Chapter 6 - DMITRI’S PASSWORD
Dmitri asked for a lawyer before anyone accused him of anything.
That was smart.
Alexei hated it.
That was predictable.
We sat in the same police building where Irina had given her statement. Sophie was with my mother for the afternoon because I had finally accepted that not every development needed a four-year-old in the room.
That decision felt overdue.
Dmitri’s attorney arrived within forty minutes.
A woman named Elise Grant. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes.
Detective Reyes explained the access log.
Five years earlier, someone opened Alexei’s restricted medical file using Dmitri’s credentials from a terminal in the estate security office.
The access lasted four minutes.
A file was copied to removable media.
Dmitri stared at the timestamp.
“I was in Moscow.”
Alexei looked at him.
“You remember?”
“I was burying my father.”
Silence.
That could be verified.
It was.
Flight records. Passport. Funeral photographs.
Dmitri had not been in Chicago.
“Who had your credentials?” Reyes asked.
“No one.”
Elise Grant looked at him.
He corrected.
“No one should have.”
“Written?”
“No.”
“Stored?”
“Old password manager.”
“Who administered it?”
Dmitri’s face changed.
“Estate IT.”
“Name?”
“Samuel Kessler.”
Alexei frowned.
“He died.”
“Three years ago,” Dmitri said.
Heart attack.
Not everything was murder.
I reminded myself before paranoia did it for me.
Reyes asked, “Who took over after Kessler?”
“His deputy. Anton Lebedev.”
Alexei’s expression hardened.
I knew Anton.
Quiet man. Forties. Glasses. The person staff called when the Wi-Fi stopped working.
He had reset Sophie’s tablet once and given her a sticker.
My stomach turned.
Reyes asked, “Current?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Dmitri looked at Alexei.
Alexei took out his phone, then stopped.
Old instinct.
He put it down.
“Detective?”
Reyes nodded.
“We’ll locate him.”
The change was small enough that most people would miss it.
I did not.
A month ago Alexei would have ordered ten men to drag Anton from wherever he stood.
Today he let a detective make a phone call.
Dmitri looked at me.
“You taught him that?”
“No.”
Alexei looked offended.
“I am capable of thought.”
“Debatable,” Dmitri said.
For the first time since the collapse, they almost sounded like friends.
Then Reyes returned.
“Lebedev is gone.”
Of course.
“When?” Alexei asked.
“Did not report to work today. Apartment empty enough to suggest planned departure.”
“Family?”
“Wife died years ago. Adult son in California.”
“Airport?”
“Checking.”
I looked at Dmitri.
“If Anton had your password, could he copy the allergy file?”
“Yes.”
“Could he delete the hallway camera yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Could he create the fake vendor badge through Markov’s office?”
“Not directly.”
“Could he make it look like Markov did?”
Dmitri hesitated.
“Yes.”
There it was.
A technical bridge between five-year-old theft and yesterday’s attempt.
But why?
Money. Loyalty. Blackmail.
Reyes would find out.
Markov came in voluntarily that evening.
Dr. Leon Markov was sixty-one, silver-haired, controlled, and visibly offended by police chairs.
He admitted taking money from Orlov Holdings.
Consulting.
Private medical advice.
He admitted discussing Alexei’s allergy years ago.
Not by name in writing, he claimed.
He denied planning murder.
He admitted Anya confronted him.
That mattered.
“What did she say?” Reyes asked.
“That I had given her brother private information.”
“Had you?”
“Yes.”
Alexei’s face went cold behind the glass.
Markov continued.
“Viktor said he needed medical contingency information because he traveled with Alexei.”
“Did you have patient consent?”
“No.”
“Then you violated confidentiality.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
No excuse.
Good.
“Did Viktor ask how to trigger anaphylaxis?”
Markov closed his eyes.
“He asked general questions.”
“Did you know why?”
“No.”
“Did you suspect?”
“Later.”
“When?”
“When Anya came to me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
That word sounded enormous.
Nothing.
He had suspected a patient might be in danger.
And did nothing.
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
Again.
Fear built half this case.
“Of Viktor?”
“Of Alexei.”
Alexei stopped moving.
Markov continued.
“If I told him I had sold medical information to his brother-in-law, I thought I would disappear.”
Nobody behind the glass laughed.
He may not have been wrong.
That was the worst part.
Reyes asked about Irina’s entry.
Markov admitted he gave her enough information to create access, but he claimed he never created the badge himself.
“I told her the vendor account structure.”
“Why help now?”
“Because Viktor contacted me six weeks ago.”
“What did he want?”
“A renewed prescription for Alexei’s emergency injector.”
That sounded innocent.
Markov knew it was not.
“Why through you?”
“He said Alexei’s current one had expired.”
