Marina slowly set aside the calculator she had just used to tally the family budget. Their living room rang with a brittle silence. Outside, the March sun lit up Moscow’s rooftops, while inside the room was half-dark—Igor had drawn the curtains on purpose before this talk.
“So what do you mean—your mother is going to live in MY apartment?” Marina pulled the documents out of a folder. “Igor, do you realize how absurd your proposal is?”
“An absolutely NORMAL proposal,” he said, slouching in the armchair with one leg crossed over the other. “Formally, the apartment will be yours—on paper. But Mom is old, she needs care. And I’ll come by every day, help her. It’s convenient: you get the apartment, as the law says you should, and Mom is supervised.”
Marina studied his face closely. In fifteen years of marriage she had learned to read between the lines. Igor was hiding something—and that “something” was clearly connected to money.
“Valentina Petrovna lives perfectly well in her own two-room apartment in Khimki,” Marina noted calmly. “She’s seventy-two, she does Nordic walking and runs knitting classes at the local community center. What ‘care’?”
“None of your business!” Igor snapped. “I’ve DECIDED, end of discussion. You’ll sign the divorce agreement with this condition—or you’ll get nothing at all. I’ll drag you through court for years, exhaust you with lawsuits.”
Marina took out a notebook and started writing something down. Igor jerked nervously.
“What are you scribbling there?”
“Calculating,” she replied shortly. “Your salary as a senior manager at a construction firm is one hundred eighty thousand rubles. My salary as a senior economist is ninety thousand. Over fifteen years of marriage, I contributed to the family budget…”
“What difference does it make!” Igor rose from the chair. “You didn’t work for three years when Alice was little!”
“Two years and seven months,” Marina corrected. “And even on maternity leave I did accounting remotely for three individual entrepreneurs. The income was thirty thousand a month. Every receipt is saved, every transfer is recorded.”
“You’ve lost your mind with your numbers!” Igor began pacing. “What receipts, what transfers? We were a FAMILY!”
“We were,” Marina agreed. “And that’s exactly why I documented every kopek. Do you know how many times your mother borrowed money from us ‘just until payday’ and never paid it back? Thirty-seven times. Total—eight hundred forty-three thousand rubles.”
Igor stopped in the middle of the room. His face turned a deep purplish red.
“Don’t you DARE drag my mother into this! She helped us with Alice!”
“She helped fourteen times in fifteen years,” Marina said, flipping a page in her notebook. “Total time—forty-two days. At the average cost of a nanny in Moscow, that’s about one hundred twenty-six thousand rubles. Which means the remaining debt is seven hundred seventeen thousand.”
“You… you’re some kind of MONSTER!” Igor breathed out. “Who even keeps statistics like that in a family?”
“I do. Because I’m an economist. And because I noticed a strange pattern—your mother’s money always ‘disappeared’ two or three days before your ‘corporate parties.’ Remember that August when she urgently needed two hundred thousand for an operation? And the very next day you bought new watches. A Breitling Navitimer, model AB0127—two hundred twelve thousand rubles.”
Their daughter Alice peeked out of her room.
“Mom, Dad—why are you yelling?”
“Go do your homework, sweetheart,” Igor said quickly. “Mom and I are just… talking.”
When the door closed behind their daughter, he turned back to his wife.
“Fine. You want the truth? Mom is selling her apartment in Khimki. Buyers are already lined up—they’re offering a good price: twelve million. But she needs somewhere to live! So she’ll live in our… I mean, in your apartment.”
“Why would Valentina Petrovna sell her apartment?” Marina made another note in her notebook.
“She wants to travel in her old age,” Igor said, looking away. “It’s her dream.”
Marina opened her laptop and started searching.
“Strange. Here’s her social media page. Her last post was yesterday: ‘Knitted a new throw for the living room. So nice that I don’t have to go anywhere—home is best.’ And not a single post about traveling in the last five years.”
“You’re stalking my mother?” Igor protested.
“I’m tracking FACTS,” Marina cut him off. “And the facts say you’re lying. Who needs those twelve million? You?”
Igor said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists. Marina continued.
“Three months ago you started staying late at work. Only you weren’t at work. I checked—your office pass logs you out at six, and you come home at eleven. Five hours, Igor. Where do they go?”
“That’s none of your—”
“It’s MY business because you’re spending our joint money. In three months, four hundred eighty thousand rubles were charged to the credit card. Restaurants, gifts, the Metropol Hotel—luxury suite, six times.”
“How do you even—” Igor started, then broke off.
“I do our family accounting, remember?” Marina opened a new file on her laptop. “I have access to all our accounts. And I see every transaction. Here, for example—purchase at a jewelry boutique on Tverskaya: one hundred fifty thousand rubles. Diamond earrings. You didn’t give them to me. Or to Alice.”
