Marina stared at the laptop screen, where the third-quarter losses glowed in red digits. The numbers were honest, unlike the people behind the neighboring glass partition.
The Kirillov family business had flourished for twenty years, but for the past six months something had been going wrong.
“Marina, come here,” her father-in-law Viktor Semyonovich’s voice rang out across the open space.
She picked up a folder of reports and headed to his office. Through the glass, she could see silhouettes—Viktor Semyonovich himself, his wife Lyudmila Georgievna, and her husband Dima. The full family council.
“Sit,” her father-in-law nodded, not taking his eyes off his phone. “Yes, Mikhál Palych, we’ll handle it… Of course, by Friday… No problem.”
Marina perched on the edge of a leather chair.
In three years as CFO at the family logistics company, she had never learned to feel like one of them. Though Dima kept insisting it was just in her head.
“Here’s the thing, Marina,” Viktor Semyonovich finally set the phone down. “There’s an excellent opportunity. A contract with ‘Northern Route’ to supply equipment to Murmansk. We can make about thirty percent net in six months.”
Lyudmila Georgievna nodded like a bobblehead. Dima was studying his fingernails.
“I’ve reviewed the proposal,” the daughter-in-law began cautiously. “There are a lot of unclear points. The prepayment terms are strange, and there are practically no guarantees…”
“What guarantees do you want?” Viktor Semyonovich raised an eyebrow. “Mikhál Palych called me personally. We worked together back in the nineties. I trust him completely.”
“But the numbers don’t add up. If they don’t fulfill their obligations, we’ll lose about eighty million. Our entire profit for the year.”
“Marina, dear,” her mother-in-law chimed in, “you’re too cautious. In business you have to know how to take risks.”
“Risk has to be reasonable. And here—”
“Here what?” her father-in-law no longer hid his irritation. “Do you know the market better than Mikhál Palych? Or better than me?”
“I know math,” Marina replied quietly. “And Northern Route’s financial statements. They have liquidity problems.”
At last Dima looked up.
“Mom, Dad, maybe we should listen? Marina knows what she’s doing…”
“Knows!” Viktor Semyonovich snorted. “She knows Excel. But life? Real business?”
Marina felt something tighten in her chest. A familiar sensation…
It was always like this. When she proposed optimizing transport expenses, she heard “doesn’t understand the specifics.” When she insisted on vetting a supplier—“too suspicious.” When she asked to postpone warehouse expansion—“small-minded.”
“Viktor Semyonovich, let me prepare a detailed risk analysis. I’ll model several scenarios…”
“No need to calculate anything!” He slapped his palm on the desk. “The decision is made. Have the documents ready by tomorrow.”
“I can’t do that.”
A heavy silence fell. Lyudmila Georgievna’s mouth fell open. Dima stared at the carpet pattern.
“What did you say?” Viktor Semyonovich asked slowly.
“I won’t prepare documents for a deal that will ruin the company. It goes against my professional principles.”
“Your principles?” his voice rose to a falsetto. “Who feeds you? Who bought the apartment? The car? Who pulled you out of that research institute where you worked for peanuts?”
“Viktor Semyonovich…”
“If you don’t like it, the door is right there!” He no longer restrained himself. “Get out of here! No one in this company dares contradict me. Especially you! If you think you’re indispensable, you’re mistaken. You’re nobody and you’re nothing!”
Marina looked at her husband. Dima silently studied the carpet’s design, making no move to defend her.
“Vitya’s right,” said Lyudmila Georgievna in support. “A family should have mutual understanding. And you, Marina, behave like an outsider.”
“Dima?” she still hoped for her husband.
He slowly raised his eyes. There was something like regret in them. And submission.
“Marish, maybe you really should… agree.”
A deathly silence settled in the office.
Their colleagues pretended to be absorbed in work, but she could feel their curious glances. Sound carried perfectly in the open space.
“All right,” the daughter-in-law answered with dignity. “I’ll go.”
Viktor Semyonovich lifted his head. Poorly concealed triumph gleamed in his eyes.
“That’s a good girl. So, here’s how—”
“But I’m resigning today.”
“As if! Officially you’ll resign in a month, when I find a replacement. Until then you work as you should. Prepare the Northern Route documents, submit reports on time. And no sabotage, or you’ll be dismissed for cause—with the appropriate wording.”
Marina nodded. She had expected something like this. In her years there, she had learned her father-in-law’s character well enough.
