“Why are you poking around in my inheritance?!” Irina snapped at her husband. “It’s MINE! Shall I repeat it?”
“Why are you poking around in my inheritance?!” Larisa flared at her husband, who was once again sorting through the documents for the antique workshop. “It’s MINE! Shall I repeat it?”
Andrey slowly lifted his gaze from the folder of papers. A flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes—one he hadn’t even tried to hide for weeks.
“Lara, we’ve been married for four years. What’s yours is mine too,” he said pointedly, as if explaining basic truths. “And besides, your grandfather left you that workshop three months ago. You don’t even know what to do with it.”
Larisa clenched her fists. The old workshop on Tverskaya, which Grandpa Pavel had run for more than forty years, was sacred to her. It housed not just tools and blanks—it held the entire history of their family.
“Don’t know what to do with it?” She stepped closer, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “I’m going to carry on Grandpa’s work! Restore antique furniture, just like he taught me since I was a child!”
Andrey snorted contemptuously and got up from the table. His expensive suit clashed with the modest interior of their rented apartment.
“You? Messing around with dusty chairs?” He circled around her, looking her up and down. “Larisa, be realistic. That workshop is worth at least three million. We sell it—we buy an apartment. And your hobby… we’ll find you some craft courses.”
“A HOBBY?!” Larisa exploded. “Grandpa taught me this craft for fifteen years! I know every tool in that workshop, every technique!”
A figure appeared in the doorway—it was Inga, Andrey’s sister. The tall blonde in a tight dress gave her sister-in-law a disdainful look.
“What’s all the noise about?” she drawled, entering without invitation. “Andryusha, you promised to pick me up for lunch.”
“One moment, darling,” Andrey turned to his sister with a smile he never gave his wife. “I’m just explaining obvious things to Larisa.”
Inga walked to the window, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the old furniture.
“Still clinging to that junk from Grandpa?” she turned to her brother. “Andrey, seriously, how long can this go on? Eduard already found a buyer. The Japanese are ready to pay four million in cash.”
Larisa froze. Eduard—Inga’s husband—worked in real estate. Could they have already…
“What buyer?” Her voice sounded hollow. “I’M NOT SELLING the workshop!”
“No one’s asking you,” Inga cut her off, pulling a mirror from her purse. “Andrey is your husband. By law, he has the right to half. And with his consent, the deal can go through.”
“It’s MY INHERITANCE!” Larisa raised her voice. “Grandpa left it to ME!”
Andrey approached his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. She recoiled at the touch.
“Sweetheart, think rationally. Your grandfather was a wonderful man, but times have changed. Antique workshops aren’t needed by anyone. But money…” He spread his hands meaningfully. “We could start a new life. Move to a prestigious district.”
“And buy me a new car,” Inga added. “Andryusha promised.”
Larisa stepped back from her husband, staring at him with disbelief and disgust.
“You promised to buy your sister a car with money from MY inheritance?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Andrey grimaced. “Inga is my sister. Your family too. What’s wrong with helping your loved ones?”
“Loved ones?” Larisa laughed a nervous laugh. “She called me a ‘village idiot’ at our wedding!”
“It was a joke,” Inga waved her off. “You’re just too sensitive. By the way, Edik already arranged a meeting with the buyers. Tomorrow at two.”
“WHAT?!” Larisa couldn’t believe her ears. “You already… behind my back…”
Andrey pulled a document from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I prepared a power of attorney for the sale. You just need to sign it.”
Larisa snatched the paper and skimmed through the text. A general power of attorney in Andrey’s name with full rights to sell the property.
“Are you insane?” She tore the document in half. “NEVER! Do you hear me? I will NEVER sign this!”
Andrey’s face twisted with rage. The mask of the caring husband fell away completely.
“Won’t sign?” He stepped right up to her. “Oh, I think you will. After all, you live in the apartment that I pay for. You eat the food that I buy. You wear clothes that my money pays for!”
“I work!” Larisa shot back. “I’m a restorer at the museum!”
“A restorer!” Inga scoffed. “Twenty-five thousand a month! You can’t even rent an apartment on that!”
“At least I’m doing what I love!” Larisa straightened. “And I don’t dig through other people’s pockets!”
“Other people’s?” Andrey grabbed her wrist. “We’re husband and wife! What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine! Or does that rule only work one way?…”
Larisa jerked her hand free.
“Let go! You’re hurting me!”
“Oh, she’s hurting,” Inga mocked. “Your grandpa dies, leaves you millions, and you’re too greedy to share with your husband? Selfish!”
“Grandpa is ALREADY dead!” Tears welled in Larisa’s eyes. “Three months ago! And you both know that perfectly well!”
“So what?” Andrey shrugged. “He lived a long life. Eighty years is a fine age. It’s time to stop clinging to the past.”
