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“This is serious,” he says. “You could collapse.”
“I’ll choose somewhere convenient.” I straighten and meet his eyes. “I’ll be all right, Doctor. I’ve survived worse.”
Maksim stands near the window, reading the latest report from Kirill. He hasn’t tried to stop me since Leonid called to confirm that he could move Vera’s Blacklist entry into my name. The paperwork is still being processed, but the moment it clears, anyone trying to claim her will be challenging Volkov authority.
Moving me risks my stitches. Leaving Vera unprotected risks her life and the life of anyone standing near her when Belov’s men arrive.
The doctor turns to Maksim. “You’re allowing this?”
“I’ve found that Alexei treats permission as decorative.”
“An ugly habit,” I say.
Abramov waits outside with enough armed men to invade a municipal building, and a wheelchair blocks the doorway because the hospital refuses to let me walk to the exit.
I look at it.
The nurse points. “Sit.”
“I can walk.”
“You can bleed while upright. That isn’t the same thing.”
Maksim almost smiles. I sit. Arguing costs time, and the floor shifted when I buttoned the shirt.
Leonid calls as Abramov pushes me toward the private elevator. A blanket covers my legs. An IV bag hangs beside the chair, and a nurse follows us.
“The transfer is complete,” he says. “Your name now holds the entry. No one can claim, sell, or amend it without challenging Volkov authority.”
“I want it annulled.”
“So do I, but we need to take the debt apart properly. Whoever made it used an old warehouse debt, fake owners, and a false medical claim. It looks like the kind of work Sergei, Elena’s father, used to do, but the signatures are newer.”
“Elena’s father?”
“His methods, yes. But someone else did this. They learned how he worked.”
The elevator opens onto a corridor cleared by Abramov’s people. Hospital staff watch from a distance.
“How long?” I ask.
“Give me the source documents and several hours.”
“You have one.”
“I enjoy our conversations.”
He disconnects.
My phone holds everything Kirill has gathered during the last forty minutes. Vera’s hospital credentials were accessed through a stolen administrative login. Her salary account, savings, and credit line have been frozen. Someone requested her personnel record, then tried to enter a preschool account attached to her email.
Kirill hasn’t gone farther into the preschool account. Another attempt could alert Vera or show Belov’s people that someone else is looking, and I need them to believe we’re still several steps behind.
Abramov wheels me through the exit beneath a wall of black coats. The nurse follows us patiently.
Two armored vehicles block the drive.
“This is subtle,” I tell him.