“Understood. Good day.”
“Where do you think you’re going? The workday isn’t over.”
“It’s my lunch break.”
She took her handbag and left the office without looking back.
The café across from the office center was nearly empty. Marina ordered a cappuccino and sat by the window. She needed to collect her thoughts. To make plans. To figure out what to do with a life that had suddenly collapsed like a house of cards.
“Marish!” her husband’s voice sounded behind her. “Found you.”
He plopped into the chair opposite and sighed heavily.
“Why did you do that? Dad just lost his temper. He didn’t mean it…”
“Order something or leave.”
“Marina, what’s with you?” He leaned across the table toward her. “So you argued. That’s normal in a family business. Mom and Dad fight every week and then make up.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“What does that— Marish, I get it, you’re upset. But this will be better. Honestly. You’ll find a job you like without family drama… Or maybe things will smooth over and you’ll work at the company same as before. And I think the second option is quite realistic.”
Marina looked at her husband—his light-brown hair, blue eyes, gentle features. Three years ago that softness had seemed attractive. Now she saw only weakness.
“Dima, are you actually slow, or just pretending? What have I been complaining about for the last six months?”
“About what?” he blinked in confusion.
“About your father! The way he behaves!”
“Well, yeah, he can be a bit harsh sometimes…”
“About how he behaves with women. With me in particular.”
Dmitry fell silent. His face showed he understood what she meant.
“Marish, that’s nothing…”
“Nothing?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “When your father asks me to ‘have a little chat’ with Mikhál Palych? ‘Play along a bit, smile—you understand how important this contract is?’ When he tells everyone what an ‘appetizing’ figure I have?”
“He’s just… broad-minded. He doesn’t think about what he says.”
“And when Mikhál Palych groped me at the corporate party? Broad-minded then too?”
Her husband flushed.
“You didn’t say…”
“I told you about it the next day. Don’t twist this! What did you answer me? ‘So he groped you, big deal. It happens. The main thing is he signed the contract.’ Is that normal?”
“I didn’t say it like that.”
“You said it exactly like that. And then added that smiling wouldn’t kill me.”
They sat in silence. Outside, the October rain poured without end.
“Marish,” Dima said softly, “I didn’t mean… I mean, maybe I misunderstood then…”
“And now—do you understand correctly?”
“Now you’re putting me in a difficult position. These are my parents. My family.”
“And who am I?”
“You… you’re family too. But you can’t expect me to go against my father over some misunderstandings!”
Marina finished her coffee and set the cup down.
“Dima, I need to be alone. To think. Please don’t call me for now.”
“Marina, wait…”
“Don’t call me for now,” she repeated, and walked out of the café.
She worked at the company two more weeks: methodically doing her duties and preparing the documents for that ill-fated contract, knowing it would lead to catastrophe.
Her father-in-law was triumphant. The deal was signed and the first tranche received.
“You see,” he told Dima loud enough for the whole office, “your wife is too cautious. Business requires boldness!”
But Marina wasn’t only doing routine work.
In the evenings, in the quiet of the empty office, she studied the company’s financial documents. What she had previously shown little interest in now revealed an unexpected side.
It turned out that a lot of strange things had been happening over the past two years: documents she had never seen; invoices with Dima’s signature for shipments of goods without the proper licenses; contracts for transit of “special cargoes”; suspicious payments to shell companies.
All of it bypassed her—the CFO.
Marina was at her desk reviewing another “agreement” bearing her husband’s signature when Lyudmila Georgievna walked in.
“Marina, dear,” her mother-in-law approached with a conciliatory smile. “Maybe we shouldn’t quarrel? You were offended by Vitya. I understand you. You’re right. He can be rude sometimes. But we’re family, which means we should find compromise.”
“Lyudmila Georgievna, I’m resigning in two weeks.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss!” She sat on the edge of the desk. “What if we ask you to stay? With a raise, expanded authority…”
“Interesting. What changed?”
“Vitya realized he went too far. And that contract…” She lowered her voice. “Looks like you were right. Mikhál Palych is up to something. He’s delaying the second tranche, not answering calls.”
Marina nodded. She had been expecting this for a week.
“So the company might lose eight million?”
“Maybe it’s not that bad…” Her mother-in-law forced a smile. “But Vitya said if you agree to stay, he’s willing to apologize officially.”
“And what does Dima think?”
“Dimочка? He’s all for it. Says you’re the best finance person he knows.”
