“So, in your opinion, I now need permission to take even a paper clip in my own office?” Maria hurled her teaspoon onto the saucer. The sharp, unpleasant clink cut through the room.
Larisa Sergeyevna, sitting across from her with the expression of an insulted aristocrat, did not so much as raise an eyebrow. She carefully broke off a piece of cookie, placed it in her mouth, and only then replied.
“Maria, don’t be dramatic. No one is talking about paper clips. We’re talking about fairness. You’re still young. Today your business is doing well, and tomorrow—God forbid—you could lose your head and let everything go to ruin. I, on the other hand, am a person of the old school. Putting half the company under my name would be like placing it in a secure bank.”
Maria turned to look at her husband. Ilya stood by the window, picking at a hangnail and doing his best not to meet her eyes.
“Ilya, do you hear what your mother is suggesting?” Maria asked quietly. “She wants fifty percent of my company. The company I built three years before I even met you. Where were you back then, with all this ‘old-school wisdom’?”
At last, Ilya turned around. His face was flushed red, like a schoolboy caught unprepared.
“Mash, why do you always start like this?” he whined. “Mom has a point. We’re family. Everything should be shared. But you’re always pulling everything toward yourself—‘I’m the director, I decide.’ It’s hurtful. Maybe I want to feel involved too.”
“Involved?” Maria gave a bitter smile. “So now we’re treating wounded male pride with my assets? Have you ever considered working for that sense of involvement? I offered you a position in logistics. You refused.”
Larisa Sergeyevna let out a loud sigh, drawing attention back to herself.
“Don’t twist things. Ilyusha is a creative soul. He needs support. And this is not about money at all—it’s about respect. I raised your husband. Don’t I deserve a small guarantee for a peaceful old age? Just transfer the share. Formally.”
“If it’s peace of mind you need, I can buy you a sedative,” Maria snapped as she rose from the table. “This discussion is over. The company is mine. If anyone dislikes that, the door is exactly where it has always been.”
She walked out of the kitchen, feeling their heavy stares burning into her back. Her legs trembled, but she knew better than to show weakness. This had not been a request. It had been a test of boundaries.
For the next three days, the apartment was thick with tension. Ilya slept on the couch in the living room, sighing theatrically through the night. Larisa Sergeyevna, who had already been staying with them for a second month, pursed her lips and spoke only to the television.
On Wednesday morning, Maria was getting ready for work when Ilya suddenly displayed an unusual burst of care.
“Mash, want me to drive you?” he asked, peeking into the bedroom. “I even made tea for you and poured it into your travel mug.”
Maria was surprised. Had he finally come to his senses?
“Thanks, but no. I’m driving myself. I also need to stop by the bank.”
“The bank?” Ilya stiffened. “What for?”
“To update the signatures on the card and deal with current paperwork. Why?”
“No reason.”
He quickly looked away and began fussing around for his car keys, even though they were right in front of him. That tiny movement scratched at Maria’s nerves. Her intuition gave her a quiet warning.
The moment she reached the office, she called in Elena, her accountant.
“Lena, prepare the bank statements for the week. And bring me the company seal, I need to sign a power of attorney.”
Elena stepped into the office five minutes later, looking confused.
“Maria Vladimirovna… the seal is with you.”
“What do you mean, with me?” Maria frowned. “I locked it in the safe.”
“I didn’t take it,” Elena said nervously. “I thought maybe you brought it home to review contracts.”
Maria opened the safe. Empty. The folders were there, but the small round case was gone.
And then it hit her.
On Sunday, during the fight in the kitchen, her handbag had been left in the hallway. Ilya had gone out onto the landing twice. And afterward, Larisa Sergeyevna had spent a suspiciously long time fussing around near the coat rack.
“Lena, call the bank right now. Freeze the accounts. Immediately. And check the email from the tax office. Fast.”
While Elena followed her orders, Maria dialed her husband’s number. Unavailable. She called her mother-in-law. Rejected.
Ten minutes later, Elena rushed back into the office.
“Maria Vladimirovna! A request came in from the tax office. An application was filed to change the general director and add a new shareholder with a fifty-percent stake.”
“Who’s the new director?” Maria asked, feeling a cold wave inside her.
“Gromov Ilya Sergeyevich. And the new shareholder is Gromova Larisa Sergeyevna.”
“On what grounds?”
“A shareholder meeting protocol and a deed of gift transferring the share. Signed by you. With the company seal.”
Maria did not scream. Her illusions collapsed in silence. What remained was the fury of a business owner watching someone try to steal the work of her life.
“So. A gift transfer,” she whispered. “All right, then.”
“What do we do?” Elena was on the edge of panic.
“Call the police,” Maria said, standing abruptly. “Corporate fraud, theft of company documents, and forgery.”
“Will they even come? This is… family.”
