Chapter 3 - The Whispering Ghost
"Scarlet Jasmine," Andriy murmured, his voice deadly quiet.
He stayed by the bedside until both girls drifted into a deep, medically induced sleep, their cheeks slowly regaining a faint flush of life beneath the hospital blankets. In the adjacent washroom, Taras had scrubbed off weeks of grime under a boiling shower. Dressed in clean oversized medical scrubs, eating chicken broth and warm bread with frantic, starving bites, the street boy looked smaller, yet remarkably watchful.
Andriy pulled a chair up next to the boy. "Taras. Look at me."
The boy stopped chewing, his eyes darting to the door as if looking for an escape route. "Are the cops coming?"
"No," Andriy said softly. "The police aren't coming. Not yet. I need to know everything you saw the day those men dropped the girls by the tracks."
Taras swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It was raining. Real hard. A black Mercedes van with darkened windows pulled onto the gravel by the abandoned freight depot. Two guys got out. Big guys, wearing black coats and baseball caps. They dragged Alina and Polina out of the back. The girls were crying, but their mouths were taped shut with duct tape."
Andriy's jaw muscles rippled. He dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from screaming.
"What did the men say?"
"One of them was on the phone," Taras said, leaning closer. "He said, *'The boss says we can't shoot them. Too messy. Drop them in the district. The cold and the dogs will finish them off by morning. If they wander into the city, nobody believes street rats anyway.'* Then they cut the tape off their mouths, threw their shoes into the ditch so they couldn't run far, and drove off."
"Did you see a license plate?"
"The back plate was caked in mud. But the front had a chrome emblem—a silver falcon on the grille. Not like regular cars."
Andriy’s breath hitched. A silver falcon on the grille.
It was the signature custom emblem of *Chernov Logistics*—the shipping and security conglomerate owned by Vadim Chernov. Vadim was not just Andriy’s largest logistics contractor; he was Elena’s older stepbrother.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity.
Six months ago, Andriy had been at an international economic forum in Zurich when the fire broke out. The estate was isolated in the pine forests of Kozhyn. By the time emergency crews arrived, the main wing had collapsed. Vadim had taken charge of the cleanup. Vadim was the one who recommended the private forensic service run by Dr. Sidorov.
They hadn't just tried to murder his children; they had orchestrated an entire theater of death.
Suddenly, Andriy’s phone vibrated violently against his hip. The screen illuminated with Elena’s face—flawless skin, diamond earrings, smiling lovingly at the camera.
Andriy took a long, steadying breath. He cleared the fury from his throat, composing his features until his face was a mask of cold iron. He tapped the green icon and put the phone to his ear.
"Elena," he said, keeping his tone appropriately flat, the voice of the depressed widower she expected.
"Andriy! Oh, thank God you picked up," Elena gasped, her voice full of breathless, honeyed concern. "I went to your penthouse. The security guard said you left before dawn without your driver. You were at the cemetery again, weren't you?"
"I had to see them," Andriy replied quietly. "The fog was heavy this morning."
"My poor darling," Elena cooed softly. "You can't keep torturing yourself like this. It breaks my heart to see you tearing your soul apart every Saturday. Listen to me... tonight is the preliminary dinner for the Alina & Polina Memorial Foundation Gala. The Mayor is attending, along with the Minister of Infrastructure and Vadim. We need you there, Andriy. The foundation is how we keep their light alive."
*How you launder the liquidated capital of my family empire,* Andriy thought, the rage threatening to rip through his chest.
"I will be there," Andriy said evenly.
A pause on the other end. Elena seemed caught off-guard by his sudden compliance. Usually, he fought her on public appearances, retreating into isolation.
"Really?" she asked, a spark of triumphant excitement leaking through her melancholic facade. "Oh, Andriy, that's wonderful! Vadim has the final trust-transfer documents prepared. If you sign them tonight before the board, we can officially allocate the forty-percent shares from Sofia's trust into the charity fund. It will protect the company from those vultures on the board."
"I will sign whatever needs to be signed, Elena," Andriy said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I want this chapter finished."
"I love you, Andriy. See you at eight at the Grand Opera Hotel."
Andriy lowered the phone. The screen clicked black.
He turned toward Taras. "Can you stay here and guard them for a few hours? I am bringing four armed men I trust with my life to stand at this door."
Taras looked at the two sleeping girls, then up at the millionaire. He squared his thin shoulders. "Nobody touches them. I bite."
Andriy offered the boy the first genuine, albeit grim, smile he had managed in half a year. "I know you do. Viktor!"
The heavy door opened, and Viktor Reznov—Andriy’s personal head of security, a former intelligence officer who had been investigating the suspicious fire in secret—stepped into the room. Viktor’s eyes were wide as he looked at the sleeping twins.
May you like
"Viktor," Andriy said, his voice dropping into the register of a general declaring war. "The dead have come home. Now, let’s go set fire to the people who built their graves."
***
