My sibling recommended that I set up a surveillance device in our home prior to departing on a one-month professional journey to a different town. I chose to heed his suggestion…

Alice Victoria, I have everything calculated. No traces, no evidence. The money will pass through three offshore, then through bitcoin.

Impossible to track. And your wife? She won’t suspect anything? My wife is in San Francisco now. For a month.

By the time she returns, everything will be over. And I’ll be far away. You’re going to leave her? After so many years? What else can I do? Take her with me? She won’t agree.

Emily is law-abiding, proper. She would never go for such a thing. Besides, Helen is against.

Says the wife is ballast. And I agree with her. Helen.

Is that the name of his mistress? The one with the hoarse voice? John, think again. Mark is not the person to joke with. If he learns of your betrayal, he won’t limit himself to court.

You know his methods, he won’t find out. I have everything thought out. By the time something becomes clear, I’ll be in another country, with a new name, with a new appearance.

No law will reach me there, where I’ll be. And if your accomplice, this IT guy, blabs? Ian? No, he’s reliable. Besides, his share is too big to risk.

Look, John. I warned you. This is your choice, your risk.

But if something goes wrong, I won’t be able to protect you. Everything will be fine, Alice Victoria. You know me.

I never take on a case if I’m not sure of success. The conversation ended. I sat, trying to comprehend what I heard.

So, John plans to steal money from his boss, some Mark. A large sum, apparently. He has an accomplice named Ian, who helps with the technical side.

There’s a mistress Helen, with whom he plans to flee. And there’s some Alice Victoria, who knows about the plans, but apparently doesn’t participate in them directly. Who is she? Colleague? Boss? Lawyer? And what do I do with all this? Anton promised to fly today.

Perhaps he will advise something. But there were still several hours until his arrival. And I couldn’t just sit and wait, doing nothing.

Decided to listen to more recordings. Perhaps there will be something that will help understand the situation better. New recording.

John talking on the phone. Yes, everything is on plan. Documents will be ready in a week.

Yes, of course, I understand the risks. No, the wife knows nothing, she’s in San Francisco. No, she won’t return earlier.

That’s excluded. Pause. Yes, Helen, I remember.

Everything will be as we agreed. Money, new passports, tickets. Everything is ready.

Only to wait for the 14th, when Mark signs the documents. Another pause. No, he won’t suspect.

Why would he? I’ve been working with him for five years, he completely trusts me. Thinks I’m his right hand, the best employee. Has no idea that I’ve been leaking information to competitors for years.

Another pause, don’t worry, dear. In two weeks, everything will be over. We’ll be rich and free.

We’ll start a new life. Together. I turned off the recording.

Nausea rolled to the throat. Every word of John’s was like a knife stab. He betrayed not only his boss.

He betrayed me. Our family. Our love.

Everything I believed in for seven years. And what do I do now? How to proceed? The doorbell interrupted my thoughts. I flinched.

Who could it be? Anton shouldn’t have arrived yet. Maybe colleagues from work? Or the apartment owner? I approached the door, looked through the peephole. An unfamiliar man.

Tall, athletic build, in a dark jacket. Who is this? What does he want? Who is there? I asked, not opening the door. Anastasia Sergeevna? You have a package.

Sign, please. Package? For me? But I don’t know anyone in San Francisco, no one could send me anything. And my address is known only to colleagues from work.

From whom the package? From Anton Sergeevich. Your brother. Anton? But he said he would fly himself.

Why would he send something? Show the courier’s ID, please. The man hesitated. Then showed some card to the peephole.

Everything looked quite official. Courier service logo, photo, name. Ivan Petrov.

I still hesitated. Something was wrong. Intuition screamed danger.

Leave the package under the door. I’ll pick it up later. I can’t.

Your signature is needed. Instruction. He spoke calmly, but something in his voice alarmed me.

Some unnaturalness, tension. Then wait, I’ll call my brother now, clarify. I stepped away from the door, took the phone.

Dialed Anton’s number. No answer. Sent a message.

There’s some courier with a package allegedly from you. Is that true? No response. Strange.

Usually Anton responds quickly. Another doorbell. Persistent, long.

Anastasia Sergeevna, I need to go to other addresses. Open, please. This will take a minute.

I was silent. Fear bound my movements. Something suggested.

