Page 31 of Deadly Offer

And Andrey—what had his role been, really? The unpredictable variable? The loose cannon they’d collectively managed? Reuben studied the negative space Andrey’s absence created, wondering if the brothers had ever truly seen how that empty pocket in their structure had shaped them all.

“You should have come to me immediately, the moment you knew.” Grigorii directed his words at Nikon, his voice level, but the undercurrent of accusation was still there.

Nikon’s eyes darkened. He moved away from the security panel, standing beside the table where the evidence lay spread out. “And say what? That I suspected our brother of betraying us? Based on what? Hunches?” Nikon’s voice remained controlled, but Reuben recognized the defensive edge. “I needed to be absolutely certain.”

Grigorii studied Nikon for a beat. “Protecting family is instinctive,” Grigorii finally said, his voice softer than Reubenhad ever heard it. “But sometimes protecting this family means making the hardest choice.”

Alexei looked up from his laptop, his eyes meeting Nikon’s across the room. The silent communication between them reflected years of shared secrets and mutual understanding.

“These irregularities,” Alexei gestured to the screen with his uninjured arm, his voice maintaining its smooth cadence despite the pain clearly radiating from his wound, “could potentially be explained by poor record-keeping.” His finger traced a series of questionable transactions. “Remember when Andrey managed to lose track of five hundred thousand in cash because he’d been using the wrong spreadsheet format? He’s never had a head for numbers.”

“Don’t make excuses for him.” Grigorii’s massive hand came down on the table, not quite a slam, yet enough to make the metal case jump. “I taught him better than that.”

“You taught all of us better than that,” Nikon muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Reuben leaned over Alexei’s shoulder, his finance training clicking into gear. The screen displayed a labyrinth of transactions—shell companies nesting within legitimate businesses like Russian dolls. Money disappearing into digital smoke.

“Is this normal?” Reuben asked quietly, pointing to a pattern of transfers. “For those particular operations?”

Alexei shook his head slightly. He studied the screen for a long moment, his expression conflicted as he traced the loops and patterns with his finger.

Finally, he looked up. “No. See how it loops back through these three entities before disappearing offshore?” His finger traced the screen. “That’s not carelessness. That’s specific.”

The ancient air conditioning unit wheezed and rattled, briefly interrupting the heavy silence that followed Alexei’s words.

“We should at least hear what he has to say before we make any final decisions.” Nikon began to pace, five steps in one direction, five in the other. “But he might run to Dmitrii,” Nikon said, stopping mid-stride. “It’s the logical move.”

“If he does, he’s dead.” Grigorii’s declaration left no room for debate. “Dmitrii will use him until he’s extracted every bit of information, then dispose of him.”

Reuben watched Alexei’s face as the conversation continued around them. The younger Matvei brother had gone completely still, his eyes fixed on the screen but seeming to look through it rather than at it. The mention of his twin’s potential fate had struck home in a way the evidence alone had not.

“I’ve found something,” Alexei’s voice sounded strangely hollow.

The brothers moved to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the screen. Reuben stayed where he was, watching their faces instead of the data. The synchronized stiffening of their postures told him everything he needed to know.

“These shell companies,” Alexei pointed to a series of entries. “They match patterns I’ve previously identified as Dmitrii’s laundering structure. The exact same routing, the same offshore endpoints.” His finger tapped against one particular transaction. “This transfer here. Twenty million moved through three different entities before landing in an account I know for sure belongs to Dmitrii.”

Reuben leaned closer, his finance training kicking in like an old reflex. The numbers and patterns called to him with a familiar clarity. It was a language he’d been fluent in before poker tells and casino floors.

“Wait.” He tapped the screen, just below where Alexei’s finger rested. “Can you pull up the inventory reports? The ones showing the missing shipments?”

Alexei gave him a curious glance but complied, his fingers flying across the keyboard. A new spreadsheet materialized beside the financial data.

“There’s a timing signature here,” Reuben said, eyes darting between the two datasets. “Look at the pattern. Each major financial transfer occurs within forty-eight hours of a weapons shipment arrival.” His finger traced the dates, connecting invisible dots. “And the amounts...” He paused, mental calculations clicking into place. “The transfers are consistently nineteen percent of the weapons’ street value.”

Nikon moved behind him, close enough that Reuben could sense his body heat. “Nineteen percent specifically?”

“Yes.” Reuben nodded, certainty solidifying. “Not twenty, which would be too obvious. Not fifteen, which would be too round. Nineteen percent—specific enough to be deliberate.”

He turned to face the brothers. “This isn’t opportunistic skimming. This is a deliberate, ongoing arrangement. Notice how these dates align with your largest scheduled deliveries—when small percentage discrepancies would be least noticeable because you’re moving so much inventory at once.”

Alexei’s fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up additional records. As the data populated, his expression hardened. “You’re right. Every single time.”

“There’s more,” Reuben continued, spotting another pattern. “The shipments being targeted aren’t random either.” He pointed to specific inventory items. “These are all high-demand, limited-trace weapons. The kind that command premium prices but are harder to track if diverted. Someone with intimate knowledge of your operations selected these specifically.”

Grigorii’s massive frame shifted behind them. “Someone with access to our supply chain details.”

The room fell silent as the implications settled. Nikon moved behind Reuben, his hand coming to rest on the small of his back. It was a gesture of quiet acknowledgment between them that spoke volumes in the tense silence.

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