20. Aria #2
“There were lights on in the main space. I heard voices—men talking in Russian. I couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was…wrong. Harsh. Frightened. So I hid behind some crates to see what was happening.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw Maksim and Alexander Morozov. There was a third man tied up. I didn’t know who he was then, but I learned later he was an accountant who’d been stealing from the organization. He was tied to a chair, beaten, and begging.”
The council members are completely silent now, listening.
“Maksim spoke to him, but it was all in Russian and I didn’t understand it.
Then Maksim—” I look at Maksim sitting on the bench, his face carved from stone.
“Maksim shot him. Twice. In the head.” I fight the urge to gag as I remember the way the man’s body slumped and how brain matter splattered on the wall behind him.
“And Alexander Morozov’s role?” Nikolai asks.
“He was there. He helped. After the man was dead, Maksim said something to Alexander in Russian. I later learned he was getting the van. He left through the front entrance.”
“What happened after Maksim left?”
This is it. This is the crucial part. I take a deep breath.
“I stayed hidden. I was in shock, trying to process what I’d just seen. I was about to leave when I heard Alexander talking to someone.”
Nikolai raises a brow, as if this is the first time he’s heard this even though we both it isn’t. “Someone else was there?”
I nod. “Yes. Another man. I couldn’t see him clearly—it was dark, and I was behind the crates. But I could hear them talking.”
“What did they say?”
I close my eyes again, remembering. “Alexander said something like, ‘The accountant is handled. Cyprus accounts are cleared.’ The other man asked if his partner was still on board. Alexander said yes, that they’d move against his brother in three to four months.
That the brother’s guard was down, that he—referring to someone—came up with half the plan himself. ”
I open my eyes, look directly at Nikolai.
“Alexander said the Corsicans were ready. That once the brother was gone, they’d split the territory.”
The council members are exchanging looks. Some are skeptical, while others are thoughtful.
“You’re certain of what you heard?” one of them asks. He’s older and heavyset, with a scar running down his left cheek.
“Yes.”
“How far away were you?”
“Maybe twenty feet? I was behind crates.”
“Could you have misheard? Misunderstood?”
I shake my head. “No. They were speaking clearly when it was in English. I heard every word.”
Another council member speaks up—a thin man with sharp eyes. “Why should we believe testimony from eight years ago? Memory is fallible. You could be misremembering. Or lying.”
“I’m not lying.” My hands clench on the armrests. “I know what I heard.”
“You admit you were in shock,” a third council member says. “You’d just witnessed an execution. The mind plays tricks under stress.”
I scowl. “My mind didn’t play tricks,” I snap. “I heard Alexander Morozov conspiring to murder Nikolai Sokolov and take over the organization.”
“With whose help?” the heavyset man asks. “You said there was another man. Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, dread pooling in my gut. “Like I said, it was dark. I couldn’t see him clearly.”
“So you can’t identify this supposed conspirator?”
“No. But I heard him. I heard both of them,” I insist.
The thin man leans back, skeptical. “Without seeing this person, how can we know who Alexander was talking to? Or if there even was someone else? Perhaps you heard a phone conversation. Perhaps Alexander was talking to himself. Perhaps this entire story is fabricated.”
“It’s not fabricated!” My voice rises, frustration bleeding through the fear. Why won’t they believe me? “I know what I heard!”
“But you can’t prove it,” the man says flatly.
Alexander seizes on this. “The woman is lying or delusional from trauma. I was alone in that warehouse after Maksim left. There was no conversation because there was no one to converse with.”
The heavyset council member leans forward. “So you admit you were there after Maksim left?”
Alexander doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. We were disposing of a body. It’s standard procedure, as you know. One person retrieves supplies while another stays to secure the scene. I remained to ensure nothing was disturbed.”
“And you were alone? No phone calls? No one else present?” He presses.
“Completely alone,” Alexander responds and I want to smack the smug look on his face. “This woman is fabricating a conversation she never heard to drive a wedge between me and Nikolai. She’s Maksim’s lover—of course she’ll say whatever he wants her to say.”
My hands shake. They’re not believing me. I can see the skepticism and doubt in their faces.
Then Nikolai speaks, his voice cutting through the tension.
“Miss Delano, you said you heard Alexander talking to someone. Describe Alexander’s voice. What did he sound like?”