Don’t open. Under no circumstances open. Anastasia Sergeevna, I know you’re home.

Open. The voice changed. Became harsher, more demanding.

This is no longer a request. This is an order. I quietly stepped away from the door, took the phone.

Who to call? Police? And what do I say? A courier came to me, and I’m scared. They won’t come for such nonsense. Another ring.

Now continuous, as if someone is holding a finger on the button. And then I heard it. The sound of a key in the lock.

Someone was trying to open my door from outside. Panic overwhelmed me. Rushed to the door, put on the chain.

Just in time. The door opened a few inches, but the chain didn’t allow it to open fully. Anastasia Sergeevna, open.

Don’t complicate. Who is this person? Where did he get the key from my apartment? What does he need? Go away, or I’ll call the police. I shouted, desperately trying to make my voice sound confident.

I don’t advise. This will create problems not only for me, but also for your husband. And for you, by the way, too.

What? What does John have to do with it? Who are you? What do you want? Mark Ashford sent me. He wants to talk to you. This is in your interests, believe me.

Mark? The same boss of John’s, whom he is going to deceive? How does he know where I am? And why does he need me? I’m not going anywhere with an unfamiliar person. Tell Mark Ashford that if he wants to talk, let him call me. This is not a phone conversation.

Too delicate topics. Concerns your husband and his. Activities.

I was silent. What to do? Go? But this may be dangerous. Not go? But then I won’t know what’s going on.

I give you five minutes to think. Then I’ll break the door. Believe me, I know how.

His voice sounded calm, matter-of-fact. He wasn’t threatening, just stating a fact. And that made it even scarier.

I frantically reasoned. Five minutes. What can be done in five minutes? Call the police? They won’t arrive in time.

To Anton? He doesn’t answer. Escape through the window? I’m on the fifth floor. The decision came suddenly.

The windows of my apartment overlooked a courtyard well of a typical San Francisco high-rise. Opposite, literally ten meters away, windows of another apartment. If I shout, ask for help, maybe someone will hear? I rushed to the window, opened it.

Cold air rushed into the room. Leaned out. Help.

I’m being attacked. Call the police. No reaction.

Windows opposite are closed, curtains drawn. Workday, everyone at work. Shouted again.

Silence. This is useless, Anastasia Sergeevna. No one will come to help.

Three minutes left. His voice. He was already in the apartment.

How? Turned around. No, the door is still chained. So, he just heard my shouts from the corridor.

What to do? What to do? The phone vibrated. Message from Anton. Emily, don’t open to anyone.

I’m already at SFO, will be soon. Wait for me. Too late.

The courier is already here, threatening to break the door. I have less than three minutes left. I decided to buy time.

Okay, I’ll go with you. But I need to get ready. Five minutes.

Two minutes. Otherwise, I’ll break the door. Okay, two.

I rushed to the bedroom. What to do? What to take with me? Phone, of course. Documents.

Money. What else? Maybe some weapon? But I have nothing. Grabbed a bag, threw in passport, wallet, phone.

Threw on a jacket. Two minutes expired. Time’s up, Anastasia Sergeevna.

Are you going? Yes, I’m coming. Approached the door, removed the chain. Heart beating so hard, it seemed it would jump out of the chest.

Opened the door. The man was exactly as I imagined him through the peephole. Tall, sturdy, with cold gray eyes.

No courier uniform, just a black jacket and jeans. Let’s go. The car is waiting.

Where are we going? You’ll find out on site. He let me go ahead, and we left the apartment. I looked around for neighbors, other people.

No one. Empty stairwell. We descended by elevator, exited the entrance.

At the curb stood a black SUV, with tinted windows. The man opened the rear door, gestured for me to get in. I hesitated.

Getting into an unfamiliar car with an unfamiliar person is the last thing advised in such situations. But did I have a choice? Don’t be afraid, Anastasia Sergeevna. If Mark Ashford wanted to harm you, he wouldn’t invite you for a talk.

Logical. But not very comforting. I got into the car.

The man sat next to me. Behind the wheel was another person I hadn’t seen before. «Let’s go,» commanded my companion.

The car started. I looked out the window, trying to memorize the route. We drove out onto Market Street, then turned somewhere to the side.

