Page 11 of Day Shift

I stood up slowly, stretching my limbs as if I had all the time in the world. My movements were deliberate, calculated to show no hint of concern. I held my hands up and pressed them together. He slapped the cuffs around my wrists.

The two officers marched me down the narrow corridor. The echo of our steps bounced off the concrete walls, a reminder that I was their prisoner. As soon as we entered the interrogation room, which felt like a freezer, one of the officers shoved me into a chair next to a lone table under the glaring fluorescent lights. I rested my cuffed hands on the table in front of me and sighed, doing my best to project an image of calm and control. This little game they were playing was irritating—and a waste of my time.

The place was what you’d expect in a city police station: drab beige walls and a dull gray, scuffed-up floor that looked like it hadn’t ever seen a mop. On the wall directly facing me was a one-way mirror, underscoring that every move I made was being watched.

“All right, Mr. Volkov,” Agent Reynolds said as he strode into the small room, his lips in a thin line and his eyes hard as steel. We’d become acquainted yesterday, right before I’d informed him I wouldn’t speak to him without my attorney present. It was then that he’d let me know I’d be staying for a while. “Let’s have another chat before your attorney gets you out of here.”

He sat opposite me, his eyes boring into mine. His female counterpart, Agent Johnson, joined us in the room, shutting the door behind her.

“You’re going to tell us everything you know about your father’s plans to reestablish the drug trade here in the Northwest,” he said. “We know he sent you to take care of the matter. So, before you get yourself into any real trouble, how about you cut your losses and talk to us? We know you were supposed to meet someone at JFK. Who?”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Go ahead and ask away. Say what you want, but I’ve got nothing for you. You’ll find I’m not my father. I suggest you check your facts before making assumptions about my involvement.” I kept my voice cool and met his gaze without fear. I wasn’t going to let these FBI agents intimidate me. I’d been on my way to visit Anastasia, so they had nothing on me. “Visiting family. What’s wrong with that?” I kept my voice even, hiding the protective surge that raced up my spine whenever I thought of my sister.

“You expect us to believe that?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” I replied unflinchingly.

“Your father is a fugitive, Nikolai,” Agent Johnson said, chiming in. “And here you are, trying to step into his shoes. Look, we know you’re involved in your father’s businesses.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “So why don’t you make things easier on yourself and tell us about Viktor and the Volkovi Notchi’s plans?”

“Like I told you before, I was in the UK for the past year, working hard, trying to earn a living.” I picked at my nails, smirking at their futile attempts to manipulate me. “I have done nothing wrong, and you know that as well as I do.”

“Maybe nothing we can prove yet, but we will be keeping a close eye on you,” Agent Reynolds threatened, clenching his jaw.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and a uniformed officer poked his head in. “Agents, Mr. Volkov’s lawyer has finalized his release. He’s free to go,” he said almost apologetically.

“Looks like my ride’s here,” I said, getting up from my chair and holding my cuffed hands out. With a huff, Agent Johnson pulled the key out of her pocket and unlocked them. “You two enjoy watching me live my life.” I resisted the urge to rub my wrists where the metal had been biting into them.

Leaving that interrogation room was like thawing out after coming inside from a snowstorm—a sudden relief, but it still made you kind of numb. Once the cuffs were off, the officers didn’t waste any time guiding me through the busy station at a quick pace. The other staff were all caught up in their own world of paperwork and phone calls, so they didn’t pay much attention to me. It was just another day for them, but for me, this was my first taste of freedom in over twenty-four hours.

With minimal fuss, I followed the officer through the maze-like hallways to the processing area. Briefly, we stopped to sign off on my release forms—no charges, no fuss. I barely registered the clerk’s monotone instructions as I initialed here and signed there.

Next up was the property room. The officer there read off a list of my items as they were handed back to me: phone, wallet, watch, suitcase, computer case. When this process was completed, I checked each one, starting with my watch. It was thankfully unharmed, so I strapped it on. I then flipped through my wallet, found all my money still there just as I remembered, and shoved it in my back pocket. Next, I checked my phone—it was at fifteen percent battery—and quickly pocketed it. Finally, I examined my suitcase and computer case. No signs of tampering. Still, the relief of having my things back didn’t quite erase the sting of having them taken in the first place. With a huff and a shake of my head, I walked toward the door. I’d wasted enough of my day in this place and wanted to get going.

5/28 midday

I met Harrison Tate in the police station lobby. He was waiting with that “I just won” smile plastered across his face. Harrison was a slick lawyer who knew how to play the system.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and you’ve got places to be.” Together, we walked out to where his sleek black X5-M was parked in the pouring rain.

As we drove away, he began updating me on everything related to our family estate on Fox Island.

“With the completion of the trust for your family’s estate, including all of Viktor’s legal businesses, Anastasia is now officially the sole beneficiary, and I am the trustee overseeing it all. Everything has been meticulously cleaned up, reorganized, and made legitimate.” He greedily chuckled to himself. “And the best part is, Miss Anastasia has no clue. Your father was a smart man, shipping her off to boarding school, giving her a new identity, and ensuring she was a US citizen. Her reputation as a pretty young socialite will mask any links to the Volkovs. No one knows Anastasia is related to the family. She’s a perfect cover.”

I wanted to punch the smug asshole right in the mouth. “Nothing of this better come back on her,” I said harshly, glaring at him.

“No worries. She’s under the protection of the Genovese family—and soon the Moretti family as well. No one will mess with her,” he replied casually, as if being in the middle of a mafia crime family takeover was no big deal.

My time was ticking. I had to get us out from under all this mafia bullshit—that is, if I could.

Tate continued to fill me in on what had happened to the estate back in December, after Viktor had taken off. “It was thoroughly searched—ransacked, you could even say. They went through every inch of the property, so assume everything there is now public knowledge. They removed all the electronics too. The place is a mess, really,” he said, pursing his lips.

“Good thing I never trust any ‘smart’ device,” I mused. “They’re all open to surveillance.” There were many ways to listen in on just about any person on the planet. I knew because I had done it often. My mind raced as I considered all the ways they could have bugged our home. “We need to get rid of everything with connective technologies—TVs, fridges, pretty much everything that runs on some sort of power and has a chip. Plus, I want the entire house swept for bugs.”

I’d seen enough in my line of work to be jaded. My company specialized in keeping the world’s elite safe from prying eyes, and if I couldn’t trust a device, it was as good as trash.

“Ah, I have just the people for that,” Tate said, a glint in his eye. “There’s a security organization that specializes in such matters, well-known for their prevention of hacking. Their parent company is an outfit called DarkMatter Defense, based out of Kyiv, but they have a large operation here in Seattle.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow, amused that he was suggesting the very company I owned. That fact—and my status as a world-class hacker—was something I guarded fiercely, even from my father and Tate. “Make the arrangements then. They sound like our best bet.”

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