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When we left his office, Victor looked shaken. I was amazed he’d held it together so well. That he was polite, even affectionate, with a father he knew nothing about impressed me. When we stepped into the VIP elevator, I checked the ceiling and corners for CCTV. Seeing none, I hugged my boyfriend.
He was silent and held on to me like I was the lintel on a thirty-story high ledge. Although no tears were shed, I could tell Victor felt betrayed by a mother who concealed the truth for decades.
Charlotte was in for a challenging ride explaining herself out of this machiavellian shitshow.
“There are no winners or losers here, Victor.”
“My real parents lost, and Charlotte won as she always seems to.”
“If your real parents hadn’t given you up, I suspect they would be a couple of John Doe’s in a cold case at the bottom of a dusty pile of file folders, and you would have been adopted anyway.”
“Possibly. Charlotte should have told me, though.”
“I’m not fighting in her corner, and I agree she’s got to tell the truth finally, but there is no way she didn’t feel terrified every day these men would return.”
“And now it seems they have. Her past is everyone’s problem.”
“Do you think the people Artyom is warning you about are the same ones who attacked me?”
“I doubt it. If the Russian FSB wanted you dead, they wouldn’t do it publically, and they definitely would have succeeded.”
We reached the car, where I felt more secure, but Victor didn’t open up fully until we reached our apartment, where a double espresso seemed the most appropriate next step.