“In his home,” he said. “Where no one dares to touch.”
I looked at Maria. She understood what that meant.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked.
Sylvia nodded.
“Tonight,” he said. “Vladimir is busy. There will be a meeting. Kalin will be there. There will only be two guards and a maid who hates me left in the house.”
“This is crazy,” I whispered.
Sylvia looked at me.
“It’s madness to stand by and wait for him to destroy everyone,” he said. “You’ve already chosen not to wait.”
Maria took a breath.
“Okay,” he said. “But we’ll do it smart. No nonsense. No heroism. Just evidence.”
Sylvia nodded.
“And Nikola?” she asked and looked at me.
Maria turned to me.
“You…” she began.
I already knew. If I stay away, I’ll feel like a traitor. If I go, I could lose everything.
But I had already lost it.
“I’m coming,” I said.
Mila looked at me with huge eyes.
“Don’t die,” she whispered.
I smiled sadly.
“No,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
And at that moment I felt that my fear was no longer my master.
He was just a shadow behind me.
And before me stood the path to truth.
And towards the end, which was supposed to be good.
Because if it isn’t, all of this makes no sense.
Chapter Fourteen
The night was thick. The air was sticky on your skin, as if the world itself wanted to stop you.
Silvia was driving. Maria sat next to her, silent, focused. I was in the back seat, clenching my hands as if that would keep the shaking at bay.
“Remember,” Maria whispered, without turning around. “Don’t talk unnecessarily. Don’t leave any traces. We’ll take the documents and leave.”
“What if we get caught?” I asked quietly.
Sylvia laughed dryly.
“Then you will see Vladimir’s true face,” he said.
Vladimir’s house was huge, but dark. The lights on the fence were on, the cameras quietly watched everything. The guards stood in front. The other was somewhere behind.
Sylvia parked in a spot that was clearly hers. She got out confidently, like a woman who isn’t afraid to step into her own cage.
The security guard greeted her. She nodded and led us inside as if we were part of the home.
Inside, it smelled expensive and cold. The walls were clean but empty. There was no comfort. Only control.
Sylvia led us down a corridor to an office.
“The safe is there,” she whispered. “Vladimir doesn’t trust anyone. Not even me. But… sometimes he leaves the key in the drawer when he’s in a hurry.”
Maria went in first. I followed her. Sylvia closed the door and stayed listening.
The office was like an altar of power. A large desk, a leather chair, heavy curtains. On the wall – a painting that said nothing. Everything was a demonstration.
Maria approached the desk, opened a drawer, and froze for a moment.
“There’s a key,” he whispered.
My heart skipped a beat.
Sylvia quickly walked over to the wall and pushed a panel. Part of the paneling opened, revealing a metal door.
The safe.
Maria inserted the key. She turned it slowly. There was a click. The door opened.
Inside were folders. Dozens. Some with stamps, others with handwritten notes.
Maria started taking out things, taking pictures with her phone, looking for something specific.
“Here,” she whispered after a minute. “This is it.”
He took out a folder with a label I can’t forget: “Loans.”
“These are the names,” she said. “The people he used.”
Sylvia leaned over.
“There are others,” she said, pointing to another folder. “‘Court.’”
Maria opened it and turned pale.
“Bribes,” she whispered. “Payment records. Names.”
At that moment, a sound was heard. Not from the safe. From the hallway.
Steps.
