The Russian Billionaire

“Mom,” I call.

Immediately, the sobbing stops. I turn the door handle and go into the bathroom. My mom is slumped on the floor in the dark.

“Don’t switch on the light,” she whispers brokenly.

I sit on the floor next to her and take her hand in mine. Her hand is like ice. “What’s wrong, Mom?” I ask. My heart is thumping with fear.

“The doctor called. They’re going to have to bring her surgery forward. She’s not doing so good, Raine. She’s struggling. My baby is struggling to live.”

“We’ll figure it out, Mom.”

“No, we won’t. I didn’t tell you, but I lost my shifts at the grocery store last week. They’re cutting back. Not that it matters. Those shifts hardly paid for our weekly food bill.”

“Mom, I think I’ve got a way to pay for Maddy’s operation,” I whisper in the dark.

Raine

My mom shoots upwards suddenly and hits the light switch. Light floods the room. She stares at me with a strange expression. Her tired eyes transformed. I see fear and anger glittering in them.

“Doing what?” she asks, in a tight, low voice.

I pull out Catherine’s calling card from the pocket of my skirt and hand it to her. Something compelled me and I had fished it out of the trash after my shift. Then I tell her quickly about her proposition. She never takes her eyes off me the whole time I am speaking. When I come to a stop she looks at the card, then she raises her eyes and says one word. The word is harsh and full of pain.

“No.” Her voice is hard and stern.

I scramble up to my feet. “Why not? It would be easy money.”

My mother looks at me incredulously. “Easy money? Are you kidding? There’s no such thing. What if you get caught while you’re stealing this painting?”

I stay silent.

“You’ll go to prison, Raine. That’s what will happen. You’ll have a prison record for the rest of your life! Finding work with a criminal record of dishonesty will be near impossible. You want to risk that?”

I look her in the eye. “Yes.”

“No, I won’t let you do it. There is no way I am going to let one of my children sacrifice herself for the other.” Mom can barely repress the shiver of horror that runs through her body.

“It’s my decision, Mom. I’m an adult now.”

She shakes her head, her eyes pleading. “So you’re willing to become a thief?”

I swallow hard and tell her the same lie Catherine told me. “It won’t be stealing. I’ll just be taking back something that he stole and allowing it to go to the rightful owner.”

“If you believe that you’re not the girl I thought you were,” my mother mutters.

I throw my ace card. “So you’d rather watch Maddy die?”

Mom flinches as if I’d hit her.

“Mom, please give me your blessings because I am going to do this.”

“I can’t give you my blessings to go ahead and destroy yourself.”

“What other choice do we have?”

My mother drops her face into her hands and I move forward and take her in my arms. I let her sob her poor heart out while I hold onto her tightly and say again and again, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. Everything is going to be fine.”

When she stops, she pulls away from me and says, “Call that woman. I want to speak to her.”

So I call Catherine Moriarty, and put the phone on speaker mode.

“Hello, this is Raine, the bartender you spoke to tonight.”

“Hello, how nice to hear from you again,” she drawls.

“My mom wants to have a word with you.”

“Of course, put her on,” she says confidently.

“What happens if my daughter gets caught while she is switching the painting?”

“The billionaire in question cannot afford any negative publicity at the moment. She will be sent away from his apartment in some humiliation, but she will be paid handsomely for that shame.”

“What if he calls the police?”

“We have… people in the force who will take care of her.”

“What if the billionaire gets violent with her?”

“Mmm… Kostantin Tsarnov has never shown violent tendencies towards women. It is not his style.”

My mother takes a deep breath. “Why did he steal the painting from your client if it is of low value?”

“The theft is part of a long-standing feud between two families.”

My mother turns to look at me, her expression is one of defeat. She’s hoping Catherine will say something that would make it impossible for me to take the job, but she has found nothing. She shakes her head at me sadly and leaves the bathroom quietly.

I pick up the phone. “What do you need me to do next?”

“Can we meet tomorrow?”

“I’m working tomorrow, but I have an hour for lunch.”

“Fantastic.” Then she smoothly arranges for us to meet at a restaurant close to my workplace and ends the conversation. I stare at the phone for a few seconds, then I go out into the kitchen where my mother is making tea for us.