Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN AT THE GATE
Alexei left the hospital the next evening against everyone’s preference except his own.
A physician-approved discharge did not mean Dmitri approved.
He complained all the way home.
Alexei ignored him.
Maria and Sophie had been moved temporarily into a guest suite inside the secure family wing.
Maria hated accepting it.
Alexei answered her objection with one sentence.
“You can argue after no one is trying to use your identity in attempted murder.”
She stopped arguing.
Sophie did not.
“Do I still have to clean?”
Alexei looked down at her.
“No.”
She frowned.
“Mommy said we work here.”
Alexei glanced at Maria.
“Your mother works here.”
Then Sophie pointed at her plastic stethoscope.
“I work too.”
Dmitri coughed to hide a laugh.
Alexei almost smiled.
Then he returned to business.
Viktor Sokolov had been one of Alexei’s father’s men years earlier.
Not a friend.
Not exactly an enemy.
He handled transportation contracts during a period Alexei refused to discuss in detail.
Nine years earlier, Viktor’s car went through a guardrail outside Milwaukee.
Vehicle burned.
Dental identification reportedly confirmed his death.
“Reportedly?” Maria asked.
Dmitri answered.
“The physician who signed the identification disappeared three years later.”
Wonderful.
Maria looked at Alexei.
“Why would a dead man want to kill you?”
“I don’t know.”
She did not believe him.
He noticed.
“You have something to say?”
“You know something.”
The room became quiet.
Most employees did not speak to Alexei that way.
Maria had already watched him almost die.
Fear had apparently rearranged her employment etiquette.
Alexei leaned back.
“Viktor believed my father cheated him.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
Direct.
Then:
“My father used one of Viktor’s companies to hide money. When federal investigators started asking questions, Viktor was supposed to take responsibility.”
Maria stared.
“And then he died.”
“Yes.”
“You believed that?”
“I was thirty-two and wanted to believe a great many things about my father.”
That answer sounded more painful than criminal.
Then Dmitri entered carrying a file.
The coffee shop had identified how the order was placed.
Not through the public app.
Through a corporate concierge platform.
The fake courier account was created using documents belonging to a real person.
Name:
Carlos Alvarez.
Maria’s face drained.
“My brother.”
Alexei looked at her sharply.
“You have a brother?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“Texas. I think.”
“You think?”
“We haven’t spoken in five years.”
Why?
Maria hesitated.
Carlos had been arrested repeatedly when they were younger.
Small thefts.
Bad checks.
Drugs.
Then he disappeared after their mother died.
“Was he ever in Chicago?”
“Not that I know.”
Dmitri slid a photocopy across the table.
Driver’s license.
Carlos Alvarez.
Correct photograph.
Correct birth date.
But an address Maria did not recognize.
Lake Forest, Illinois.
Three streets from the Petrov estate.
May you like
Her brother had been living nearby.
And someone had just used his identity to gain access to the house where she worked.