“Maybe I bought them for Mom!” Igor blurted.
“Valentina Petrovna hasn’t worn earrings in about ten years—she’s allergic to metal,” Marina answered evenly. “She told me herself. More than once. So who are the earrings for, Igoryok?”
He sank heavily back into the chair.
“There’s… someone. But it’s NOT what you think!”
“I’m not thinking. I KNOW. Elena Andreevna, twenty-eight, sales manager at your company. Height—one meter seventy-five, weight—around sixty kilos, clothing size forty-six. Prefers Italian cuisine and semi-sweet white wine.”
“You hired a private investigator?!” Igor gasped.
“Why?” Marina shrugged. “It’s enough to analyze your purchases. Restaurant ‘Italia’—eight times, always a table for two, always the same wine. A women’s Valentino dress, size forty-six—gift on February twenty-third. A strange date for a gift until you find out it’s Elena’s birthday. Public information from your company’s corporate website.”
Igor wiped his sweaty forehead.
“So what? Yes, I have… a relationship. But that’s not a reason to give you the apartment!”
“The apartment will be mine by law anyway—it’s registered in my name, a wedding gift from my parents. You’re only registered here. The division of other property is where it gets interesting,” Marina said, opening another folder. “Because, Igor, I calculated your real income.”
“What do you mean, ‘real’?”
“Your salary is one hundred eighty thousand. But you spend an average of three hundred twenty thousand a month. The difference is one hundred forty thousand. Over a year, that’s one million six hundred eighty thousand. Where does it come from, Igor?”
“Bonuses, commissions…”
“All your official bonuses go through payroll. Last year you got three hundred thousand in bonuses. That’s it. Which leaves an unexplained income of one million three hundred eighty thousand rubles a year.”
Igor went pale.
“You won’t prove anything.”
“I don’t need to prove anything. In the divorce, I’ll submit these calculations. And I’ll ask to divide not only your official income, but your real one. The court will order a financial examination. And I think your boss will be VERY interested to learn where a chief procurement manager gets extra money.”
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m working with NUMBERS. Look—last year your company purchased construction materials totaling two hundred million rubles. Meanwhile the prices were inflated by an average of three to four percent compared to market. That’s six to eight million rubles in overpayment. If we assume you get kickbacks equal to twenty percent of the overpayment—”
“ENOUGH!” Igor roared. “What do you want?”
Marina closed the laptop and looked at her husband steadily.
“I want FAIRNESS. A divorce with no conditions. The apartment stays with me and Alice—it’s mine anyway. Child support—twenty-five percent of your official salary, as required by law. And none of your mother living in my apartment.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll send my calculations not only to the court, but to your CEO as well. Mr. Vorontsov is extremely particular about financial integrity. Remember how he fired Semyonov for stealing three thousand rubles from the cashbox?”
Igor sprang up and began pacing.
“You’ll destroy me! I have a job, a reputation, my mother…”
“Your mother will get her twelve million for her apartment and live just fine. Unless, of course, you take that money from her. And that’s exactly what you planned, isn’t it? Sell your mother’s apartment, pocket the money for yourself and Elena’s new place, and move Valentina Petrovna into my apartment. Clever. Only it won’t work.”
The doorbell rang. Igor flinched.
“Who could that be?”
“Your mother,” Marina answered calmly, getting up to open the door. “I invited her for tea. And I’m going to tell her something.”
“NO!” Igor lunged for the door, but Marina was already opening it.
Valentina Petrovna entered, taking off her coat.
“Marinochka, sweetheart, thank you for inviting me! Igoryok, you’re home too? Wonderful!”
“Mom, maybe not right now…” Igor began, but Marina cut him off.
“Valentina Petrovna, come into the living room. We need to discuss something important. It concerns your apartment in Khimki.”
The elderly woman lifted her eyebrows in surprise.
“My apartment? What about it?”
“Igor says you’re planning to sell it for twelve million.”
“Sell?!” Valentina Petrovna threw up her hands. “I’ve lived there my whole life! My friends are there, my knitting club, my favorite clinic is nearby! Igor, what nonsense is this?”
Igor reddened.
“Mom, I just… it’s a misunderstanding…”
“No misunderstanding,” Marina said, taking documents out of the folder. “Here’s a copy of the preliminary sales agreement for your apartment. The signature is forged, but the handwriting is very similar to yours, Valentina Petrovna. Igor did his best—practiced, apparently.”
“What?!” The elderly woman clutched at her chest. “Igor, is it true?”
