“Tamara Petrovna, this is the notary’s office! Open up, or we’ll have to enter!” The voice rang out sharply, like a blow to the chest.

Tamara Petrovna froze by the old secretary desk, clutching a velvet box filled with photographs. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Just a minute, I’m coming!” Her voice wavered, betraying her nerves.

She opened the door slowly, meeting the sharp gaze of two women standing at her threshold. The younger one, with a look as cold as steel, was accompanied by an older woman carrying a briefcase.

“I’m Maria Sokolova,” the younger woman spoke before Tamara could invite them in. “We’re here to discuss your continued residence in the apartment of Elena Vasilyevna Kravchenko.”

“Excuse me?” Tamara blinked in confusion. “My aunt left this apartment to me.”

Maria’s smirk deepened, and she nodded to her companion, who opened the briefcase and pulled out a document.

“This is your aunt’s latest will,” Maria announced. “It was rewritten just a week before her death. The apartment is now bequeathed to me, as the one who cared for her in her final months.”

Tamara’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening. “What care?” she demanded, her voice rising. “I was here every day! I took care of her for twenty years! There must be some mistake!”

“No mistake.” Maria handed her the paper, her tone final. “I’m not heartless. You have two weeks to pack. Some things stay, some go. The law is on my side.”

Tamara glanced at the document. Her aunt’s signature — the familiar, awkward stroke of the letter "K" — was unmistakable. The date: indeed, just a week before her death.

“My aunt couldn’t have done this. She promised me…” Tamara whispered, barely believing it. “I moved in with her when she became ill. I gave up my own room for her.”

Maria’s voice cut through, cold as ice. “I found her in the stairwell when she couldn’t climb. You weren’t around.”

Without another word, the women turned and left. Tamara stood frozen, holding the will in her trembling hands. She sank onto a nearby stool and dialed her neighbor’s number in a panic.

“Alla Nikolaevna, do you remember who visited my aunt in her last month?”

“You came every day. But there was also a young woman, always whispering with your aunt, carrying papers.”

Tamara hung up abruptly, her thoughts racing. She stared at the kettle as though it might hold the answers she needed. Then, she stood up, grabbed her phone again, and dialed her cousin.

“Ninochka, remember, your son Kolya works as a lawyer? I need his help.”

A weary sigh came through the phone. “Toma, he charges a fortune…”

“They’re taking the apartment, Nin. The one Aunt Lena promised to me.”

“Fine, I’ll come with him tomorrow at noon.”

That night, Tamara poured over old photographs of Aunt Lena. “Everything will be yours, Tomochka. Who else?” Her aunt’s words echoed in her mind.

The next morning, the doorbell rang. A police officer stood there.

“A complaint was filed by citizen Sokolova. You threatened her by phone.”

“What? I don’t even know her number!”

“She has an audio recording. And a witness.”

Tamara clutched the doorframe in disbelief. “What threats? I spent the entire evening at home, sorting through photos!”

“Unfortunately, they’ll believe her. She has a good lawyer. Best not to escalate the situation.”

After the officer left, Tamara saw Viktor Semyonovich, her downstairs neighbor, standing by his door.

“Tamara, what happened? Why the police?”

“Viktor Semyonovich, I need to go somewhere. Could you watch the place for me? She might come back while I’m gone.”

“I’m retired. Go ahead, I’ll keep watch.”

In a cramped lawyer’s office, Tamara sat across from Nikolai, a lean man with expensive watches and tired eyes.

“So it turns out,” he said, flipping through papers, “your aunt rewrote the will to a stranger, even though she promised the apartment to you. Where is the original will?”

“It’s probably at the notary’s office. Aunt made it five years ago.”

“Do you remember the notary’s number?”

Tamara nervously searched her purse. “No, but I know it’s somewhere downtown.”

Nikolai rubbed his temples. “This isn’t an easy situation. If the will’s legitimate, we don’t have much of a chance. If you were a direct heir, we could contest it. But as a niece, it’s harder.”

“What can I do? I’ve wanted that apartment my whole life.”

“Who paid for your aunt’s funeral?”

“I did.”

“Receipts?”

“Yes, I have them.”

“That’s something. But are you sure the signature is authentic?”

Tamara recalled the familiar “K” with the extra stroke.

“It’s real. I’d recognize it among a thousand others.”

