Chapter Eight
Victor
The meeting runs three hours longer than it should have. Not unusual considering the death of a senior board member – but that doesn’t make it any less inconvenient. There is a protocol to follow, stability to re-establish. And every board member acts just as I expect them to, or at least I think they do. I’m too distracted to care.
The head of each family in my organization is present tonight. Seven of them around the table in the private rooms above the Onyx. As well as Mikhail’s children. His death has sent a ripple of shock through everyone – because the death of a senior member in the Pakhan’s own nightclub is more than a little suspicious.
My mind is half a city away, though, with Alex Riggs in her small apartment, wondering what I’m missing while listening to the board debate. There’s still a single listening device in her apartment, just the one behind the bookshelf. The one I’m choosing to ignore. The one that I told myself I would leave just in case.
I’d much rather be listening to whatever is happening in that small apartment than sitting at the head of this table, carrying out my duties as Pakhan. Listening to the grievances and accusations of my cousins, the pretentious louts acting as if Mikhail’s death was my fault.
“You should have acted faster,” his eldest son says. He is thirty-four and has his father’s facial structure, but none of his patience. “Pavel brought you evidence weeks ago. If you had moved on it?—”
“If I had moved on it immediately,” I say, cutting him off, “without board consultation, without giving Mikhail the opportunity to address the accusations against him, I would have been doing him a disservice.”
He looks at me, opening his mouth and closing it again. He doesn’t have an argument with that.
Across the table, Pavel sits with his hands folded in his lap, expression carefully calibrated between remorse and righteousness. He’d been holding this expression for two hours now. And I had to admit, it was a very solid performance.
“He was corresponding with families who have actively worked against this organization,” he pipes in. Quietly. Still carefully holding the expression. “The evidence is well documented, the transfers to several shell accounts. I presented my findings, and acted to protect?—”
“You took matters into your own hands,” Mikhail’s daughter accuses. She is the sharpest of his three children, and the way she is currently looking at Pavel tells me she already has suspicions of her own. “You acted independently before anyone could confirm the evidence thatyouprovided. Including the Pakhan.”
“The Pakhan was waiting for the next board meeting, it would have been another week,” his voice raised now, defensive. “Do you know how much damage a traitor could do in that time?”
“He was our father,” the eldest says defiantly.
“He was a liability to the infrastructure of this organization,” Pavel counters. “I’m sorry to say that those two facts describe the same man.”
The silence that follows makes the air feel stale. I watch them watch each other. Watch the recalibration on Pavel’s face, the debate over whether he needs to say more to reaffirm his position or if he’s made his point.
“You—”
“That’s enough,” I say. I don’t raise my voice; I never need to in these rooms. When I speak, they listen. “Mikhail’s death is under review. The evidence Pavel presented has been logged. Additional review and verification are underway.” I look at my cousins. “Your father will be buried in honor, not marked as a traitor. His position will be held open pending further review. If the evidence does not hold, there will be repercussions,” I look atPavel, “and one of you will be voted into his place on this council. If it does hold, the board will discuss if action beyond the loss of your family's seat is appropriate.”
Pavel meets my eyes, nodding, having the decency to look adequately forlorn. “Of course.”
The remaining matters of business are attended to in relatively short order — territorial updates, revenue reports, and a shipping contract renegotiation that still needs to be resolved. I manage to only check my phone twice. From across the table, David notices both times and says nothing, but his sly smile gives it away.
By the time the room clears out, I have a headache behind my eyes and a short temper as a result. Pavel is one of the last to linger. He pauses at the door, turning back to me.
“Victor.”
“Not now,” I tell him, waving him out.
David stays behind, closing the door behind Pavel before sitting back down across from me with his laptop open.
“The eldest son has been doing his own inquiries,” he tells me. “Informally, of course.”
“I know,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “We’ll keep an eye on it. He won’t find anything we don’t, he’s not that smart.”
He’s quiet as he shuts his laptop.
“You were distracted tonight.”
“I was present enough,” I say. “They needed to feel heard more than they needed an actual response. And the rest — well it will sort itself out in time.”
He looks at me for a moment. Not arguing, which means he disagrees but knows better than to press it tonight.
