— Just do me one favor: if anyone asks where we met, say it was through mutual friends. No need to mention the laundromat.
Nina stood in front of the mirror in the fitting room, pulling up the zipper on a deep burgundy dress. Arkady Somov had promised her thirty thousand for one evening as his fiancée, and now he was instructing her on how to speak and smile properly.
— Then you shouldn’t mention the laundromat either, — Nina replied. — Otherwise, it’ll sound strange.
— Are you going to start making demands now? — Somov glanced at his watch. — We’ve got two days until Saturday. Decide quickly, before I find someone who’s easier to work with.
Nina smoothed the dress over her waist. She needed the money, but she was already regretting saying yes.
How it all began with those thirty thousand
Nina Dementyeva had worked at the Clean Shore laundromat for nine years. She was fifty-two. She accepted laundry, checked its condition, and sometimes filled in for the manager. After her shift, she usually stopped by her mother’s place: they were repairing the bathroom there after a burst pipe.
Somov had been a customer for almost three years. His driver would bring laundry from his country house. The boss himself would come in with complaints: demanding the urgent return of a shirt or tablecloth. Once, he claimed that their staff tore the lining of his expensive jacket.
Nina pulled out the intake slip. There was already a note about damage near the inside pocket, signed by the driver at the bottom.
— So he just signed it without looking — said Somov. — Does that mean you’re off the hook?
— We accepted the item with the damage and recorded it before cleaning. You can check the record yourself.
He didn’t even look at it. He demanded the manager, threatened a bad review and to stop using their services. Svetlana Andreevna walked him to his car and came back upset.
— Could you be more careful? He gives us as much business in a month as some clients do in a year.
— I wasn’t rude to him. If we admit to damaging the lining, they’ll take it out of our pay.
The manager asked Nina to call her right away for any issues. She kept the client, but after that, every Somov visit turned into a test of patience.
Nina had previously worked at a jewelry factory, inspecting finished pieces for twelve years. In the early 2000s, hundreds of silver items passed through her hands. When the factory shut down, she moved first to a sewing workshop, then eventually to the laundromat. Somov never asked about any of that.
On Tuesday, Somov showed up without his driver, placed a bag of shirts on the counter, and unexpectedly asked:
— Are you free on Saturday? I need a companion for a private auction. I’ll introduce you as my future wife. You just have to sit by me, chat a bit with the guests—that’s it.
Nina thought she misheard. Arkady explained: his ex-wife would be at the auction with her new boyfriend, and he wanted to prove that he’d moved on too. He promised to transfer the money right away.
— Why not invite a real friend? — Nina asked.
— With a friend, there are always explanations afterward. With you, it’s simple: agreement, one evening, then we go our separate ways. You’re practical.
They had already removed the old tiles at her mother’s place, and the contractor was waiting to be paid for the materials. Nina really didn’t want to borrow from her sister again. She insisted that she not be filmed for any publications and that nothing be promised on her behalf. Somov agreed, transferred the money in front of her, and her phone immediately pinged with a notification of the deposit.
Who was the show really for?
On Thursday, Somov’s assistant drove Nina to a salon where Arkady greeted them. They picked out a dress, paid for it, and Nina took it home in a garment bag. She hung it carefully in her closet and picked out her favorite shoes for the night—she had no intention of spending the entire evening in unfamiliar heels.
On Saturday, Nina was dropped off by the driver at an old mansion. At the pre-auction exhibition, the jewelry was displayed behind glass cases, and invitations were checked at the entrance. Somov greeted her by the coat check, looked over her dress, and nodded in approval.
He owned retail spaces and an equipment supply company, and in recent years, he had become passionate about antique silver—keeping some purchases for himself, selling the rest to collectors.
At first, everything went smoothly. Somov introduced Nina to an elderly couple, then his ex-wife approached with her new companion. She wished them a pleasant evening and walked away. Arkady was clearly hoping for a more dramatic reaction.
