One week before the apartment sale, my father-in-law told me: «While your husband is away, take a hammer and smash the tile behind the toilet in the bathroom!»…
He took the black notebook again, which Emily had placed next to the diary. «I don’t understand Anna. Why did she write all this? She was a smart woman.
She must have understood that these entries alone aren’t enough. There must have been a next step. She couldn’t just stop at this.»
He reread the last entry again and again. His finger froze on one phrase. «Friend keeps the original.»
«Friend,» he repeated aloud. «Valerie from the city archive.» «Valentina.»
«I remember.» He jumped from the table. Spark ignited in his eyes again.
Anna often talked about her. «Valerie Simmons.» They were friends since youth.
Such a quiet woman, unnoticeable. Worked her whole life in that archive. Anna said she fears authority and any conflicts terribly, but has a steel core.
If she promises something, she’ll break herself but do it. Hope. Again this persistent, stubborn hope.
Emily already feared it. Each new hope ended in even worse disappointment. «But what does that change?» she said wearily.
«We can’t just go to her and demand she hand over a secret document. She’ll get scared and call the police.» «We won’t demand,» said Michael.
«We’ll ask.» Anna must have talked to her. She must have prepared her.
This entry in the notebook isn’t just information. It’s an instruction. For us.
He looked at the clock. Ten thirty. «Let’s go,» he said decisively.
«This is our last, very last chance.» They raced to the city again. Emily didn’t believe in success.
It seemed madness. Burst into a state archive and try to persuade a quiet, intimidated woman to commit an official crime. But she submitted to Michael’s will.
There was nothing left to lose anyway. The city archive was in an old, gloomy pre-revolutionary building. They ran up the worn stone steps.
Inside smelled of dust and time. Behind a long wooden counter sat an elderly woman in glasses. «We need Valerie Simmons,» Michael blurted, barely catching his breath.
The woman behind the counter slowly raised her eyes to him. «And on what matter? She’s working with funds now. Not receiving.
Very personal. From Anna Thompson. Tell her that last name.
She’ll understand.» The woman looked at them doubtfully, but something in Michael’s face made her rise. She disappeared behind the door with the storage sign.
Several agonizing minutes passed. Emily was sure the archive director would come out now and throw them out. But the door opened, and on the threshold appeared a short, thin woman about sixty.
Gray hair in a tight bun, simple glasses on her nose. She was in a gray work smock. She looked at them with fear.
This was Valerie. «Hello,» she whispered. «You’re from Anna.
But she died.» «We know,» Michael said softly. «I’m her husband, Michael.
And this is her daughter-in-law, Emily.» Valerie fearfully shifted her gaze from one to the other. «I don’t understand what you want.»
«We need your help, Valerie Simmons,» Emily said softly. She understood everything now depended on the right words. It’s about her home.
About the apartment. Her son, our husband, is trying to sell it. Right now.
By deceit. Emily pulled out the black notebook. She opened it to the last page and handed it to Valerie.
Anna knew everything. She wrote it all down. Here.
Look. Valerie took the notebook with trembling hands. She put on glasses hanging on her chest on a chain and began reading.
Emily saw her face change as she read. Fear gave way to something else. Recognition.
Sadness. She talked to me, Valerie whispered, not taking her eyes off the entries. Before her death.
As if she sensed it. She said, «Valerie, if something happens to me, and my wayward son starts selling the house, know he’s up to no good. You must help Emily.
She’s a good girl.» Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. She made me promise, she continued, looking at Emily.
She said, «Swear to me you won’t let my home be destroyed. No matter what.» And I, I swore.
She stood in indecision, torn between fear of authority, of consequences, and the oath given to a dying friend. «We know you’re risking,» said Michael. «But we have no other way.
The deal in two hours. If you don’t help us, it’s over.» Anna asked you to protect her home.
Her last will. Valerie removed her glasses. Wiped her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief.
She looked at Emily. And in her quiet, frightened gaze, Emily saw that very steel core Michael had spoken of. Resolve defeated fear.
«Wait here,» she said firmly. Her voice no longer trembled. She turned and quickly, almost running, disappeared behind the storage door.
Emily and Michael remained standing in the empty hall. Time stretched unbearably. Ten minutes.
Fifteen. What if she changed her mind? What if she went to the director? The door opened again. Valerie came out.
In her hands was a thick, dusty cardboard folder, tied with strings. Old archive stamps on the cover. She approached them.
«Your mother-in-law made me promise,» she said, handing the folder to Emily. Her voice was quiet but firm as rock. «I keep my word.»
She looked at the wall clock. «You have little time.» And then she said what changed everything…
