Page 41 of The Wrong Monster

Beaumont gathers the scattered papers with considerably more force than necessary. “I’ll prepare the remainder of the discovery as it comes in,” he says stiffly, refusing to look at Vasily. “Assuming I still have a job by the end of the week.”

“You do. For now.” Vasily’s response is infuriatingly calm. “For as long as I need you.”

Beaumont mutters something that sounds suspiciously like unbelievable before snapping his briefcase shut and stalking from the office.

The door clicks closed. Silence settles over the room.

I barely notice, because my full attention is on the invoices now.

I flip between payment schedules, vendor agreements, and bank transfers, circling dates with the pencil Beaumont left discarded on the desk. The numbers begin to tell a story all their own. Individually, every transaction looks defensible. Together...

Someone had engineered this. But whose version of the transactions am I looking at? Mikhail isn’t an innocent bookkeeper who accidentally wandered into a Bratva office. That doesn’t mean he knowingly approved the particular fraud they’ve charged. I need to know what was put in front of him, what he authorized, and what happened afterward.

And Vasily? Does he feel guilty about putting him in that position?

I reach for another page, glancing up at the quiet man across from me. Is he human? Or is he just protecting his own skin, his own empire?

“Matty.”

I don’t answer. My mind is somewhere inside a spreadsheet. When he clears his throat, I look up with a start.

He doesn’t seem offended. If anything, there’s the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

“I have to head into town.”

“Oh.”

Brilliant, Matilda. Very articulate.

“I’ll continue reviewing these,” I say, gesturing toward the stack. “If I can take them back…”

He nods, standing slowly and straightening his brandless clothes. Like this, dressed simply in a polo that pulls across his chest and trousers, he looks like any other rich guy in Lake Placid.

“I expected you would. They’re yours.”

The office door opens, and Arthur appears as if summoned, though I didn’t see it.

“Miss Pierce.”

I gather the files automatically, following him toward the door. My hand is already on the frame when a thought stops me.

I turn back.

“If you want me to maintain the façade that everything is normal...”

Vasily waits.

“...I need to be allowed to call my best friend.”

His expression narrows, eyes going sharp. He’s about to say no, so I beat him to it, saying only, “Isla.”

Maybe because it makes the request feel more human.

His eyes settle on mine with a steadiness that makes my heartbeat climb into my throat. Yesterday, I might have mistaken it for confidence. Today, I know better.

This is a man who has spent his life making decisions other people don’t survive. And while so far he’s seemed almost passive, the very real fear I saw in Beaumont’s eyes when he realized he was being replaced means that Vasily Borisov isn’t a stranger to burying bodies.

Finally, he nods once.