“Meet my future wife! Can you believe it, I found her not just anywhere, but at a laundromat. She personally ironed my shirts. I figured, if someone is taking such good care of me, I’d better bring her into the family!”
His friend burst out laughing. Nina set her plate down on the table and glanced at Somov.
“Arkady, we agreed you wouldn’t tell that story,” she quietly reminded him.
“Come on, it’s just us here.” He turned to the lady standing nearby. “And the best part is—a wife like this doesn’t need gifts. Just buy her a good iron, and it’s a celebration.”
The woman next to them looked away, and the others pretended to busy themselves with the appetizers. Somov leaned in close to Nina so only she could hear him:
“Don’t ruin the evening. For this kind of money, you can put up with a joke.”
The joke that came with consequences
Nina stepped away from the guests toward the glass cases, but Arkady followed her, bringing along three acquaintances, including Boris Petrovich, a short, gray-haired collector. Somov opened the catalog to the jewelry page and handed it to Nina.
“So, tell us, how much do you think this is worth? Five thousand? Or ten? You deal with valuable things every day—even if they’re not yours.”
“Get ready, we’re about to hear the expert opinion of someone who really knows the value of quality detergent!”
“You can’t appraise something from a photo,” Nina replied. “Especially when you can’t see the back side.”
Boris Petrovich didn’t laugh. Instead, he asked Nina how long she’d worked at the laundromat. She answered and added that before that, she worked with jewelry.
“Did you hear that? We’re about to get jewelry appraisals, too. Nina, maybe you restore paintings on weekends as well?”
When the auction started, Somov seated Nina in the front row. He started chatting with the person beside him about their purchases, soon forgetting all about his companion.
During the intermission, Nina slipped into the next room. By the window stood Boris Petrovich. On the lapel of his gray jacket sparkled a silver brooch—an unusual accessory for a man’s suit—a branch with three leaves and berries.
“So you decided to stay after all,” he remarked. “If I were you, I would’ve left earlier.”
“You didn’t help me either,” Nina replied. “You could’ve at least asked your friend to stop.”
“I bought this from Arkady in the spring. He brought an entire collection with him. Said it was antique silver from a collector’s family. I wore it today on purpose—wanted to show him it’s not just sitting around unused.”
Nina asked if she could take a closer look at the brooch. The man unfastened the pin, removed the piece from his lapel, and placed it in her open palm. The clasp was sturdy, the leaves were even, although the edge of one leaf seemed a little rougher than the others.
Nina remembered seeing a similar design, but she knew she could be mistaken. Accusing someone just based on appearances would be foolish. She handed the brooch back.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to check the maker’s mark—with a magnifying glass. The letters are too tiny to read otherwise.”
A tiny mark on the back side
Boris Petrovich turned to a jewelry expert. The specialist brought over a magnifying glass and suggested they go to a well-lit table. He set the brooch on a cushioned pad and turned it over to show the reverse side.
Nina studied the tiny stamp next to the clasp for a long time. Then she asked the specialist to take a look at the first mark.
“It looks like the letter ‘B’,” she said. “If I’m correct, that stamp is from 2002. The next symbols should tell us the maker. At our plant, we put them in a certain spot, right near the clasp.”
The specialist took the magnifying glass and, after a brief pause, confirmed that the mark did indeed look modern. But he quickly added that you can’t draw final conclusions from one stamp, especially if the piece had ever been repaired.
“I’m not trying to draw conclusions,” Nina said. “I just remember this model from work. Our mold created a small bump near the lower leaf. It would show up in a few batches. There’s one here, too. Look.”
Boris Petrovich was still calm, but he’d stopped smiling. He took out his phone, opened a conversation with Somov, and showed a message where Arkady called the brooch a pre-revolutionary piece. A collector had transferred 120,000 rubles for it.
The specialist brought out a catalog. Under number twenty-seven, they found a nearly identical silver branch—except this one didn’t have any tarnish by the clasp.
Beneath the photo it read: late 19th century, rare work by an unknown master. Starting price: 480,000 rubles. According to the documents, the seller was Somov.
