10. Maksim #2
We settle at the table, and Alexander starts walking us through his latest findings. More shell companies. More offshore accounts. More money flowing through increasingly complex channels.
But something about it bothers me. The same thing that’s been bothering me for weeks.
“The pattern doesn’t make sense,” I interrupt, wiping away some sweat. “These accounts here—” I point to the documents. “They’re flagged as suspicious, but they’re clearly legitimate business operations. We’ve used them for years.”
“Exactly,” Alexander says. “Which is why they’re perfect for hiding embezzlement. No one would think to look at accounts we trust.”
“But these other accounts—” I pull up different files. “These look suspicious but aren’t flagged at all. The timing of these transactions, the amounts, the routing through Cyprus and then Luxembourg before landing in the Caymans.” I look at Nikolai and Alexander. “It’s textbook money laundering.”
“Those are from the restructuring five years ago,” Alexander explains patiently. “When we consolidated operations. The complexity is normal for international business.”
“Is it?” I look at Nikolai. “When have we ever needed three layers of shell companies to move legitimate funds?”
“When we’re operating in multiple jurisdictions with different regulations,” Nikolai says, but he sounds uncertain. “Alexander set up that structure. He knows what he’s doing.”
I pull out my own analysis. I’ve spent days tracking transactions and mapping the flow of money. “Look at the timing. These transfers happen exactly one week after legitimate business deals. Every time. It’s like someone is using real transactions to cover fake ones.”
Alexander leans forward, studying my work. “Interesting theory. But correlation doesn’t equal causation. These could be scheduled payments that happen to coincide with business cycles.”
“Could be,” I agree. “But what about the gaps in the paper trail? Money goes into this account in Cyprus, then disappears for three days before showing up in Luxembourg. Where is it in those three days?”
“Banking delays,” Alexander says immediately. “International transfers aren’t instantaneous.”
That doesn’t make any sense. “Three days is excessive for wire transfers,” I point out.
“Not when you factor in time zones, banking hours, and verification processes.” He’s unflappable with an answer for everything. “You’re looking for conspiracy where there’s just bureaucracy.”
I push down the irritation and pull out another file. “What about this account in the Caymans? It receives regular deposits from three different shell companies, but there’s no record of what service or product is being provided in exchange.”
“Consulting fees,” Alexander says without hesitation. “From subsidiaries to the parent company. Standard practice for tax optimization.”
I stare at him. “Consulting for what, specifically?”
“Market analysis, risk assessment, strategic planning, you name it.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “All documented in the quarterly reports.”
I grit my teeth. “I’ve read the quarterly reports. These fees aren’t itemized,” I say coolly.
“Because they’re bundled under operational costs. Again, standard accounting practice.” Alexander leans back in his chair, completely at ease. “Maksim, I appreciate your thoroughness, but you’re seeing shadows where there are just standard international business operations.”
My jaw tightens. Every question I raise, he has an answer ready.
“And the travel?” I pull out my own research. “You made four trips to Cyprus in the last six months. None of them are logged in our operational records.”
“Personal travel.” Alexander doesn’t even blink. He looks bored. “I have family connections in Cyprus. Sometimes I mix business with pleasure, but if it’s primarily personal, I don’t log it as organizational expense.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Family connections you’ve never mentioned before?”
“My private life is private, Maksim.” There’s a slight edge to his voice now. “Unless you’re suggesting I need to report every vacation to you?”
“When those vacations coincide with suspicious financial activity, yes,” I shoot back.
Nikolai shifts in his seat. “Maksim, you’re reaching now. Alexander’s entitled to personal travel without filing a report.”
I ignore my brother and focus on Alexander. “What about the timing of these transfers? They happen exactly seven days after major organizational transactions. Every single time. That’s not coincidence.”
“No, it’s scheduling.” Alexander pulls up a calendar on his tablet. “We process payroll every week. Vendor payments every week. The seven-day cycle is because that’s how we’ve structured our payment schedule. You’re attributing significance to routine business cycles.”
He’s too prepared and calm, like he knew exactly what I’d find and had explanations ready for all of it.
“Don’t you think it’s convenient,” I say, my irritation starting to bleed through, “that you have an immediate answer for every single irregularity I’ve found?”
