residence, two cars, five apartments in Moscow in addition to the one in which he lived, one apartment in Leningrad and one in Tashkent. He also owned several gas stations along the ring road and three companies. He preferred to keep his wealth in foreign banks. Yuri Vladimirovich didn’t like fame or noise around him, and considered the desire for fame to be a sign of wretchedness. He preferred to be listed as an average, and because of this most of his property belonged to him incognito. No one, even his wife Vera Stanislavovna, knew the true level of his income. Vera Stanislavovna guessed about it, and it irritated her very much. Now when she heard about the will, she got worried. “Not again,” she thought. “After all, he will divide everything between girls. He doesn’t take me into account. He thinks he will outlive me for a hundred years. Clara should never get any heritage. She’s had enough. She should be grateful for bringing up and educating her. This will never happen.”
“When you write your will, honey,” Vera Stanislavovna spoke in her ingratiating voice, fingering the edge of the tablecloth, “you must take into account that Katia is a cream puff. Clara can achieve a lot herself. She’s always been very independent. Katia needs support.”
“True, Clara is independent just like me!” Yuri Vladimirovich said proudly. “If she fell in love with the professor, so be it. After all, he’s a professor, not a gambler,” Yuri Vladimirovich hinted at Katia’s past relation with a sharpie. “Leonid is a wonderful guy, and very smart”
“Hm,” Vera Stanislavovna snorted, “a guy! I bet he had dozens of lovers. After all, he’s ten years younger than me!”
“Even if he was ten years older. Why are you comparing? He is an intelligent man, and most importantly, they love each other,” her husband answered firmly, with some pressure in his voice.
“Love! How can she love a poor man? Living fifty dollars a month and enjoying it is moral ugliness. How they are going to raise their children? Feed them, educate them? You’ll see how their love ends!” Vera Stanislavovna pouted her lips, offended, and turned her face away from her husband.
“Vera,” Yuri Vladimirovich spoke softly, “stop saying that.” I understand that you worry about Clara…”
“Yuri,” Vera Stanislavovna attacked again, delighted with her husband’s soft tone, “you’ll see them begging for money in a year.”
“I will not let that happen!” Yuri Vladimirovich said firmly, putting the cup and the saucer aside.
Vera Stanislavovna was delighted with these words. However, his subsequent words upset her.
“What do you mean – begging? Clara is not the kind of person who begs. If she needs help, she will come to her father! Yes, I will not allow her or her children – our grandchildren – beg! By the way, I already told you that I want to give my daughters all they need while I’m alive. They should live like queens, and not wait for my death to receive an inheritance.”
Vera Stanislavovna broke out and even squealed in her chair.
“You go again! We’ll live years and years more. Are you going to die or what?”
“Yes, of course,” Yuri Vladimirovich answered, thinking of something of his own.
“Yuri, I’m talking about something else… They will experience inconvenience anyway. You know this professor is so proud.”
“Is pride a vice? Please do not bother Clara. Leonid is a very clever man. He’s marked by God!” Seeing irony in his wife’s eyes, Yuri Vladimirovich added with pressure: “I’m telling you.”
Yuri Vladimirovich made a special emphasis on "I", which always meant that he did not intend and would not argue more on this subject.
“I am not worried about Clara,” Yuri Vladimirovich softened his voice and extended his leg from the table in order to get up and leave. “Katia bothers me more now.”
However, two months later, sitting at the same table, Yuri Vladimirovich was anxious and spoke different:
“I'm very worried about Clara. Who could she interfere with?”
“I don’t know,” answered Vera Stanislavovna. She also looked concerned. “Who would need it? Has our Clara got involved in some dirty business? Dear God, she could die! Maybe she should move to live with us?”
“I already suggested, but she doesn’t want it,” the husband answered, rubbing his face with his palms pressed together.
“Without even asking me,” Vera Stanislavovna pricked painfully. “She will move to Leonid tomorrow,” continued Yuri Vladimirovich.
“Before the wedding?” – Vera Stanislavovna was indignant. Then, remembering that two months ago Katia was dating a sharpie who was not going to marry her, she stopped and, reducing the pause to the minimum, like she often did when she wanted to “erase” something from the interlocutor’s memory, she asked: “Well, what does Clara say? Does she suspect anyone?”
“No, no one. She thinks this is either an accident, or they confused her with someone.”
“The only person she could be confused with is Katia,” Vera Stanislavovna suddenly turned pale. “God, didn’t they want to kill Katia? I must tell her not to go to Clara, at least for now.”
Vera Stanislavovna rushed to the phone, moving pretty quickly for her age.
The house where Clara lived did not have garbage cans or garbage chute. Twice a day, morning and evening, a special car arrived and took the garbage away. Residents went out with garbage bags at the appointed time and threw them directly into the car body. That evening Clara threw out the trash as usual, and hurriedly returned home. Suddenly, not far from her entrance, she saw a small helpless spotted kitten on the road. The kitten silently pressed to the asphalt, helplessly raising its head, and it was strange that so far it had not been crushed by anyone. Without hesitation, Clara leaned toward him, and at that moment something quickly flashed over her head. Having stood up with the kitten, Clara turned her head in the direction of movement and saw a knife deeply piercing the trunk of a tree. The black knife handle had a ruby inlay in the form of a blood drop. Not having time to be frightened, Clara glanced in the direction from which the knife supposedly flew, and saw that someone was hiding behind the tree. Clara waited a few seconds, but the man did not go out. He lurked, which means that he had good reason for that. Clara was seized with inexplicable fear. She quickly moved, catching up with a neighbor from her porch. Returning to the apartment, Clara went to the window to look at the stranger from the third floor, but she did not see anyone suspicious. Residents peacefully dispersed along their porches; the driver of the garbage truck, Uncle Pasha, closed the hatch; two elderly women talked peacefully two steps from where Clara picked up the kitten. The fear passed, but not the excitement. “It flew so close. Seems to have even shuffled through my hair. Is someone having fun with knives?” Not knowing what to think, Clara called Leonid. Leonid silently listened to her and said:
“I'll be right there, and you call the police.”
“The police? What will I tell them?”
“Same thing you told me.”
Clara and Leonid argued a little more: Clara asked him not to worry and refused to call the police, but he exhorted and insisted.
The police attendant on duty did not pick up the phone for a long time, and when he picked it up, he answered with irritation:
“Lady, call your district police officer on