“Mom, I’ll explain everything…”
“And while you’re at it, explain where the money went that you borrowed from us ‘for Valentina Petrovna,’” Marina added. “Eight hundred forty-three thousand rubles. For medicine, operations, treatment… And your mother, it turns out, didn’t even know about these loans.”
“Igor Mikhailovich,” Valentina Petrovna said slowly, rising, her voice turning to steel. “You lied to your wife that you were taking money for me?”
“Mom, it’s not like that…”
“Then how is it?!” she stamped her foot. “Marinochka is showing you numbers, documents! You wanted to sell MY apartment? Where were you planning to put me?”
Marina answered calmly.
“With us. Meaning with me. After the divorce the apartment stays with me, but you were supposed to live here. And the money from your apartment Igor planned to spend on new housing for himself and his… mistress.”
“A mistress?!” Valentina Petrovna sat back down. “You have another woman?”
Igor stayed silent, staring at the floor.
“You know what,” Valentina Petrovna said, turning to Marina decisively. “Show me all your calculations. All of them, down to the last kopek. I want to know what my son spent the family money on.”
For the next hour Marina methodically laid out the facts—every purchase, every transfer, every restaurant visit. Valentina Petrovna listened, her face growing darker.
“Four hundred eighty thousand in three months on a strange woman,” she summed up. “And for my birthday—a bouquet for one and a half thousand. Thank you, son—your daughter-in-law opened my eyes.”
“Mom, don’t listen to her! She twists everything!”
“Numbers don’t lie, Igoryok,” Valentina Petrovna snapped. “I may be retired, but I’m not an idiot. Marina calculated everything correctly. And you… you’re a TRAITOR. You betrayed your wife and you tried to set me up.”
She turned back to Marina.
“Dear girl, if you need my help in the divorce—witness testimony or anything else—come to me. And I’ll visit Alice too, if you allow it. My granddaughter is innocent.”
“Of course, Valentina Petrovna. Alice loves you.”
“Mom, you’re taking her side?!” Igor howled.
“I’m on the side of the TRUTH,” the elderly woman answered harshly. “And you know what? Forget my address. Forget my phone number, too. You thought you’d sell my apartment… I’ll strike you out of my will and sign a deed of gift to my granddaughter! You won’t get a single kopek!”
She headed for the door, but stopped on the threshold.
“Marina, you’re doing the right thing. Mathematics is a great power. It brings a swindler into the light. Good luck, my dear.”
When the door closed behind Valentina Petrovna, silence settled over the apartment. Igor sat in the armchair, his head in his hands.
“You ruined everything,” he said dully.
“No, Igor. You ruined everything yourself. I just CALCULATED your ruin—in rubles and kopeks.”
Marina gathered the papers back into the folder and stood.
“Tomorrow I’m expecting you at the notary’s. Ten a.m. We’ll sign the divorce agreement on my terms. If you don’t come, then at eleven all my calculations will be on Mr. Vorontsov’s desk.”
“I’ll come,” Igor nodded, defeated.
“And one more thing,” Marina paused in the doorway. “I also calculated something for your mistress. For example, that of the jewelry and clothing you gave her—two million three hundred thousand rubles in total—half was bought with MY money. From our joint account. That’s called dissipation of marital property. It can be recovered. With interest.”
“You contacted her?!” Igor shouted.
“Not yet. But if you keep being stubborn, I will,” Marina said. “And I’ll tell her about your financial schemes at work. I think she’ll be VERY interested to learn who she’s dealing with. A man who steals from his company and forges his mother’s signature isn’t exactly a prize catch.”
Igor sprang up.
“That’s blackmail!”
“That’s mathematics,” Marina corrected. “A simple equation: you stole—you’ll return it. Or you’ll lose everything. The choice is yours.”
A month later the divorce was finalized. Igor moved into a rented one-bedroom on the outskirts of Moscow—Elena dumped him after learning the truth about his schemes. A financial audit began at his workplace after an anonymous letter (Marina did send part of her calculations, without stating the exact sums). Igor was demoted to an ordinary manager with a salary of sixty thousand.
Valentina Petrovna kept her word—she removed her son from her will, leaving everything to her granddaughter Alice. And she regularly visited her former daughter-in-law, bringing her signature cabbage pies.
And Marina hung a beautiful framed quote in her office—her life motto: “Numbers don’t lie. They simply show the truth in its purest form.”
When, half a year later, Igor tried to reduce child support by citing his decreased income, Marina simply submitted to the court her calculations of his real income from previous years. The court kept the payments the same and ordered Igor to pay the arrears.
“You destroyed me with your numbers!” he shouted after the hearing.
“No,” Marina answered calmly. “You destroyed yourself with your lies. I just CALCULATED it. Down to the last kopek.