“I think it’s my job,” Alexander says, looking unruffled and cool, unlike Nikolai who is starting to perspire slightly due to the heat.
“I’ve been investigating these accounts for months.
Of course I have explanations for the patterns you’re seeing.
That’s literally what you asked me to do—investigate and explain. ”
Nikolai nods. “He has a point, Maksim. You can’t fault him for being thorough.”
I turn to my brother, frustration mounting. “Every concern I raise, he has an answer ready. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Not one hesitation or a ‘let me look into that.’”
“I find it reassuring that the man handling our investigation knows what he’s doing,” Nikolai says coolly. “What are you suggesting, Maksim? That Alexander is lying? That he’s somehow involved in the embezzlement he’s investigating? That makes you sound paranoid.”
Paranoid. Put so bluntly, it sounds absurd. Exactly like what I’ve been accusing Aria of being. The thought makes my stomach twist.
“I’m suggesting we verify his explanations independently,” I say carefully, knowing I’m on thin ice. “Bring in outside auditors. Get a second opinion.”
“And waste time and money because you have a feeling?” Nikolai’s voice hardens. “Alexander is as loyal as they come and you want to treat him like a suspect because his answers are too good?”
“I want to be thorough,” I tell him, my heart hammering.
“You want to be paranoid.” Nikolai stands, clearly done with this conversation.
“If there’s embezzlement, it’s middle management skimming.
Some ambitious lieutenant who thinks he’s clever.
Not some grand conspiracy involving my most trusted advisor.
” He glares at me. “You’re questioning his loyalty based on what? A feeling?”
The words sting because they echo what I’ve said to Aria countless times. You need more than a feeling. You need evidence.
The urge to argue and push harder is on the tip of my tongue, but I can see Nikolai’s mind is made up.
“Fine,” I say. But I’m still going to investigate.
I spend the next week digging into Alexander’s personal finances.
He lives well. There’s that eye-watering expensive apartment in Manhattan and his children’s private school tuition fees are obscene. But other than that, he doesn’t live extravagantly. There’s nothing that would raise red flags about his salary.
Except.
There are gaps. Periods where Alexander traveled extensively with no clear business purpose logged in our records and I don’t buy his explanation. Moscow, Cyprus, Marseille, Luxembourg. Places that make sense for organization business, but the trips aren’t documented.
I’m making notes when Daniel finds me in my office late one afternoon. He’s holding a book about pirates, but his expression is serious.
“Maks? Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, solnyshko. Come in.” I immediately stop what I’m doing.
He climbs into the chair across from my desk. “What exactly do you do? For work?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I heard Viktor talking to another guard. He said ‘Bratva.’ What does that mean?”
Fuck. I knew this conversation was coming eventually, but I’m not prepared for it now.
“Bratva means ‘brotherhood’ in Russian,” I say carefully. “It’s what we call our organization. The people who work together and protect each other.”
“Like a family?”
I nod. “In a way, yes.”
“But Viktor also said something about protection and territories.” Daniel’s gray eyes are sharp and curious. “What does that mean?”
The urge to lie is strong, to protect his innocence. But I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to my son.
“The Bratva protects our community,” I say slowly. “Russian immigrants, people who came to America looking for a better life. We help them with business, with problems, and staying safe.”
Daniel purses his lips. “Like police?”
“Not exactly. More like…” I search for the right words. "Like a neighborhood watch, but bigger. We make sure people are treated fairly and they’re not taken advantage of.”
“And the territories?”
“Areas where we operate. Where we make sure our people are protected.”
“And how do you protect our people?” Daniel asks, but I can tell the question concerns him based on how hard he swallows.
“That, Danya, is something I can’t tell you just yet,” I say evasively, knowing that this answer is more damning than anything else I could have given him. “You’re still too young.”
Daniel pouts. “Well, how old do I have to be?”
Never. “When I decide you’re old enough,” I counter. “I’m not perfect. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I try to protect the people I love and to do what’s right for my family.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then he fidgets with his book, his expression shifting from curious to troubled. “Maks? Can I ask something else?”
Anything other than this line of questioning, yes. “Always. You don’t have to ask.”
“Why does Mama get sad sometimes?”
The shift in topic surprises me. “What do you mean?”