“Vladislav Sergeyevich, there… well, for you.”
The secretary hesitated, and I raised my eyebrows. “Has the FSB come?”
“Yes, I’m here to see you,” a thin little voice said—and a seven-year-old girl walked into the office.
“You’re looking for me,” I reminded her, not imagining what this child might need from me.
“Exactly,” she nodded and came closer. And then she shocked me: “I really need your help, Dad. ”
I…