“Was that true?”
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“He was checking whether Alexei still carried one.”
Markov nodded.
“Yes.”
There was the active planning.
Not enough alone.
Important.
“What did you do?”
“I lied. Told him I didn’t know.”
“Then?”
“I contacted Irina.”
“Why not police?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because I still believed I could fix my mistake without exposing what I had done.”
Everyone wanted private redemption.
Nobody wanted public consequence.
That was how five years became yesterday.
By midnight, police had enough for warrants on Viktor’s business records and Anton Lebedev’s devices and accounts.
Not enough to arrest Viktor for attempted murder.
Yet.
Alexei hated that word too.
We left the station after one.
Snow had started.
Alexei’s doctor had ordered him home hours earlier.
He ignored medical advice with the confidence of a man who had almost died from trusting a doctor.
I stood on the sidewalk.
“Where are you sleeping?”
He looked at me.
“That sounds personal.”
“It is medical. You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
Dmitri said, “He has an apartment near the lake.”
“Police cleared?”
“Yes.”
Alexei looked at me.
“You sound like Reyes.”
“Good.”
He smiled faintly.
Then his expression changed.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“I want you to stop working at the estate.”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
“It is unsafe.”
“You’re firing me?”
“No.”
“That is generally what stop working means.”
“I will continue paying you.”
I laughed.
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You cannot turn me into a pension because you feel guilty.”
“It is not guilt.”
“It is absolutely guilt.”
“Fine. Also safety.”
I crossed my arms.
“What if I want another job?”
“I can arrange—”
“No.”
He stopped.
Good.
I continued. “I will not owe my life to a man because my daughter noticed his lips.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I am learning.”
That answer was new.
Not I know.
I am learning.
I looked away first.
Then Reyes called from the building entrance.
“Mr. Petrov.”
Alexei turned.
“We found Anton Lebedev.”
“Where?”
“At O’Hare.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Destination?”
“Vienna.”
“Arrested?”
“Detained on the warrant.”
Alexei’s face hardened.
Reyes continued.
“And we found something in his carry-on.”
“What?”
“A second box of the same chocolates.”
My skin went cold.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Dmitri.
“An external drive containing five years of Petrov estate security archives.”
Alexei went still.
Reyes’ voice lowered.
“Including the missing footage from the day Anya died.”
Before we left the station, Dmitri stopped Alexei in the hallway.
“I should have told you years ago that the medical-file breach existed.”
Alexei stared at him.
“You knew?”
“Not the breach. The possibility.”
“That is an important distinction.”
“I know.”
Dmitri explained that after Anya died he had found three anomalous administrator logins in the estate system. Kessler, the old IT director, dismissed them as routine maintenance. Dmitri accepted that because grief had turned every unanswered question into a threat of war.
“I did not want to hand you suspicion.”
Alexei’s mouth tightened.
“You thought I would hurt someone.”
“Yes.”
No softness.
Alexei looked away.
“Would I have?”
Dmitri did not answer.
That answer was enough.
For fifteen years, Dmitri had been Alexei’s closest associate. He had carried guns for him, guarded doors, handled problems, and apparently learned to filter information based on how much violence the truth might create.
Alexei leaned against the wall.
“I called that loyalty.”
“So did I.”
“And now?”
Dmitri looked toward Detective Reyes’ office.
“Now I think loyalty that requires lying is expensive.”
Alexei almost smiled.
“You sound like Mara.”
“I consider that an insult.”
“It is.”
I was standing ten feet away.
“I can hear both of you.”
Dmitri looked at me.
“Good.”
The joke helped. Barely.
Then Alexei turned serious.
“If Anton used your credentials and Kessler’s system made that possible, we open everything.”
Dmitri’s face changed.
“Everything?”
“Security logs. Old archives. Vendor access.”
“That exposes operations unrelated to this case.”
“Yes.”
“Some are criminal.”
Alexei said nothing.
Dmitri understood.
“You know what that can do to you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
Alexei looked at me, then away.
“Because Anya died inside the space created by what we refused to document.”
Silence.
Dmitri nodded once.
“Then everything.”
That was the moment the investigation stopped being only about who had tried to kill Alexei.
Opening the archive meant opening him too.
He knew it.
For once, he did it anyway.
The next morning, Dmitri sent me a photograph of the FEELINGS notebook he had bought Alexei.
Across the first page, Alexei had written one sentence in block letters:
I HATE THIS NOTEBOOK.
Under it, Dmitri had added:
A FEELING.
I laughed so loudly Sophie came running from the bathroom with toothpaste on her chin.
“What funny?”
“Grown men learning things late.”
She nodded as if this were common.
May you like
“Mr. Alexei slow.”
I did not disagree.