I focus, thankful for the softball question. “Cultured. Educated. His Russian accent is refined, and upper-class. He chooses his words carefully and there’s a slight pause before he emphasizes important points.”
“And the other voice?”
I close my eyes, pulling up the memory. “Rougher. Less educated. The accent was different—I didn’t recognize it at the time, but now I realize what it was. It was a Corsican accent.”
“You’re certain?” Nikolai presses.
“Yes. The pronunciation, the cadence—it matches what I’ve heard from the Corsican operatives who’ve been questioned.” Maksim had let me hear some of the recordings but stopped them before I heard the torture.
“We have security footage from that night.” Nikolai gestures, and another screen descends from the ceiling.
I know what’s coming. This is the footage that got Maksim to finally believe my story. Grainy black-and-white footage appears on the screen to show the warehouse interior. The timestamp in the corner: 9:33 p.m..
I watch myself from eight years ago—heart in throat—crouch behind the crates. Then Maksim and Alexander with the accountant. The execution. Maksim leaving.
The footage continues. Alexander stands alone for a moment, checking the body.
Then at 9:41 p.m., a second figure enters from a side door. My breath catches as the man I heard but couldn’t see clearly walk in. The footage is crappy enough that facial features are unclear, but his presence is undeniable.
“Someone else was there,” Nikolai says quietly, letting the footage speak for itself. “After Maksim left a second man entered the warehouse and spoke with Alexander for approximately ten minutes.”
The council members lean forward, watching intently.
On screen, I can see Alexander and the other man talking. Their body language is conspiratorial—heads close together, Alexander gesturing as he speaks. At one point the other man laughs, clapping Alexander on the shoulder.
Triumph rushes over me and it takes everything in me to not look over at Alexander and stick my tongue out at him. This is exactly what I described.
“Miss Delano testified that she heard Alexander discussing plans to move against me with another person,” Nikolai continues, still looking like he’s won everything.
“She heard this conversation clearly. Some of you questioned whether she might have been mistaken, whether there even was another person present.”
He pauses, letting the footage play.
“The evidence shows she was telling the truth. Someone else was there. And that someone was conspiring with Alexander.”
Alexander’s face has gone blank. His earlier confidence is cracking.
“But who is this person?” the thin council member asks, squinting at the screen. “The image quality isn’t good enough for identification.”
“We’re working on enhancement,” Nikolai says. “But even without identification, the footage proves several critical things: First, Miss Delano was telling the truth. There was a second conspirator. Second, Alexander lied when he claimed to be alone.”
He pauses then adds something I didn’t expect.
“But there’s more.”
My head snaps toward Nikolai. More? What more could there be?
“After this in-person meeting concluded,” Nikolai continues, “at 9:55 p.m., a call was made from Alexander’s phone to a number in Marseille, France.”
The council members sit up straighter and I stare wide-eyed at Nikolai, who looks smugger than I’ve ever seen him. My heart pounds. I didn’t know about a phone call. I couldn’t have known as I fled the warehouse as soon as I thought it was safe.
“The call lasted seventeen minutes.”
He projects the phone records onto a screen that descends from the ceiling. I can see the entries with dates, times, durations, and numbers.
I stare at it all in shock, a buzzing in my ears as low murmurs from the council echo in the room. Nikolai refused to tell me what evidence he had, saying he needed my testimony to be pure, not influenced by what investigators found
“A seventeen-minute call to Marseille—to a known Corsican operative named Jean-Luc Benedetti—while you were supposed to be securing a crime scene,” Nikolai says coldly.
Alexander’s mouth opens then closes. For the first time, he looks genuinely rattled.
“That seems memorable, Alexander,” Nikolai adds.
“We do business with many people.” Alexander is recovering, trying to regain control. “A phone call doesn’t prove conspiracy. It proves business contact. Nothing more.”
The heavyset council member’s eyes narrow. “But you just said you were completely alone. No phone calls. No conversations. Now you’re saying you may have made a call?”
“I—” Alexander stumbles over his words. “I misspoke about the timing. Obviously if there are records—”
“You didn’t misspeak,” a council member with a handlebar mustache cuts in sharply. “You lied. The footage shows someone else was there. You met with a co-conspirator in person, then called another Corsican operative immediately after. This isn’t a business relationship. This is coordination.”