At that moment Eduard — Inga’s husband — walked into the apartment. A short, slightly overweight man with a receding hairline wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
“So, are the documents ready?” he asked briskly. “The Japanese don’t like to wait.”
“Lariska’s resisting,” Inga reported with annoyance. “Turns out she’s greedy.”
“Greedy?” Eduard whistled. “Four million doesn’t grow on trees. Andrey, you promised to settle things with your wife.”
“I’ll settle it,” Andrey said darkly. “Larisa, I’m asking you nicely one last time. Are you signing the power of attorney?”
“NO!”
“Then the hard way,” Andrey nodded at Eduard. “Show her.”
Eduard pulled out a tablet and played a video. On the screen, Larisa was in her grandfather’s workshop, sorting tools and humming. The camera zoomed in — she was holding an old jewelry box.
“Recognize it?” Eduard asked. “This is footage from the security camera. You’re taking out an eighteenth-century antique box. Value — about half a million.”
“But that’s…” Larisa faltered. “That box belonged to my grandmother! Grandpa kept it in the workshop, and I brought it home!”
“And can you prove it?” Inga smiled. “Any documents showing it’s a family heirloom? Any receipts?”
“Of course not… It’s our family’s thing…”
“Exactly,” Andrey took the tablet. “But to the police, this will look like theft. A museum restorer stealing antiques from a workshop. Nice headline, right? Your career gone — and you could easily get a real sentence.”
Larisa looked at the three of them — her husband, his sister, and her husband — unable to believe what was happening. Was this really the same Andrey who had sworn he loved her? Who had promised to support her in everything?
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
“We’re offering a reasonable solution,” Eduard corrected her. “You sign the power of attorney, you get your share of the money, everyone’s happy. You refuse — the video goes to the police. The choice is yours.”
Larisa’s phone rang. The screen showed the name “Nikolai.” He was her grandfather’s old friend, also an antique dealer.
“Hello, Uncle Kolya?” Larisa’s voice trembled.
“Lara, come to the workshop right now!” the old man’s anxious voice made her tense. “There are some people here with documents saying the workshop has been sold!”
“WHAT?!” Larisa jumped to her feet. “But how…”
She turned to Andrey. He spread his hands innocently.
“I told you — there wasn’t much time. We had to act.”
“But I didn’t sign ANYTHING!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Inga cut in. “Andrey has a marriage certificate. Edik arranged everything through his contacts. Formally, you sort of gave consent.”
“THAT’S ILLEGAL!”
“Prove it,” Eduard shrugged. “Court, lawyers, expert reviews… Years will pass. And the workshop will be demolished in a week. They’re building a car dealership there.”
Larisa grabbed her bag and dashed for the door, but Andrey blocked her path.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“GET OUT OF MY WAY!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he grabbed her shoulders. “You’ll stay home until this is over.”
“You have no right!” Larisa tried to break free. “This is violence! Unlawful restraint!”
“Oh, go ahead, try reporting it,” Inga smirked. “Your husband won’t let you wander around town. How terrible! The police will die laughing.”
The phone rang again. Nikolai.
“Don’t answer,” Andrey ordered.
But Larisa managed to accept the call and put it on speaker.
“Larisa! They’re breaking down the door!” the old man shouted. “Call the police! This is a raid!”
“Uncle Kolya!” Larisa cried, but Andrey tore the phone from her hands and hung up.
“That’s enough hysterics,” he said, opening the bedroom door. “You’ll stay here and think. When you calm down, we’ll talk.”
He literally shoved his wife into the room and locked the door from the outside. Larisa pounded on it with her fists.
“LET ME OUT! You have no right! It’s MY workshop! MY inheritance!”
“Shout all you want,” Inga’s voice drifted through the door. “The neighbors are at their dacha — no one will hear.”
Larisa leaned against the door, breathing heavily. She had to calm down. She had to think. She looked around — the window!
She ran to it and tried to open it, but Andrey had apparently thought of that — the frame was taped shut. Second floor. Jumping was dangerous.
No phone. But… the laptop! Her old laptop was on the nightstand. Larisa opened it and logged into her messenger.
“Marina, urgent!” she wrote to her friend. “Andrey is keeping me locked up and illegally selling Grandpa’s workshop! Call the police!”
The reply came a minute later: “I’m coming! Hold on!”
Voices could be heard behind the door.
“Great deal,” Eduard was saying. “The commission is five hundred thousand. You could go to the Maldives.”
“I’d rather buy a new fur coat,” Inga replied. “And a handbag. I saw one in the boutique yesterday—gorgeous!”
“And what do we do with Larisa?” Andrey asked. “She won’t calm down.”
“Divorce her,” Eduard said simply. “Find yourself someone else. Younger and richer.”
“Exactly!” Inga chimed in. “Remember Alina? The daughter of that restaurant chain owner. She’s still crazy about you.”
