A few years back, I met a group of men outside my office. They wore suits that cost too little and sunglasses that hid too much. I wouldn't have expected to find these people in my building, but there they were. As I am one to make the best of a situation such as this, I invited them into my boardroom to offer a pot of tea. I like to keep tea on hand - I find that it helps for moments when I have no clue what else to do. I followed the men into my boardroom, but none of them accepted any tea. I took it as a sign of offense, naturally.
Their faces looked dumb, and I looked at each in turn. The silence grew thicker as I waited for one of them to speak up. I wasn't going to say anything.
"Hello, Mister Stroganoff," piped the tall, skinny man. I figured the one with the most hair gel would be their leader.
"Call me Count Von Stroganoff," I corrected him.
"Count Von Stroganoff, we have something to discuss with you today."
I felt bored instantly. I didn't particularly enjoy the idea of these people sitting at my father's table. In the interest of having them leave as quickly as possible I said, "Look, fellas, it's obvious you don't belong here. I don't know what it is you want from me, but there's nothing that a few guys like you have to offer someone such as myse-
"Pounds, Count. Pounds."
"Pounds I have."
He explained, "We understand the excellence of your services, and our boss is prepared to compensate you accordingly. You will find what we have to offer can be more valuable than mere cash."
My interest was sparked. Perhaps there was more to these guys than I previously though? Naturally, I couldn't keep my curiosity at bay. "What is it that your boss thinks I can do for him?"
"For her, Count. Our boss is interested in your banking talents. We are well aware of your previous work for the Komarovs and are requesting similar service. I trust that you'll find your work with us to be much more captivating."
As it turned out, there was more to them than I thought, though not in a way I would have appreciated. They crossed the line bringing up Fyodor's family.
"What do you know of the Komarovs? Who the hell are you people?"
The next moment would change my life forever. Mister hair gel smiled broadly and motioned to the man on his right. I looked quickly, ready to respond if need be. The need did not arise. A porky man placed a briefcase on my table and then moved away. I made eye contact with the de-facto leader. He looked down at the case, looked at me and left without saying a word. Glad to see them go, I sat in place for a moment. Pondering what just happened, I decided to retrieve the case. I brought it back to my office, figuring I might as well see what awaited me in the comfort of my own chair.
The cool steel of a worn case felt harsh as I opened the latches. The case creaked slightly as it opened. In the middle of the faded red velvet lining laid a picture.
"How could this happen? What is going on?" I thought as I touched her face on the photo. I could feel markings through the paper and on the back read:
Now we own both of you.
At that moment I swore that I would make them pay. I didn't realize how wild a ride I was in for...
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