I knew the city poorly, couldn’t exactly determine where we were going. «How long to drive?» — I asked, trying to defuse the tension. «Twenty minutes».

The man was not inclined to conversation. Well, I won’t impose either. Meanwhile, I sent a message to Anton.

Mark’s people took me away. They say he wants to talk. Black SUV, perhaps Mercedes.

Didn’t see the numbers. Sending failed. No network.

Strange. It was just there. Mobile phones don’t work in the salon, — the man noticed, intercepting my glance.

Special equipment. Security measures. So, I can’t inform Anton.

I remained alone, without connection, in a car with unfamiliar people, going unknown where. Thoughts frantically raced. What do they know? Why did this Mark need me? Does he know about John’s plans? And if he knows, what is he going to do? Twenty minutes later, as the man promised, the car stopped.

I looked out the window. We were near a large mansion, behind a high fence. Security, video cameras.

Serious place. Arrived. Get out.

I got out of the car. The man led me to the gates, where a guard met us. Checked some list, nodded, let us through.

We walked along a well-groomed path to the house. Big, three-story, with columns. More like a residence of some billionaire than an office.

Inside it was even more impressive. Marble floor, crystal chandeliers, antique furniture. My companion led me through the spacious hall, to the stairs, then to the second floor, along a long corridor, to a massive door.

Knocked. Waited for an answer, opened the door, let me go ahead. Anastasia Sergeevna has arrived, he reported to someone inside the room.

Thank you, Ian. You can go. Ian? The same accomplice of John’s? But how? He’s on the husband’s side, helping him deceive Mark.

Why did he bring me here? What’s going on? I entered the room. It was an office. Big, spacious, with windows from floor to ceiling.

Behind a massive desk sat a man about fifty. Swarthy, with gray temples, in an expensive suit. His face seemed familiar.

Where could I have seen him? Come in, Anastasia Sergeevna. Sit down. Tea, coffee, his voice was calm, even benevolent.

But the eyes. There was steel in them. No, thank you.

What do you need? Why did you bring me here? I tried to speak firmly, but my voice treacherously trembled. Talk. About your husband.

About his. Activities. I know nothing about my husband’s work.

He’s a financial analyst, that’s all I know. The man smirked. Do you really think so? Well, then I have news for you.

Sit down, the conversation will be long. I sat in the armchair opposite the desk. Where to go? I was in a stranger’s house, without connection, without support.

All that was left was to listen. Allow me to introduce myself. Mark Ashford.

I run the investment company Argos. Perhaps you’ve heard of us? Argos? The name was familiar. I think I saw ads in the city.

Something about investments, about trust management. Solid firm, apparently. Yes, something heard.

Your husband, John Johnson, has been working for me for five years. Started as an ordinary analyst, now deputy director of finance. Capable employee, grows quickly.

I trust him. Trusted, to be precise. Pause.

He looked at me attentively, as if evaluating the reaction. Two weeks ago, it became known to me that John Johnson plans to deceive me. Steal a large sum of money and hide abroad.

I have evidence. Recordings of conversations, correspondence, documents. All this I can provide to the police at any moment.

I was silent. What to say here? I knew he was telling the truth. I heard John’s confession on the recording myself.

But I am not in a hurry to contact law enforcement. For several reasons. First, it’s a scandal.

Reputational losses for the company. Second, money. If John ends up in prison, returning them will be problematic.

Third, I have some sympathy for your husband. He is talented, smart. It’s a pity to lose such an employee.

He paused, sipped water from a glass. There is a fourth reason. You.

Me? What do I have to do with it? John claims that you know nothing about his plans. That he is going to leave you, leave you to deal with the consequences. Perhaps you will even be accused of complicity.

I consider this unfair. He spoke calmly, reasonably. But his words chilled.

What do you want from me? Help. I want to stop John before he does the irreparable. And you can help me with this.

How? Very simple. You will return to New York. Tell your husband that you were urgently recalled from the business trip.

Come up with a reason. Colleague’s illness, change in management’s plans, anything. John will be unpleasantly surprised, but won’t show it.

He doesn’t want to arouse suspicions. And then? Then you will behave as usual. Loving wife, suspecting nothing.

But at the same time. You will be our eyes and ears in your apartment. You want me to spy on my own husband, exactly? This is in your interests, believe me…