Larisa recoiled from the door. They were discussing replacing her, as if she were a broken object.
Suddenly there was noise from outside. The sound of cars pulling up, voices.
“Police! Open up!”
Larisa rushed to the door:
“I’M HERE! They’re holding me by force!”
A loud crash followed—the front door was being battered in. Then footsteps, shouting.
“Hands on your head! On the floor!”
The bedroom door opened. A police officer and Marina stood on the threshold.
“Lara! Are you okay?” her friend rushed toward her.
“Yes, but the workshop… Grandpa’s workshop!”
“Don’t worry,” Marina hugged her. “I got in touch with Nikolai. He managed to call the police and the journalists. They’ve cordoned off your workshop. The raiders were detained.”
They walked into the living room. Andrey, Inga, and Eduard were standing against the wall, hands on their heads. The police were checking documents.
“This is a misunderstanding!” Andrey shouted. “I’m her husband! I have rights!”
“You don’t have the right to unlawful imprisonment,” the officer cut him off. “Or to falsifying documents.”
“What falsifying?” Inga shrieked.
“Your husband,” the officer nodded at Eduard, “used a forged power of attorney for the transaction. The notary who supposedly notarized it died two years ago.”
Eduard turned pale. Inga recoiled from him.
“You said everything was legal!”
“Shut up!” he barked.
Andrey turned to Larisa:
“Lara, sweetheart, this is all a misunderstanding! Tell them! We’re husband and wife!”
Larisa walked up to him, looking straight into his eyes.
“We were. Until this moment,” she took off her wedding ring and threw it at his feet. “I’ll file for divorce tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Inga screeched. “After everything Andrey has done for you!”
“Done?” Larisa turned to her sister-in-law. “He tried to steal my inheritance, blackmailed me, and held me captive! That’s your idea of ‘done’?”
“Ms. Semyonova,” the investigator addressed her, “you need to come with us to give testimony. And file a report.”
“Of course,” Larisa nodded.
As the police were leading the detainees out, Andrey turned around:
“You’ll REGRET this! You’ll end up alone, unwanted! Who will want you at thirty?”
“GET OUT!” Larisa shouted. “And don’t you dare show your face in my life again!”
The door slammed shut. Larisa was left standing with Marina in the middle of the wrecked apartment.
“How are you?” her friend asked softly.
“You know…” Larisa took a deep breath. “I’m scared. But at the same time… relieved. Like a mountain fell off my shoulders.”
“Shall we go to the workshop?” Marina suggested. “Nikolai is waiting.”
An hour later they were standing in her grandfather’s workshop. The old machines, the smell of wood and lacquer, the tools in their places. Nikolai hugged Larisa.
“Well done, girl. Pavel would be proud of you.”
“Uncle Kolya,” Larisa looked around. “I want to revive the workshop. But I don’t know if I can handle it alone.”
“Who said alone?” the old man smiled. “I have a grandson, Igor. A talented restorer, just back from Italy. He’s looking for work. If you want, I’ll introduce you.”
A week later, there was a knock on the workshop door. Larisa opened it — a young man with warm brown eyes stood on the threshold.
“Larisa? I’m Igor, Nikolai Petrovich’s grandson. He said you need an assistant?”
“Yes, come in!” she stepped aside.
Igor looked around, and his face lit up with admiration.
“Incredible! This is a real treasure trove! These machines are relics! And the tools…” he walked to a shelf. “This is a nineteenth-century set!”
“Grandpa collected it all his life,” Larisa smiled.
“And you know how to use all of this?”
“Grandpa taught me from the age of ten. Want me to show you?”
They worked the entire day. Igor proved not only to be a talented craftsman, but also a wonderful conversationalist. The time flew by.
“Larisa,” he said as they were closing up the workshop, “thank you for today. I haven’t enjoyed work like that in a long time.”
“Thank you. I had forgotten what it feels like to work with someone who understands and values our craft.”
A month passed. Andrey received a two-year suspended sentence for unlawful imprisonment. Eduard got a real sentence — three years in a penal colony for fraud. Inga got off with a fine, but her reputation was ruined.
Larisa’s workshop flourished. Orders came one after another. Igor became not only her assistant but also her friend. And perhaps something more — but that is another story.
One evening, Larisa stood in the workshop, looking at her grandfather’s portrait.
“Thank you, Grandpa. For the workshop. For the skills you gave me. And for helping me see the truth.”
Footsteps sounded behind her. Igor brought two cups of tea.
“Thank you for what?”
“For everything,” Larisa smiled. “For the fact that life goes on. And it’s beautiful.”
They stood together, drinking tea and watching the sunset through the old workshop windows. Ahead lay plenty of work, plenty of plans. And most importantly — no place for lies or betrayal.
Only honesty, respect, and love for their craft.
And the hope for happiness that always comes to those who deserve it.
