A call from the bank: “Your husband is here with a woman who looks like you.” But he was supposed to be on a business trip.
“Larisa Nikolaevna? This is the bank’s security department. Your husband is here right now with a woman who looks very much like you. She presented your passport and is demanding to close the deposits.”
Larisa pressed the phone to her ear. Her youngest daughter was clinging to her leg, whining. Something was hissing on the stove.
“Viktor is on a business trip. This is the third day.”
“Then come here as quickly as possible. They are trying to take out a loan using your country house as collateral.”
Larisa hung up and turned off the gas. For seven years, she had stayed at home. For seven years, Viktor had repeated that a real wife should not be stuck at work until night. She had believed him. She had quit her job at the department store, where everyone knew her as the best merchandising specialist. She did the laundry, cooked, and waited for her husband to come home from work. And now he was at the bank. With a woman who looked like her.
The neighbor agreed to watch the children. Larisa ran out into the street without even fastening her coat.
At the bank, she was taken to the security room. On the monitor was the main banking hall. Viktor was standing by the window, holding a young woman, about twenty-five, by the waist. The girl was wearing a familiar sheepskin coat. The very same one Larisa had taken to the dry cleaner’s a month ago. Viktor had said then that they had lost it.
“That’s my coat she’s wearing,” Larisa said, pointing at the screen.
The bank employee nodded.
“And that woman over there, at the table. Do you know her?”
Svetlana. Viktor’s sister. She was sitting bent over some papers, quickly writing something down.
“His sister.”
“I see. Listen, the documents are fake. But unless you file a report, there’s nothing we can do.”
“Give me the account statements. For the last three years.”
The employee raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Ten minutes later, Larisa was sitting with printouts in front of her. Her fingers remembered on their own how to look for inconsistencies. Transfers to Svetlana’s name. Regular ones. Large amounts. With notes like “building materials” and “renovation.” There had been no renovation. The country house had remained untouched.
On the monitor, Viktor kissed the girl on the cheek. Larisa stood up and walked into the hall.
Near the restroom entrance stood Tamara Ivanovna, her mother-in-law. She was wearing an elegant coat and gold earrings. Larisa stepped right up to her.
“What are you doing here?”
Tamara Ivanovna flinched.
“Larisa? You shouldn’t… Viktor said you were at home.”
“Viktor says a lot of things. Answer me.”
Her mother-in-law looked away.
“He said you were sick. That money was needed for treatment abroad. Urgently. He said you had asked him not to tell anyone.”
Larisa felt everything tighten inside her.
“Look at me. Do I look sick?”
Tamara Ivanovna raised her eyes. There was fear in them.
“No.”
“Then come with me.”
Larisa took her mother-in-law by the hand and pulled her toward the hall. Viktor was standing with his back to them. The girl was waving a passport in front of the bank clerk. Svetlana lifted her head and froze.
“Viktor,” Larisa said loudly.
He turned around. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by an attempt at a smile.
“Larisa? What are you doing here?”
“That question isn’t for me. You’re supposed to be on a business trip. Three days, remember?”
The girl turned pale. With trembling hands, she took off the sheepskin coat and held it out to Larisa.
“This is yours. I’m sorry.”
Larisa took the coat without looking at her. She looked only at her husband.
“Viktor, what is going on?” Tamara Ivanovna stepped forward. “You told me Larisa was sick. Who is this girl?”
Viktor said nothing. His face had gone gray.
“Mom, don’t,” Svetlana tried to take her mother’s hand, but Tamara Ivanovna pulled away.
“You lied too? You told me you were helping your brother with business paperwork?”
Larisa took out the printouts and handed them to her mother-in-law.
“Here is your son. For three years, he has been siphoning off money. Registering it under Svetlana’s name. And now he is selling the country house and closing my deposits. With a forged passport.”
The girl sobbed. A security guard was already standing by the door.
“Viktor, tell me this isn’t true,” Tamara Ivanovna said, staring at her son.
He remained silent.
“Say something!”
“Mom, I’ll pay everything back. Just give me time.”
“Time?” Larisa gave a bitter laugh. “For seven years, you convinced me to stay home. You said you would provide for the family. And all this time, you were stealing from it…”
Continuation just below in the first comment.