“And the rest of the text? Your aunt’s handwriting?”

“No, it’s typed. On a computer.”

Nikolai closed his eyes and sighed. “We’ll look into the possibility that your aunt was misled. I’ll need medical records to prove she was mentally impaired recently.”

“She was perfectly fine!” Tamara protested. “She read the newspaper and did crosswords until the end.”

“Then it’ll be difficult.”

“Who is this Maria? My aunt never mentioned her!”

Nikolai made a note. “We’ll find out. Maybe she met your aunt when you weren’t around.”

Tamara’s unease deepened. “I worked. I couldn’t be with her all day. I came in the morning, cooked lunch, gave her injections, then returned in the evening.”

“The neighbor visited during the day. Your aunt wasn’t bedridden yet.”

Nikolai scribbled more notes. “Get as much evidence as you can. Pharmacy receipts, statements from neighbors. It’ll cost fifty thousand, thirty up front.”

Tamara felt the weight of it all. “I don’t have that kind of money. It all went to the funeral.”

“I’ll do it for thirty, out of respect for your mother.”

Tamara withdrew her last savings — twenty-eight thousand rubles — and borrowed the remaining two thousand from Viktor.

The next day, Viktor sat on a bench outside, reading a newspaper.

“Did she come?” he asked, folding the paper.

“No. Did she try to get in?”

“No, I kept watch. Maria Andreevna even offered me tea,” he said, nodding. “What did the lawyer say?”

“Thirty thousand. I only have twenty-eight.”

Viktor chuckled and reached into his jacket pocket. “Here. Pay me back when you win the case.”

“No, Viktor, I can’t—”

“Take it. Elena Vasilyevna loved you like a daughter. We all saw it.” He pressed the money into her hand. “It’s wrong for a stranger to take the apartment.”

Tamara sat in her apartment, the cold creeping in. The phone rang sharply.

“Hello, Tamara Petrovna? This is Maria Sokolova. I’m coming tomorrow to start the eviction process.”

Tamara’s voice shook. “Eviction?”

“Yes. I’m giving you two weeks, but I’ll start measurements for repairs. Everything needs replacing.”

Tamara clenched the receiver. “I need more time. I haven’t decided yet.”

“What’s there to decide? The will is legal. I’ve already filed the paperwork.”

“I’ll contest it.”

“Pointless. My uncle Sokolov is a lawyer. No court will side with you.”

“Aunt Lena couldn’t leave the apartment to a stranger!”

Maria laughed. “I cared for her when you weren’t around. Where were you?”

“I was working!” Tamara’s voice cracked. “I earned money for her medicine!”

“Too bad Elena Vasilyevna valued my care more. Tomorrow at three, be ready.”

Tamara slammed the phone down, her heart pounding. A thought flashed in her mind. “My aunt—lawyer Sokolov…”

She immediately dialed Nikolai. “Do you know lawyer Sokolov?”

“Of course. Igor Mikhailovich. One of the most influential in town. Why?”

Tamara’s heart sank. “Maria says he’s her uncle.”

Nikolai fell silent. “That changes things. If Sokolov’s involved, our chances are slim.”

“So you’re giving up?” Tamara asked bitterly.

“No, but it’s going to be tough. We’ll have to fight.”

Tamara stared at her aunt’s photograph. “What did you do, Aunt Lena?”

Something caught her eye. The corner of the photo frame wasn’t quite flush. She carefully pulled the picture away, revealing a hidden message on the back: “Don’t trust Sokolova. Look in the bottom drawer of the secretary desk. Forgive me, Tomochka.”

Her heart raced as she rushed to the desk. The third drawer, the one her aunt had always kept locked, wouldn’t budge at first. With a sharp pull, the lock gave way. Inside, she found an envelope and an audio cassette.

Tamara’s hands shook as she opened the envelope.

“Tomochka, if you’re reading this, I’m no longer alive. This woman, Maria Sokolova, is blackmailing me. She knows about the money your father hid before his arrest…”

Suddenly, she heard a car outside. Maria’s black car.

“Came too early, huh?” Tamara whispered as she continued reading.

“…Take this to investigator Krasnov at the prosecutor’s office. He handled your father’s case…”

A knock interrupted her. Tamara hid the cassette in her robe pocket and the letter against her chest.

“Open up, Tamara Petrovna!”

This time, she refused to open the door.