A Silent Struggle for Recognition and Dignity
In the quiet of the bedroom, the mirror reflected a familiar image: I was smoothing the folds of a simple gray dress I had bought three years ago in a regular store. Dmitry, beside me, was painstakingly buttoning the cufflinks of his snow-white shirt—Italian, as he proudly emphasized on every possible occasion.
“Are you ready?” he asked without looking at me, while trying to wipe some nonexistent dust off his suit with an invisible hand.
“Yes, we can go,” I replied, making sure once again that my hair was perfectly combed.
Finally, Dmitry turned to me, and I saw that familiar expression in his eyes, that mixture of mild disappointment. He examined me from head to toe, focusing especially on the dress.
“Don’t you have anything more decent?” he said in his usual condescending tone.
These words echoed at every corporate event we attended. They were always sharp, never lethal, but unpleasant. I learned not to reveal how much they hurt, to smile and shrug.
“This dress is perfectly suitable,” I replied calmly.
Dmitry sighed, as if I had failed him again.
“Okay, let’s go. Just try not to draw too much attention to yourself, okay?”
We got married five years ago, just after I finished economics school and he was holding a junior management position at a trading company. Back then, I was drawn to his ambition and determination; he seemed to have a promising future, and I loved hearing him talk about his plans with such confidence.
As time went by, Dmitry rose in his career. He was currently a senior sales manager, responsible for major clients. His salary was reflected in his appearance: expensive suits, Swiss watches, a new car every two years. “Image is everything,” he repeated tirelessly. “If you don’t look successful, no one wants to deal with you.”
I worked as an economist at a small consulting firm, earning a modest salary, and I avoided spending money on myself so as not to affect the family budget. At the company events he took me to, I always felt out of place. Dmitry would introduce me to his colleagues with a light touch: “Here’s my little gray mouse in the city.” Everyone laughed, and I pretended to share the joke.
Over time, I noticed how fame began to change my husband. Success went to his head. He didn’t just despise me; he also looked down on his own clients. “I’m selling junk made by Chinese people,” he said once at home, while sipping expensive whiskey. “The important thing is to know how to sell, and they’ll buy anything.”
Occasionally, he hinted at extra income: “Customers pay for good service,” he winked. “And they’re willing to pay extra. You understand me, right?” Although I took the hint, I preferred not to interfere in such matters.
Life took an unexpected turn three months ago when I received a call from the notary.
“Anna Sergeevna? This refers to the inheritance from your father, Sergey Mikhailovich Volkov.”
My heart raced. My father abandoned our family when I was seven. My mother never explained what happened; she only knew that he had decided to live a separate life, with no room for a daughter.
“Your father passed away a month ago,” the notary continued. “According to his will, you are the sole heir to all his assets.”
What I discovered in that office turned my world upside down. My father had not only been a successful businessman, but he had built an empire: an apartment in the center of Moscow, a country house, vehicles, and, most importantly, an investment fund with shares in multiple companies.
In the papers, I found a name that made my blood run cold: “TradeInvest,” the company where Dmitry worked.
For the first few weeks, I was in shock. I woke up every day in disbelief. I only told my husband that I had changed jobs and was now working in the investment sector. His reaction was lukewarm; he barely mumbled anything, hoping my salary wouldn’t be lower.
I immersed myself in analyzing the fund’s activities. My economics background was a great help, but above all, I felt genuine interest. For the first time, I felt I was doing something meaningful.
I was particularly intrigued by “TradeInvest.” I requested a meeting with the CEO, Mikhail Petrovich Kuznetsov.
“Anna Sergeevna,” he said when we were alone, “I must be frank: the situation is not encouraging. Especially in the sales department.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“We have an employee, Dmitry Andreev. Formally, he handles major accounts, and the volume is high, but the profits are almost nonexistent. Moreover, there are many unprofitable transactions. We suspect irregularities, although we don’t have enough evidence yet.”
I requested an internal investigation without revealing my real motives.
The following month, the investigation confirmed that Dmitry had embezzled funds: he had arranged “personal bonuses” with clients.
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