Marina almost laughed. The best finance person who for three years didn’t see what was happening right under her nose. Thanks to her own personal naivete.
“You know, Lyudmila Georgievna, I’ll think about it. But I need guarantees that nothing like this will happen again.”
“What guarantees? What do you want?”
“Full access to financial information. Absolutely everything. Veto power on dubious deals. And a conversation with your family about… transparency.”
Her mother-in-law bobbed her head.
“Of course, of course. We’ll discuss everything.”
When she left, Marina returned to the documents. Now she understood why they were so insistent that she stay. Without her, the company would quickly sink into financial chaos—especially after the Northern Route fiasco.
Dima came home late, tired and gloomy.
“How’s it going?” his wife asked without looking up from her laptop.
“Bad. Mikhál Palych disappeared. Phones off, office closed.”
“So—eight million? Or all eighty?”
“Unclear yet. Maybe we’ll find a way to get the money back. Dad’s contacting lawyers.”
Marina saved the file and closed the computer.
“Dima, your parents are offering me to stay.”
“Seriously?” He brightened immediately. “Marish, that’s great! Then everything will work out!”
“Under certain conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Full access to the financial documents. Absolutely all of them.”
Dima froze.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to understand why the CFO doesn’t see half the company’s operations. Why there are documents that pass me by.”
“Marish, those are… operational matters…”
“Shipments without licenses, transit of unknown cargo, payments to shell companies… operational matters too?”
His face went pale.
“You don’t understand. Everyone works like that. Otherwise you can’t survive in business here.”
“Everyone works like that, but the signatures are yours. And your father’s.”
“Marish, I didn’t want to drag you into this. You’re honest, principled… We were protecting you.”
“Protecting me? Or using me as a cover? An honest CFO who, if anything, knows nothing. Is that it?”
Dmitry was silent, staring at the floor. Marina waited. Finally he raised his head.
“Marish, it’s not what you think. We’re not cheating anyone, not robbing anyone. It’s just… there are goods for which it’s hard to get official permits. Bureaucracy, bribes, months of waiting. But there’s demand.”
“What goods?”
“Medical equipment from China. Industrial spare parts. Electronics. All legal, just… without the extra paperwork.”
She sat back down. A clear picture formed in her mind: a parallel business, gray imports, smuggling—and she… the unwitting cover.
“How much money?”
“How much what?”
“How much money are you running outside the official books?”
Dima rubbed the back of his head.
“Fifteen million a year. Maybe twenty.”
“God…” She closed her eyes. “Dima, do you understand that this is a criminal offense? Smuggling, illegal entrepreneurship…”
“I understand. But there was no choice. Dad said either we grow or the competitors will eat us.”
“And you agreed.”
“I…” He faltered. “I couldn’t refuse him. He’s my father.”
The same tired refrain! “But it’s family.” “It’s my father.” “It’s my mother.”
“And why didn’t you let me in on it?”
“We just wanted to spare you. Look how worked up you get over one contract. And here…”
“Here it’s twenty million a year in shady schemes!”
Over the next few days Marina wrapped up her current tasks and copied documents. Carefully, bit by bit, saving files to a flash drive. By week’s end she had a complete picture of the Kirillov family’s shadow business.
On Friday, Viktor Semyonovich summoned his daughter-in-law to his office. He sat at his desk, stone-faced, deep in thought.
“Well, decided? Are you staying or not?”
“I’m staying,” Marina said calmly.
“Good girl. So starting Monday—”
“On the condition of full transparency for all operations.”
“What transparency?” he frowned.
“I know about the parallel business. About the smuggling. About the gray schemes.”
He froze, then slowly leaned back in his chair.
“Did Dima blab?”
“It doesn’t matter how I found out. What matters is that I know. And if I stay, I want control over all financial flows.”
“Listen to how clever you’ve gotten!” He twisted his mouth. “Maybe it’s better you resign as we agreed? Amicably.”
“No. I’m staying. And I’ll make sure everything is clean.”
“Make sure…” He smirked. “And if I don’t like your guardianship?”
“Then I’ll go to law enforcement. With documents.”
Silence hung between them. He squinted at her.
“So you’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m demanding legality.”
“Legality… Funny. Suppose you stay. You control. And what about your salary? Want a raise?”
“I want a share in the company.”
“What?!”
“Fifty percent. Officially. With voting rights on decisions.”
“Have you lost your mind? Fifty percent?”
