Chapter 35 Manhattan
The town car waited at the bottom of the estate's grand steps, sleek, black and tinted. Boris stood by the driver's door, his face impassive, his eyes missing nothing. Dima held the rear door open, his expression that perfect mask of polite indifference.
Anya slid into the leather backseat, her heart pounding. The dress she wore was a soft grey wool that matched her eyes which felt like armor or a costume but she wasn't sure of which anymore.
Dima settled beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. The door closed with a solid thunk, sealing them in private silence.
Boris pulled away from the estate, the iron gates opening silently to let them pass. Anya watched the house shrink in the rear window, that imposing monument to power and control. Every time she left, she wondered if she'd ever come back.
Today, she hoped she would but with evidence in hand.
"We have two hours," Dima said quietly, his voice pitched for her ears only. "The bank is in midtown, we go in, you provide biometrics and we retrieve the contents of the safety deposit box then we simply leave."
"Nothing in this house is simple." Anya kept her eyes on the window, watching the trees blur past. "What if there's a problem? What if someone recognizes us?"
"No one will recognize you, you've been hidden away for weeks and my father's associates don't frequently go to the midtown banks." He paused. "But if something goes wrong, follow my lead, say nothing and do nothing, just let me handle it."
She nodded, her hands clenched in her lap.
The city emerged from the suburbs gradually, first strip malls and gas stations, then denser neighborhoods, then the towering skyline of Manhattan. Anya's heart ached at the sight, Columbia was in there somewhere. Her old apartment and her old life were all gone.
As if sensing her thoughts, Dima's hand moved.
It settled on her thigh, warm and heavy through the wool of her dress but it wasn't moving but there leaving a weight and a presence like a claim.
Anya's breath caught. She looked at him, but he was staring straight ahead, his profile sharp against the window.
In public, they were step-siblings on a shopping trip nothing more but in the privacy of the car, with Boris's eyes on the road and the city flashing past, the mask slipped.
His hand remained on her thigh but she couldn't move it because beneath the fear and the uncertainty, beneath the complexity of their situation, she wanted it there, wanted him there and wanted this connection, however complicated or dangerous.
His thumb moved a small, slow circle on her thigh.
She covered his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together.
They sat like that for the rest of the drive, hands linked on her thigh, watching the city pass with no words, just presence.
The car stopped outside a tall, unremarkable building on a side street. Banks of this kind didn't advertise cause they relied on discretion and reputation.
"I'll be back in twenty minutes," Dima told Boris. "Wait here."
"Yes, sir."
They walked into the building together, side by side but not touching. The lobby was small, elegant, staffed by a single receptionist who looked up with professional curiosity.
"Mr. Volkov, we received your request. This way, please."
She led them to a private room in the back, it has wood paneled, softly lit, with a small table and two chairs. A metal box sat on the table, waiting.
"The safety deposit box requires dual authentication," the receptionist explained. "Mr. Volkov's key and Miss Petrova's biometrics. If you'll follow me to the scanner?"
Anya stood, her heart pounding. The retinal scan was quick, painless with a flash of light and a soft beep. The fingerprint scanner followed, her right index finger pressed to the cool glass.
"Thank you, the box is now unlocked. Take all the time you need."
The receptionist left, closing the door behind her.
Anya stared at the metal box, inside was the second part of the Key which had more evidence, power and danger.
Dima stepped beside her. "Ready?"
"No." She laughed, a small, shaky sound. "But let's do it anyway."
He opened the box.
Inside lay a single folder, thick with papers, and a small USB drive identical to the one from the egg. Anya lifted the folder carefully, opening it.
Her father's handwriting again. Pages and pages of it with records, names, dates, transactions and photographs, clearly taken in secret, were of Nikolai meeting with men whose faces she didn't recognize but whose menace was unmistakable.
"It's enough," Dima breathed, looking over her shoulder. "This is enough."
"Not yet." She closed the folder, tucking it into the bag she'd brought. "We still need the third part."
"Three years."
"Unless we find a way to access it early."
He nodded slowly. "We will together."
They left the bank as quietly as they'd entered, the folder burning against Anya's side. Boris waited by the car, his expression unchanged.
"Back to the estate?" he asked.
"Not yet." Dima's voice was casual, controlled. "We have shopping to do, remember?"
Boris nodded, pulling away from the curb.
They spent the next hour in actual stores, boutiques Dima seemed to know, where salespeople fussed and brought armfuls of clothes for Anya to try. It was surreal, playing at normalcy while carrying evidence that could destroy an empire.
In the dressing room of the third store, Anya pulled out the folder, just to check it was still there.
A knock came at the door.
"Anya?" Dima's voice, low and private. "Can I come in?"
She opened the door. He slipped inside, closing it behind him.
The space was small, intimate, filled with the scent of expensive fabric and her own nervous sweat. Dima's eyes went immediately to the folder in her hands.
"It's real," she whispered. "All of it."
He crossed to her, taking the folder gently. He flipped through the pages, his expression shifting from awe to determination.
"Your father was a brave man," he said quietly. "He built a weapon that could destroy my father and he trusted you to use it."
Anya's eyes burned. "I don't feel brave but terrified."
He set the folder aside, cupping her face in his hands.
"Courage isn't not being afraid, it's being afraid and doing it anyway." His thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You're the bravest person I know."
She leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his warmth.
"We should go," she murmured. "Before Boris gets suspicious."
"One more minute." He kissed her forehead, soft and reverent. "Just one."
They stood in the tiny dressing room, surrounded by expensive clothes and the weight of what they carried. The folder sat on the small bench between them, a silent witness.
When they finally emerged, Anya's eyes were dry, her spine straight. She carried shopping bags in one hand, actual purchases, to maintain the fiction and the folder pressed close to her body with the other.
In the car, Dima's hand found her thigh again. This time, she didn't just let it stay, she covered it with hers, holding on.
The estate loomed ahead, dark and waiting.
But they weren't the same people who'd left it this morning.
They had the Key.
Now all they had to do was survive long enough to use it.