“What are you talking about?” Nina asked, genuinely confused.
“Do you remember how exactly the loan documentation is kept in this bank?” Ignatiy Savelievich spoke in a very low voice now.
“Of course. The hard copies are kept here, in the department. The digital files are also kept here, on our computers, with duplicates of them stored on the bank’s server.”
“And what’s the schedule for transferring the duplicates to the server?” asked Ignatiy Savelievich.
“They are transferred once a month.” Nina was still at a loss.
“Yes, and the last time it was done was just about a month ago.”
“You mean to say that I can…” Nina got it finally.
“Precisely. Remember Gogol’s ‘Dead Souls’? What happens between one census and the next is not quite final yet – it can be turned one way or another. Before the next transfer of the data to the server you can record those operations as having taken place within the past month. And as for the hard copies… I presume, the dossier of that company is in your file cabinet?”
“Yes,” admitted Nina. “But… Is it really possible?” She was dumbfounded.
“Yes, dear. And all seasoned accountants know that. Now you do, too.”
“But… What if I get exposed?”
“Who is there to expose you?” Ignatiy Savelievich grinned. “Our Kiryusha has a lot of other things on his plate, and I…” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “This skull keeps so many secrets that another tiny secret won’t burden it any.”
Nina, who had never in her life so much as crossed the street on a red light, faced the prospect of committing a real crime. In complete mental turmoil, she came home, made a large pot of strong coffee, perched on her chair and got to thinking. There was not much to think about, though. The alternative was clear – either she dared to do that or she did not. If she did, then, with luck, she could help her father in a big way – really be there for him for once in her life. And if she got caught… Well, they would hardly kill her. Probably, not even put to jail. They would simply throw her out of the bank with a bang, so that she would never find a job in her profession again. “All right, I can always make a living cleaning public toilets or something,” decided Nina.
Everything was clear but still she stayed awake till dawn. She knew already that she was going to do it, but she was still groping for the right words to wrap her decision in. Finally, the words occurred to her. “You have to carry it through,” she said to herself. “This is what you came to this bank for, so why back out now? You have always to finish what you’ve started.”
After a couple of hours of sleep, she got up, poured into herself another cup of coffee, and went to the bank. Full of the decision that she had made, she felt jittery and elated at the same time.
Once in the department, she carried out the scheme that Ignatiy Savelievich had taught her – she did everything in an unruffled, efficient, all-in-a-day’s-work way as if she had been some kind of hardened criminal or spy rather than a young financial analyst named Nina Shuvalova.
When he saw Nina, Ignatiy Savelievich certainly noticed the pallor of her face and understood what had caused it, but he said nothing. That survivor of the past knew how to hold his tongue.
At the end of that week, Nina’s father invited her to his place. He was solemn, full of great, wonderful news. Lydia Grigorievna, also radiant, was looking at him lovingly.
Pouring out champagne, Evgeniy Borisovich said, “You may congratulate me, Nina. The bank has notified me of a debt restructuring. There are no more financial risks, and the company is back on its feet. We did it! I knew all along that it would work out this way.”
“And you didn’t believe in me,” Nina seemed to hear. As best she could, she made a show of happy surprise, kissed her father and clinked glasses with Lydia Grigorievna. It was clear to her now that she would never be able to open her secret to her father.
Evgeniy Borisovich was blithe and full of fun. He put on the fez that Nina had given him and showed a Turk, owner of a harem. Then he dug out his guitar from the far corner of the closet and sang a few songs which Nina had not heard for ages.
As Nina was leaving, Lydia Grigorievna dragged her into her room and asked in a whisper, “Ninochka, do you have something to do with it?”
“What are you talking about, Lydia Grigorievna?” Nina replied, shrugging, in the same kind of whisper.
Lydia Grigorievna squeezed her hand silently and kissed her on the cheek.
Chapter 7
Her life came to a kind of standstill, or hung like a computer program. Nina was possessed by a strange apathy, almost paralysis, unable to collect her thoughts, let alone decide anything.
And yet, it was time for her to make decisions. She was twenty six. Five years had passed since her graduation from the university. After a good start, her career made a weird pirouette and landed her in a disreputable bank which she had every reason to leave as soon as possible. She had carried out her mission – saved her father’s company – and was now free to make any plans. The problem was, she did not feel like making any.
Meanwhile, changes were brewing in the bank’s industrial credit department where Nina was still working, so this page of her biography was about to turn anyway. Ignatiy Savelievich was admitted to hospital, and although he returned to work afterwards, it was clear that his working days were counted. Kirill was about to leave the department, too, but for a different reason: he was expected to become a vice-director. Once again, the young manager was full of plans which embraced the entire bank now. “We’ll change everything here, everything! Just give me time, you’ll not recognize the bank!” he would exclaim sharing his enthusiasm with Nina.
“Who’s going to be department head?” Nina asked him once without much interest and received the answer, “I hope, you are.” Kirill wanted her to take over his place. He admitted that he did not yet have the authority to decide the matter on his own. “But I’ll convince them, trust me!” he assured her. “Listen, you and I together, we’ll be moving mountains!” He could not imagine that Nina might refuse.
Formally, that would be a big step forward in her career, a great opportunity. However, Nina was not after any career in that bank. She did not believe that Kirill and a few other enthusiasts were able to cure the inherent flaws of that establishment which had begun as a ‘laundry’ for the money from plundering public budgets and God knows what other shady affairs. “A leopard can’t change its spots,” recalled Nina the English proverb. (She had made a little progress in English through reading a few pages from some English detective story every night before sleep.) In her native language, a similar proverb sounded even more expressive, if somewhat cruder, ‘A black dog can’t be washed white.” Nina could not forget the terror that she had experienced facing the thugs in her father’s company, and she had no intention of devoting her life to washing black dogs. She had to leave, that much was clear. Still, she procrastinated.
By that time, she knew thoroughly all the operations performed in the department and was doing her work almost automatically, without giving it a thought. She had some free time again and could resume her old pastimes – reading, tennis.
A couple of times, Nina went to the theater in the company of her father and Lydia Grigorievna. Either for want of habit, or because the shows were not good, theater struck her as a primitive and affected kind of art. To her rational mind, the dramatic turns of the plays seemed labored, and she never got emotionally involved in the action, unable to take her mind off the actors’ crude make-up, their unnatural postures and voices, and their stomping on the planks of the scene.