“Viktor Semyonovich, for three years I served as your cover. Unwittingly, but I did. My signature is on the official papers, it’s my reputation. Now I want fair compensation.”
He slumped back, breathing heavily.
“And if I refuse?”
“You won’t. Because the alternative is a criminal case. And losing everything.”
There was a knock at the door. Dima came in and mumbled anxiously:
“Dad, some people are here. They say they’re from the tax police.”
Viktor Semyonovich and Marina looked at each other.
“It’s not me,” she said quietly.
The tax police operatives worked methodically and professionally. Viktor Semyonovich sat in his office ashen-gray, Lyudmila Georgievna cried in the restroom, and Dima smoked one cigarette after another on the stairwell.
Marina was interrogated last. Major Sokolov leafed carefully through her documents.
“You’ve been CFO for three years?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew nothing about the parallel turnover?”
“Nothing. They kept me away from those operations.”
“I see. And now you do know?”
Marina paused, then nodded.
“I found out recently. By accident.”
“And what were you going to do?”
“Demand that the illegal activity stop.”
The major smirked.
“Noble. Unfortunately, too late. We have information about smuggled shipments exceeding thirty million rubles. That’s a particularly large amount.”
When the operatives left, the Kirillov family gathered in the father-in-law’s office. Lyudmila sobbed, Viktor was silent, Dima nervously fidgeted with his phone.
“Who could have tipped them off?” the father-in-law finally asked.
“Maybe competitors,” Dima suggested uncertainly.
“Or one of the employees.”
“It doesn’t matter who,” Marina said. “What matters is what to do next.”
They all looked at her.
“Do you have a good lawyer?”
“Yes,” Viktor nodded.
“Then listen carefully. By law, with voluntary restitution and active cooperation with the investigation, you can count on leniency. Possibly even a suspended sentence.”
“And what do you propose?” he asked.
“Transfer the company to me. Completely. Officially. As compensation for the moral damage of my unwitting participation in illegal activities. I’ll negotiate the budget, make restitution, and become a bona fide owner of the company.”
Dima’s mouth fell open.
“Marish, what are you doing?”
“Saving your hides. The alternative is full asset seizure and real prison time.”
“And what guarantees do we have that you won’t sell the company?” asked Lyudmila.
“None!” Marina shrugged. “But you have no choice.”
Viktor was silent, thinking it over. Finally he said:
“And what do we get in return?”
“Freedom. I take responsibility for the financial side; you get the status of deceived partners. Dima can stay on as a line manager. Salary per the labor contract.”
“And you?”
“I become the sole owner of a company with a turnover of a hundred million rubles. Fair, don’t you think?”
A month later all the paperwork was redone. Viktor received a suspended sentence and a fine; Dima—community service.
Marina paid the state full restitution and became the rightful owner of Logistic-Service.
She sat in the same office where, two months earlier, she’d been called a loser, and smiled contentedly. Behind the glass partition, employees were working—now her employees.
There was a knock. Dima entered with a folder of documents.
“Marina Vladimirovna, the logistics report is ready.”
“Thank you, Dmitry Viktorovich. Leave it on the desk.”
He hesitated in the doorway.
“Marish… I mean, Marina Vladimirovna… may I ask a personal question?”
“I’m listening.”
“Was this all… on purpose? Did you plan it from the start?”
Marina leaned back in her chair. December sun shone outside the window; on her desk stood a bouquet of tulips—a gift from a new business partner.
“You know, Dima, I really didn’t know about your schemes. And I didn’t call the tax police; they found you on their own. But once it all started, I simply took advantage of the situation.”
“And the divorce?”
“I’ll file next week. We’ll dissolve the marriage by mutual consent.”
Dima nodded and left. Marina opened the report. The numbers were good: the company was recovering after the upheaval, clients were returning, profits were growing.
Her phone rang. An unfamiliar name lit up on the screen.
“Marina Vladimirovna? This is Mikhail Petrovich from Severstroy. I heard you have new management. Shall we discuss cooperation? I have a very interesting proposal…”
“Mikhail Petrovich, please send your commercial proposal to my email. I’ll review it and get back to you.”
“But perhaps we could meet? Have dinner somewhere, discuss the details…”
Marina smiled.
“No, thank you. I handle business matters strictly in the office. Goodbye.”
She hung up and returned to the reports.
Snow was beginning to fall outside, but the office was warm and bright. Justice had triumphed in the most unexpected way.