Chapter 86 Nikolai
The next day dragged on forever.
Every minute felt like an hour. Every hour felt like a day.
I worked mechanically. But my mind was elsewhere.
Tonight we would escape. We would expose Ivanov. And would finally be free.
Or tonight we would die.
I tried not to think about that part. But it was hard. Every time a guard walked past, I wondered if he knew. If he suspected.
Every time I saw Ivanov, I wondered if this was the moment he would figure it out.
"Markov!" A guard's voice snapped me back to reality. "Stop daydreaming! The wedding ceremony is tomorrow. You need to help set up the venue. You will also serve at the party."
My stomach dropped. "Tomorrow? But I thought..."
"Mr. Ivanov moved it up. Again. Now move!"
Tomorrow. Not three days. Tomorrow.
We were running out of time faster than I thought.
Why was he doing this?
That bastard!
I followed the guard to the grand hall.
It was already being transformed.
White tablecloths lined the silver tables. Crystal glasses were placed on them.
Everything was perfect and expensive. Everything was designed to show off Ivanov's power and trap Anya forever.
I helped carry chairs. Arranged tables. Set up decorations.
And I planned.
We had to escape tonight before the wedding.
The garage was on the east side of the mansion. The keys were kept in a locked box in the security office.
I would need to get those keys without being seen.
Then I would need to get Anya. Meet her at the garage. And drive out before anyone realized what was happening.
It sounded simple. But nothing was ever simple.
Hours passed. The sun began to set.
I finished my work and went back to my room.
I pulled the brick from the wall and took the files. I wrapped them in cloth and tucked them inside my jacket.
This was our only chance. Our only key to freedom.
I waited until it was late at night. Most of the guards were already changing shifts. The mansion was very quiet.
I slipped out of my room and moved through the shadows.
I made it to the security office. I tried to open it but it was locked.
Unfortunately for them, I was an expert at picking locks.
It took me three minutes to unlock it. It was the longest three minutes of my life.
But I got it open.
I slipped inside and found the key box. I quickly grabbed a set of keys.
And that is when I heard footsteps, coming toward the office.
I froze.
The door opened. A guard stood there. His eyes widened when he saw me.
"What are you doing here?"
I did not think. I just acted.
I punched him hard. He stumbled back.
I ran past him into the hallway.
"Intruder!" He shouted. "Someone stop him!"
Alarms started blaring. Lights flashed.
No. No, no, no.
I ran toward the garage. My only chance now was to get out and get the files to safety.
I would have to come back for Anya later.
Guards appeared everywhere. They were chasing me, shouting.
I burst into the garage and looked around frantically.
The cars were there.
I jumped into the nearest one. A black sedan, put the key in and turned it.
The engine roared to life.
The garage door was locked.
I put the car in gear and floored the gas pedal. The car shot forward and crashed through the garage door. The metal screamed, glass shattered.
But I was through.
I drove across the grounds toward the main gate. Behind me, guards were shooting.
The gate was closed.
Fuck!
Armed guards stood in front of it. But I did not slow down. The car hit the gate. The impact was massive. But the gate broke, bending backwards.
I was through.
I drove down the road away from the mansion. Away from Anya.
I had left her behind. Again.
But I had the files.
I reached the city an hour later. My hands were shaking. My shoulder was still bleeding from earlier.
Thankfully, they had not followed me. That was strange.
I found a newspaper office and stumbled inside.
"I have evidence," I said to the first person I saw. "Evidence of murder. Corruption. Everything."
The journalist looked at me. At my bloody appearance. At the files in my hands.
"Who are you?"
"Nikolai Markov. And I can prove that Alexei Ivanov is a murderer."
The journalist's eyes widened. "Come with me."
He led me to an office. I spread the files on the desk and showed him everything. The photographs, the documents.
He looked through it all, slowly and carefully.
Finally, Ivanov's life will be over.
Then his face changed.
"This is... interesting," he said. His voice was strange.
"What do you mean interesting? This proves Ivanov killed Dmitri Koslov and framed me."
"Actually," the journalist said slowly. "This proves the opposite."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
He turned the documents around and showed me.
The photographs were the same. But the captions had changed. The dates were different. The locations were different.
And the murder weapon was my knife. It had my fingerprints,my DNA and my signature was on the purchase receipt.
"This says Nikolai Markov killed Dmitri Koslov," the journalist said. "Not Ivanov."
"No. That is wrong. The files I took... they said Ivanov did it."
"Are you sure? Or did you see what you wanted to see?"
I grabbed the files with shaking hands. I looked through them frantically.
The bank transfers were from my accounts to hired killers.
The witness statements all pointed at me. They all said I was guilty.
The medical reports said Dmitri was killed by a knife. My knife.
"This is not right," I whispered. "This is not what I saw. The files were different. They proved Ivanov was guilty."
"Or," the journalist said carefully. "You stole fake files. Files that Ivanov planted. Knowing you would take them. Knowing you would try to expose him."
The room spun.
No. This could not be happening.
"He switched them," I said, my voice trembled. "Somehow. He must have switched them."
"When? You said you took them from his safe last night."
"Anya did. She took them. She gave them to me."
"And you are sure she gave you the real files? Not fake ones?"
"She would not. She was trying to help me."
"Was she? Or was she helping Ivanov? She might be playing you. Making you think you had evidence when really you had nothing."
"No. Anya would never."
But doubt crept in. What if the journalist was right? What if this was all a trap?
"I think you should leave," the journalist said. "Before I call the police. Because right now, you are holding evidence of your own guilt. Not Ivanov's. Whoever that is."
I grabbed the files and stumbled out of the office.
This could not be real. This could not be happening.
I got back in the car and drove aimlessly.
How did Ivanov do it? How did he switch the files?
I hid them where no one could find.
Maybe he never switched them. Maybe the files were fake from the beginning. He knew Anya would steal them. And he let it happen, because it gave him exactly what he wanted.
But we checked it together last night. We saw the evidence together.
I pulled over in an alley and screamed.
I had been played. We had both been played.
Tomorrow, Ivanov will marry Anya.
And I would have nothing.