The specialist reported the situation to the auction supervisor, who ordered the disputed piece removed from display for separate inspection. Nina was told there wouldn’t be a final conclusion today, but checking the date was a must.
When lot number twenty-six was sold, the auctioneer announced a short break as directed by the organizers.
Arkady left the hall and saw Nina standing by the door.
“What are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you,” Somov said brusquely.
“We were talking with the expert,” Boris Petrovich replied. “Arkady, where did you get those brooches you’ve been selling as antiques?”
“I told you—I bought the entire collection. Why the interrogation?”
The auction manager explained that Lot 27 was being withdrawn until its date could be verified. Somov demanded answers, was told it resembled a modern mass-produced item, and turned to Nina.
“Did she tell you that? The woman from the laundry? Do you even know who I am?”
“Someone who used to deal with jewelry,” the manager replied. “We’re checking the piece, not your status. The decision to remove the lot is ours.”
Somov started talking about his reputation and the special guests. Boris Petrovich put his phone in his pocket and said he was still waiting for an answer about his own purchase.
The auctioneer resumed the bidding and announced that Lot 27 would not be sold today. Someone from the audience asked about the rest of Somov’s collection, but the host said to wait for a separate announcement from the organizers.
The money that had to be returned
Somov caught up with Nina near the cloakroom. She handed her ticket to the attendant and waited for her coat.
“Are you happy now?” he asked. “I invited you, dressed you up, paid you, and you decided to ruin my sale.”
“You paid me to pretend to be your fiancée. There was no agreement about staying quiet if I saw something suspicious.”
“You’re not even an expert. No one asked you to get involved.”
Nina put her coat on over her dress. She wanted to say everything she had bottled up over the past three years, but the cloakroom attendant was nearby.
“Maybe I would have kept quiet if you hadn’t spent the entire evening making me answer questions about the jewelry,” Nina said. “Now handle things with the auction yourself.”
Boris Petrovich approached them, phone in hand.
“Don’t leave, Arkady. You personally wrote to me saying the brooches were over a hundred years old. I want to see the documents you used to make that determination.”
On Monday, Svetlana Andreevna said Somov had canceled the laundry service. Nina showed the messages where he himself offered her the role of fiancée for money. The quarrel happened at a private event and had nothing to do with work. The manager was annoyed but didn’t punish Nina.
“Do you realize how much business he brought us?” the manager asked.
“I do. But I couldn’t magically make his brooch look older, even if I’d wanted to.”
Four days later, Nina got a call from the auction house. They asked her to name her former workplace and remember her colleagues. She tracked down Antonina Sergeyevna, whom she hadn’t spoken to in years. Antonina promised to check some old factory catalogs.
A few days later, they found the catalog. On a 2002 page was a photo of the “Rowan Branch” brooch and its model number. Experts compared it with the lot, inspected the markings and how it was made. The review confirmed it: the date in the auction listing was incorrect—the brooch wasn’t pre-revolutionary.
Nearly three weeks later, Boris Petrovich reported that Somov had first offered him an exchange, but after a written complaint and negotiations, returned 120,000 rubles. The buyer gave the brooch back. According to him, the auction also postponed sales of other items from the same batch for further review.
“Arkady and I were planning to buy another collection together,” Boris Petrovich added. “Now I won’t. He’ll have to find a new partner.”
“So why were you silent when he was laughing at me?” Nina suddenly asked.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then the man admitted he’d behaved badly and wanted to apologize. She didn’t try to comfort him, but she did accept his apology.
On Friday, Nina stopped by her mother’s place. The handyman had already mounted the mirror above the sink and the grout on the floor was drying. Her mother asked if there had been enough money. Nina said the repairs had been paid for.
In the evening, a colleague from the auction offered Nina a paid consultation about some early-2000s items. Nina checked her shift schedule and agreed to come in on a free Thursday.
The next day, Nina was back at ‘Clean Shore’ processing laundry: she counted the shirts and wrote the numbers down on the invoice. Arcady Somov’s name was no longer on the list of regular clients.