From the bank?
- Yes. She worked here almost to the end. But I knew her before.
I'm sitting down.
There was a brown folder on the desk in front of him.
Back a folder.
I felt my stomach shrink.
– Mr. Markov, if it is about money that I have to return...
It’s not about money you have to pay back.
The nephew told her...
Her nephew doesn’t know much.
He opened the folder.
– Maria has left a notarized order. In the event of her death, we had to invite you here and provide you with information on an account to which you are listed as the sole recipient.
I didn't understand right away.
- Me?
- You.
He pulled out a document and put it in front of me.
At the top it said my name.
Vera Stoyanova.
Below it – account number.
Below it – amount.
I looked at the numbers.
Then I read them again.
Then I asked:
– Is this in BGN?
- Yes.
The amount was three hundred and eighty-six thousand levs.
I didn't hear anything for a moment.
Nor the ticking of the clock.
Not the noise of the street.
Not your breathing.
"That's a mistake," I said.
- It's not.
Mary didn’t have that kind of money.
- There was.
She lived in a small apartment. He was driving an old car. He never went on vacations. He saved everything.
- Yes.
- Why?
Georgi Markov sighed.
Because he didn’t spare for himself.
I looked at him.
He pulled out another document.
It was a term deposit agreement opened twenty-seven years ago.
The initial amount was much smaller.
There were monthly movements.
There was interest.
There were additional contributions.
But what made me cling to the end of the chair was the name under the first installment.
Dimitar Stoyanov.
"No," I whispered.
- Yes.
Dimitar was dead when she started bringing my money.
The first installment was made two months before his death.
I looked at the date.
I remember this period.
Dimitar was sick, but he was still going to work. He said he had an important project. He was coming home tired, but he wasn't explaining anything to me. I was busy with the kids, with the bills, with his check-ups.
I thought we had time.
We always think we have time.
What was that money?
I can’t say that with accuracy. But Maria left a letter.
George handed me a white envelope.
Maria's handwriting was on him.
