20. Aria #3
Nikolai says nothing, watching Alexander with cold, impassive eyes. I shiver involuntarily. That look is worse than the rage that was turned on me in the hospital.
“Who is the man in the footage?” the white-haired council member demands. “Alexander, identify him.”
“I don’t—I can’t see clearly enough to—I’ve spoken to a lot of people—” Alexander splutters.
“You were standing three feet from him,” Nikolai snaps. “You know exactly who it is.”
Alexander’s jaw clenches. His silence is damning.
“And the Cyprus accounts?” Nikolai continues, not giving Alexander time to recover.
“Miss Delano mentioned hearing discussion about Cyprus accounts being cleared. We’ve found those accounts.
Sixty million dollars siphoned from brotherhood operations, laundered through Cyprus, then transferred to Marseille.
Your accounts, Alexander. Your signatures on the transfers. ”
He projects more documents showing bank record and transfer authorizations. Account statements showing years of theft.
The evidence keeps mounting with each piece building on the last. The in-person conspiracy I witnessed. The phone call I never knew about. The money laundering. All of it interconnected and pointing to Alexander.
I sit frozen, watching the case unfold. I knew the footage would be evidence, but the phone records? The full scope of the financial evidence? My testimony matches evidence I never knew existed, which makes it irrefutable. I feel a sudden rush of affection for Nikolai and his cunning brain.
“The Marseille accounts funded operations against this brotherhood,” Nikolai continues.
“The car bomb that nearly killed Maksim Sokolov and killed Len Rodichev—paid for with Corsican money that came from our stolen funds. The poison that nearly killed Maksim Sokolov’s son is military-grade neurotoxin from Marseille suppliers, purchased with our money. ”
More documents appear on the screens and the murmuring gets louder.
The thin council member is reviewing everything, his expression progressively darkening.
“This is more than a phone call, Alexander. This is a pattern spanning nearly two decades. Sixty million dollars stolen. Intelligence shared with enemies. An in-person conspiracy followed by immediate coordination with Corsican operatives. Attacks on brotherhood leadership and family members.”
Alexander tries one last deflection. “Those accounts were used for legitimate international operations. Anyone could have accessed them. The car bomb, the poisoning—I’m being framed.
Maksim and Nikolai want me gone because I know too much about certain irregularities in their operations.
I’ve seen things, heard things—they need me silenced. ”
But the council isn’t buying it. I can see the shift from skepticism to certainty in every face. I take some steadying breaths, trying to clamp down on the rush of excitement. This isn’t over yet.
A younger council member speaks up. “If you were being framed, why did you flee the moment the car bomb detonated? Why not stay and defend yourself? Innocent men don’t run.”
“I fled because I knew I’d be blamed!” Alexander’s voice rises, desperation finally showing through. “I needed time to gather evidence of my innocence—”
“You disappeared before we could question you,” Nikolai says, his tone glacial. “You abandoned your apartment, disconnected your phone, and went to ground in a Corsican safe house. That’s not the behavior of an innocent man gathering evidence. That’s the behavior of a guilty man running.”
The evidence is overwhelming and undeniable. I can feel the change in the room.
Nikolai looks to the council members. “We have heard the testimony. We have reviewed the evidence. The question before this council is clear: Is Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov guilty of treason against the brotherhood?”
He pauses, letting the weight of the moment settle over the room.
“Those who find the accused guilty of the charges presented, raise your hand.”
Hands begin to rise. My breathing goes faster as I frantically count the hands. There has to be a supermajority, according to Maksim. We just need eight hands. Just eight people who believe me.
I count twelve hands and it’s a good thing I’m sitting because I would have collapsed. It’s unanimous.
“Alexander Mikhailovich Morozov,” Nikolai’s voice rings with satisfaction, “you are hereby found guilty of treason against the brotherhood. The sentence for treason is death. You will be—”
But before he can finish, Alexander’s chained hands come up and suddenly there’s a gun. Shouts erupt and I stare at it, frozen in shock. Someone must have slipped it to him before the hearing. He must have hidden it somewhere the guards wouldn’t find it during their search.
Time slows to a crawl. I see Alexander’s arm extend and the barrel of the gun is aimed directly at me.
His face twists with pure rage. “The lying bitch destroyed everything!” he screams.
The gunshot is impossibly loud in the enclosed space and I make sure to stare at Alexander in the eye, waiting for the bullet to pierce my flesh.
But I don’t feel pain because Maksim is suddenly there. He throws himself between me and the bullet.
His body jerks violently as the round hits him.
I scream.