Tamara Petrovna was standing by the old secretary desk, clutching a velvet box filled with photographs when she heard the sharp voice from outside. “Tamara Petrovna, open the door! Or we’ll enter!” The words hit her like a punch to the chest.
Frozen, Tamara’s hand trembled as she held onto the box, her thoughts racing. A second knock followed, this time more insistent.
“Just a minute, I’m coming!” she called out, her voice betraying her anxiety.
She opened the door slowly, facing two women standing in the doorway. The younger one, cold-eyed and composed, was accompanied by an older woman carrying a briefcase.
“I’m Maria Sokolova,” the younger woman said before Tamara could even invite them in. “We’re here to discuss your continued residence in the apartment of Elena Vasilyevna Kravchenko.”
Tamara blinked, her confusion clear. “Excuse me? My aunt left this apartment to me.”
Maria’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. She nodded to her companion, who opened the briefcase and pulled out a document.
“This is your aunt’s latest will,” Maria declared. “It was rewritten just a week before her death. The apartment is now bequeathed to me, as I was the one who cared for her during her final months.”
Tamara’s shock was palpable, her heart racing. “What do you mean, care?” she demanded, her voice rising. “I was here every day! I cared for her for twenty years! There must be some mistake!”
Maria’s tone was firm as she handed Tamara the document. “No mistake. You have two weeks to pack. Some things stay, others go. The law is on my side.”
Tamara glanced at the paper. Her aunt’s signature, the distinct “K” with the awkward stroke, was unmistakable. The date: indeed, just a week before her death.
“My aunt couldn’t have done this,” Tamara whispered, her voice barely audible. “She promised me… I moved in with her when she got sick. I gave up my own life for her.”
Maria’s cold voice interrupted, “I found her in the stairwell when she couldn’t climb the stairs. You weren’t around.”
Without another word, the women turned and left. Tamara stood frozen, the weight of the will in her shaking hands. She collapsed onto a nearby stool, her thoughts spiraling out of control.
She quickly dialed her neighbor’s number. “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 abruptly hung up, her mind racing. She stared at the kettle, as though it could provide the answers. Standing up, she grabbed her phone and dialed her cousin.
“Ninochka, remember, your son Kolya works as a lawyer? I need his help.”
A 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. Standing there was a police officer.
“A complaint has been filed by citizen Sokolova. She claims you threatened her over the phone.”
“What? I don’t even know her number!”
“She has an audio recording. And a witness.”
Tamara clutched the doorframe, stunned. “What threats? I spent the whole 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?” he asked, concern on his face.
“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.”
At Nikolai’s cramped office, Tamara sat across from him, her nerves on edge. He was flipping through papers, his expression serious.
“So it turns out,” he said, “your aunt rewrote the will to a stranger, even though she promised you the apartment. Where’s the original will?”
“It’s probably at the notary’s office. She made it five years ago.”
“Do you remember the notary’s number?”
Tamara searched her purse nervously. “No, but I know it’s downtown.”
Nikolai rubbed his temples. “This is complicated. If the will is valid, we don’t have much of a chance. If you were a direct heir, it’d be easier, 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.”
“That’s something. But are you sure the signature is real?”
Tamara remembered the familiar “K,” with the extra stroke.
“It’s real. I’d recognize it anywhere.”
“And the rest of the document? Was it typed?”
“Yes, on a computer.”
Nikolai closed his eyes. “We’ll look into the possibility your aunt was misled. We’ll need her medical records to prove she was mentally impaired recently.”
“She was perfectly fine!” Tamara protested. “She did crosswords until the end.”
“Then it’ll be hard.”
“Who is this Maria? My aunt never mentioned her!”
“We’ll find out. Maybe she met your aunt when you weren’t around.”
Tamara’s unease deepened. “I had to work. I couldn’t be with her all the time. I came in the mornings, cooked lunch, gave her injections, then returned in the evenings.”
“The neighbor visited during the day. Your aunt wasn’t bedridden yet.”
Nikolai scribbled more notes. “Get as much evidence as possible. Pharmacy receipts, statements from neighbors. It’ll cost fifty thousand, thirty up front.”
Tamara felt overwhelmed. “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 was sitting 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.
