my eyes and stare at the screen again.
What I’m looking at could get me in a world of trouble. Or worse.
My pulse beats thick in my neck as I focus on the screen, scrolling down the long list of files. Shady financial transactions have been taking place for years—years before my mother died. I frown. I bring my face closer to the screen.
What the hell does this mean?
Why has my father been transferring thousands at a time to offshore accounts? And why are all these records kept in an encrypted folder?
The only reasonable explanation is that he’s trying to hide something.
But none of this brings me to a why.
I drag my finger down the trackpad, observing other documents. There are more transactions with coded messages—helpful. I tut. There’s always an obstacle. Always something in the way. But it’s no coincidence that it’s hard to decipher all of this.
He’s worked hard to hide these files, and that means something.
With a newfound determination, I bring up a new tab and research different code types. After flicking back and forth, trying to match up the letters to the correct form of code, I reach the conclusion that my father has been using Caesar cipher.
Bingo.
All I need to do is decode whatever this is, and maybe I’ll have the answers I’m looking for.
My heart rate increases.
I load a Word document and type the code out, cracking sentences letter by letter.
Most of them don’t make much sense, but I power on until something does.
‘U’ translates to ‘R.’
‘R’ translates to ‘O…’
“Shit,” I curse aloud.
The words spell out a name. Ronan Aslanov. The transactions he made. Father made a deal of some kind with this guy. It’s the third time I’m coming across his name.
Who the hell is this Ronan Aslanov guy?
I navigate to the top of the page, looking for the date of the largest transaction. Two million dollars. The walls of the bedroom begin to close in, my appetite for Thai suddenly vanishing.
No.
He transferred the money the day before Mom was killed.
I can barely believe what I’m seeing. The evidence is there in black and white—my father authorizing the payment of two million dollars literally the day before my mother was killed.
Why? Does this mean that he is responsible for Mom’s death?
Or did he simply let it happen? Is it the direct consequence of something my father did?
My hands shake against the keypad, my vision blurring with tears of rage.
But who is this Ronan Aslanov?
As Vice President of Father’s company, I should know who he has dealings with, but he hasn’t mentioned the name to me once. Except when this Aslanov guy called him in his office.
Anger courses through my veins as I snap down the lid of the laptop and clench my fists. Even though I half-believed it to be true, it hurts even more knowing that my sneaking suspicions were right.
There’s no doubt that my father is dirty.
And he’s been lying to me this entire time.