“They’ll come. Because I’m going home right now, and I’m having a patrol sent there too.”
She drove home with steady focus, eyes fixed on the road. Her mind held only one thing: a plan. Find the originals. Force them to confess.
When she turned the key in the lock, she heard cheerful voices from inside. The clatter of dishes. The smell of roasted chicken.
They were celebrating.
Maria stepped into the living room. Ilya sat at the head of the table—in her chair—with his shirt collar unbuttoned. Larisa Sergeyevna was pouring drinks.
“Oh, look who’s here—the former lady of the house!” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “Come in, Mashenka. Let’s celebrate our partnership.”
Ilya gave a nervous little laugh, but when he saw his wife’s face, he shrank a little.
“Mash, just don’t make a scene, okay? We did everything almost legally. You didn’t want to do it the easy way, so we had to speed things up.”
“Speed things up?” Maria repeated. “You stole the company seal. You forged my signature. That’s called fraud under criminal law. Committed by a group.”
“Oh, stop trying to scare us,” Larisa Sergeyevna waved her off. “Who’s going to send your husband to prison? Will you really be able to look his mother in the eye after that? We’re family. The police will laugh at you.”
“You signed the papers, didn’t you?” Ilya said brazenly. “There’s the copy, right there. The seal is on it, right? So what if you forgot? That happens. We can even get a certificate saying you weren’t in your right mind. Mom will arrange it.”
Maria looked at them. At their smug, satisfied faces. At Ilya, the man she had once pitied. At Larisa Sergeyevna.
Now she saw only strangers.
“Where is the seal?” she asked.
“In a safe place,” Ilya smirked. “I’m the director now. I decide where the seal stays. You can remain as deputy if you want. I’m generous.”
“You’ll destroy the company in a month,” Maria threw back.
“That’s none of your business!” shouted her mother-in-law. “My son is talented! You were the one suppressing him!”
Maria glanced at her phone. A message from Elena flashed on the screen: The police are downstairs.
“You know,” Maria said evenly, “I thought this would hurt. But all I feel is disgust.”
The doorbell rang. Loud. Insistent.
Ilya flinched. “Who is that?”
“I’m waiting for the justice you both talk so much about. Open the door, Mr. Director.”
Having lost all his swagger, Ilya walked into the hallway. A second later, a firm male voice sounded from the entrance:
“Police. Gromov Ilya Sergeyevich? Gromova Larisa Sergeyevna? A complaint has been filed against you.”
Officers in uniform entered the room.
Larisa Sergeyevna dropped her fork. She sank into her chair and dramatically pressed a hand to her chest.
“What police? Ilyusha, what is happening? Masha, tell them! This is a joke, isn’t it?”
“Family, you say?” Maria turned to one of the officers. “Please document everything. A copy of the forged meeting protocol is on the table. The original company seal is most likely with Mr. Gromov or Mrs. Gromova.”
“Masha!” Ilya shouted when he realized this was no prank. “What are you doing? You’re turning in your own husband? Over some paperwork?”
“Not over paperwork, Ilya,” Maria said, looking him straight in the eyes. “Over betrayal. You wanted to be director? Then be one. Answer for what you’ve done.”
“My blood pressure!” Larisa Sergeyevna wailed as they searched her purse. “There it is, the seal! Take it! We don’t need it! Masha, withdraw the complaint!”
One of the officers pulled a small blue case from her handbag.
“Is this yours?” he asked.
“It is,” Maria said with a nod.
“Mashenka,” her mother-in-law whimpered. “We’ll give everything back. We’ll fix it all. Don’t ruin us!”
Maria stepped closer.
“I am not withdrawing the complaint. There will be a trial. And right now, get out of my apartment. You can collect your belongings later, through a lawyer.”
Ilya shouted insults. Larisa Sergeyevna hurled curses mixed with pleading. But Maria no longer listened.
When the door finally closed behind them, she stepped out onto the balcony.
Below, the lights of the police car flashed in the evening dimness.
For the first time in five years of marriage, she felt silence. No one demanding attention. No one trying to reach into her pocket under the disguise of care.
That evening, a locksmith came and changed the lock. He handed Maria a sealed packet containing a new set of keys. The old keys—the ones Ilya and his mother had—were now nothing more than useless scraps of metal.
Six months passed.
Maria sat in her office. The company was running perfectly. The divorce had been finalized quickly.
There was a knock at the door. Elena walked in.
“Maria Vladimirovna, the documents for the new branch are ready. And one more thing… the Gromovs’ lawyer called. They’re asking for a meeting. They want to negotiate compensation to reduce the sentence.”
Maria turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, the city pulsed with life.
“Tell their lawyer,” she said calmly, “that I do not negotiate. Let the court decide. And please bring me some tea. Green.”
She smiled at her reflection in the window.
Tired? A little.
Free? Completely.
And that was worth more than any shares in the world.