turning her head or stopping her work. The beauty gave Nina a sliding glance and rose languidly from her table. She took two steps on her breathtaking legs, opened an inner door and asked, “Pavel Mikhailovich, shall I…?” Then she invited Nina in with a nod.
Feeling an ugly duckling, Nina went in.
It was a conference room. A long table with a dozen chairs at the sides ran along the middle. At one end, the director’s table stood across, completing a capital “T”. The walls were covered with wood paneling and, as those in the reception, hung with paintings. The carpet on the floor was even thicker here. It was the bank’s headquarters, where business talks were held and important decisions were made. When Nina came in, the chairs were empty, and it seemed to her for a moment that there was no one in the room. Then she saw him. By an open window, Gradbank’s General Director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov was standing on one leg, in a very weird pose. He was tall and big, now with his suit jacket off. A May wind from the window was playing with his tie and tousling his thinning hair. At the sight of Nina, the director smiled and stood on both legs.
“T'ai chi, an ancient Chinese practice,” he explained. “You need to strike a balance between Yin and Yang.”
“Have you struck it?” she heard her own impertinent question, hardly believing her ears.
The man burst into laughter, “No, I haven’t. Not yet. But I’ll do it.”
She forced a smile.
Putting on his jacket, he said, “You’re Shuvalova, aren’t you? Good, come along.”
From the conference room, they moved on to the next one – his personal office. After the grandeur of the other rooms, Nina expected to see something in the manner of a sultan’s chamber, but the office looked rather modest. However, the armchair that the director offered her was bottomless, lulling, of expensive leather.
“Why don’t you put that box down?” he asked. “What do you have in it, anyway? I hope it’s not a bomb.” He laughed again, but not as merrily as before. “All right, let’s get acquainted.”
The director sat at his table. The armchair Nina was sitting in was quite close, placed at an angle.
“You are Nina…”
“Yevgenievna,” she prompted. “Just ‘Nina’ is all right.”
“Good. And I am Pavel Mikhailovich. Do you mind if I smoke?”
He moved an ash-tray closer to himself, took out a cigarette and used his lighter. Nina did not smoke but even she realized that the cigarette was good and the lighter was very expensive.
It was the first time Nina could see his face properly. Everything was large about him: a high forehead with a receding hairline, a prominent nose, a large mouth with sharp creases at the sides.
“Sorry, I didn’t offer you a cigarette,” he said. “You don’t smoke? That’s wise of you. I mean to give up, too, but I haven’t been able to so far. Do you want some coffee? No? … Coca-cola? Mineral water?”
“A little water, please,” she asked, feeling suddenly that her throat was actually parched.
He picked up the phone handset and said into it, “Marina, some coffee and mineral water, please.”
It seemed to be no more than a minute before a door opened and the beautiful Marina came in carrying a small tray. She put the tray with a cup of coffee on it on the director’s table and shoved a glass of water into Nina’s hand. Nina murmured, “Thank you.”
“So,” the director said when the door was closed after Marina. “I need to discuss something with you.”
Samsonov opened a drawer and took out a plastic file. Before even he put it on the table, Nina recognized her report on Sirius. It had been her first independent assignment in the analytical department of Gradbank. Sirius was the project of building a large sports center in an outskirt residential area. About two dozen companies were involved. The general contractor had applied to Gradbank for a large loan and the terms proposed were quite attractive to the bank.
The loan was considered a decided matter, with only some routine procedures yet to be completed before its closure. Nina was tasked with polishing some financial figures in the business plan. She tackled her job zealously, eager to show her worth. Having gathered all the available information, she ploughed through it again and again, staying at work after hours. And not in vain. She discovered some inconsistencies in the project: some risks were underestimated, the inflation was not fully allowed for, and the expected profit was bloated through certain accounting tricks.
Nina consulted Ariadna Petrovna. The woman said, “Don’t you cram your little head with this. Every project is full of this kind of shit. Make a note of it in the report, though.”
Nina went on digging and gradually she became convinced that there was something very wrong with the project. As she looked for the hundredth time through the papers bearing the pretty logo of the future sports center, she was pervaded by an almost physical sensation of danger. Where that sensation came from, she never could tell.
The time came to submit her report. Nina presented neatly what was expected of her and then, as a supplement, listed the inconsistencies she had unearthed. After some hesitation, she typed the addition, “On the whole, Project Sirius raises some serious doubts which, for the lack of time, could not be either confirmed or dispelled. Under the circumstances, I cannot recommend the Project to the Bank. N. Shuvalova, Analyst.”
At the sight of that, Ariadna Petrovna gasped, “Of all the cheeky rookies! Who are you to recommend anything? … Not bad work, though. You have grip, girl. All right, leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.”
Afterwards, Nina heard that Project Sirius had been declined by the Bank. No comments were issued.
Now she saw her report lying on the director’s table.
“I want to know what reasons you had for your opinion,” Samsonov said covering the file with his broad palm.
That was an awkward question. Trying to dodge it, she mumbled away hastily, “It was too bold of me to write that, I understand. I had no business sticking my neck out with any recommendations. I am sorry for having presumed so – it was inappropriate…”
“On the contrary,” the director interrupted her. “It was most appropriate. Apart from you, there was only one person in this entire bank who was against Sirius. It was me. But I knew certain things that could not be known to you. That’s why I am asking what reasons you had for your doubts. I’ve read what you wrote here. You make some good points, but they don’t amount to much. So?”
Seeing that there was no dodging it, she confessed, “Mostly it was intuition. I wasn’t able to prove anything.”
“H-m,” he grunted. “Is it often that way with you?”
“About fifty per cent of the time.”
“And the other fifty per cent?”
“In about half the cases, I manage to find firm facts and work it all out.”
He pondered.
“Well, I guess it’s a fair proportion. It seems that you’re really a good analyst. As for me, I hardly ever
