Page 41 of The Enemy Protector
I don’t bother with pleasantries. “My password was changed. I need it reset. Now.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Your cousin called yesterday and said you asked him to update the security protocols. He had me reset all the admin passwords. “
“Lena.” I keep my voice level even though I want to scream. “I never asked him to do that.”
Silence on the other end.
“Lena.”
“I’m so sorry. He told me you asked him to.”
“How long will it take to reset everything?”
“I’ll get on it. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Do it. And Lena? No one gets access to anything without my direct approval. I don’t care if my father himself calls you. You call me first. Understand?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’m so sorry.”
I hang up and move to the wall safe hidden behind the painting of some Russian landscape my father insisted on hanging. I punch in the code—my mother’s birthday, something Yuri wouldn’t know—and hear the satisfying click.
The door swings open.
I reach inside and pull out the leather-bound ledger. The real one. Not the digital records that can be hacked or altered. This is old school. Handwritten entries in my father’s meticulous script. Every transaction, every contact, every piece of leverage the Baranov family has accumulated over forty years. This is the real ledger. The IRS isn’t going to see this one.
Relief washes over me. If Yuri had gotten his hands on this, he’d have everything. Every dirty secret. Every weakness. Every person on our payroll who shouldn’t be.
I flip through the pages. No signs of tampering.
He didn’t get it.
I close the ledger and put it back, next to the stacks of cash. I close the safe and then take a photo of the painting. If it’s moved even slightly, I’ll know someone tried to access the safe. I’m sure Yuri knows it’s there. Not exactly a creative hiding spot.
The door opens, and Viktor walks in. That was fast.
“Gregor said there was a problem,” he says, looking around the room.
“Close the door. Yuri was here,” I tell him. “He tried to lock me out of the accounts. Technically, he did. He’s trying to take over.”
“I know. I was on my way to talk to you. He’s making moves, Sofia.”
“Like what?”
“Vlad’s dead.”
I hear the words. I understand the words. But they don’t make sense.
“What?”
“Yesterday. His wife found him. Heart attack.”
“Heart attack? He wasn’t even forty.”
He shrugs. “That’s what I was told.”
“Have you seen the body?”
“The family had him cremated already.”
