The Untouchable

Chapter 95

"...So, under Article 201.2, they handed down three years and slapped a fine of three million rubles, but for the attempted murder, they hit him with Article 105, Part 1 - eleven years and three months," Ilya repeated excitedly. "The lawyer tried to argue against Article 201.2, saying the company wasn't state-owned at the time of the sabotage, but the objection got shut down. Weird, isn't it? That they gave fewer years for sabotage than for a failed assassination attempt?"

"Weird," Daniel agreed in a shaky voice. "Did you get the video like we discussed?"

"Sure did!" Ilya grinned. "Two cameras - one on the judge, the other on the defendant. The defendant's reactions were priceless - he looked like he was about to have a seizure. I'll get home, upload the video, and send it to you as soon as I get the money. Can you wait about an hour?"

"I'll wait. The money's at the agreed spot," Daniel sighed, anxious to get his hands on the video. He'd been restless for hours, worrying that Sennoy might slip up. Without talking to Maxim or getting firsthand information, he had no clear understanding of the situation. The last time they spoke was before both trials, and Daniel hadn't dared to reach out since - he had no idea how Maxim might react to his maneuvers with Alexander.

He'd had to improvise, hiring Ilya, an up-and-coming freelance journalist, though he was tempted to attend the trial himself and stare into Sennoy's cold, angry eyes. To poke him in the back for underestimating Daniel King and dismissing him as just a toy. As Sennoy once ranted, " You can't push a man to the brink, or he might just push back."

The arrogant fool thought Daniel wouldn't dare challenge the powerful, that he'd be too scared. As if an Untouchable couldn't take a swing at a Brahmin. Daniel gritted his teeth as he opened his laptop.

Well, ex-pakhan Sennoy, as you prepare to head to the zone, you won't be at the top of the food chain this time. You're hoping for a favorable outcome in vain. You'll be leaving as prisoner Andrei Senchukov and arriving as rooster An'ka. The fleeting thought that Sennoy might somehow survive in that role and seek revenge didn't scare him.

Everyone has to pay their dues. If his escape meant making lifelong enemies, so be it. C'est la fucking vie.

Daniel meticulously reviewed the video, checking the subtitles to ensure there were no mistakes and making sure his own face didn't show in the grainy blur. With a sigh, he uploaded it to Vkontakte. He copied the link and sent it to Ilya. His lips twisted into a mocking grin - if Sennoy only knew, he'd realize he was the one funding his own shameful movie debut and its promotion. There was no doubt Ilya would do the job well: it wasn't just about the generous fee from the anonymous client but also the hype that could catapult Ilya to fame.

"Vanity is my favorite sin," Al Pacino said in the old "Devil's Advocate." That quote hadn't lost its relevance.

The plan was executed perfectly, down to the last detail. It's just a shame the audience didn't appreciate it and is now raging impotently.

Daniel slammed his laptop shut and stared blankly at his sneakers - right, he was going to run to blow off some steam. He needed to, or the hour-long wait would drive him into a panic.

During the day, the consulate's fitness room was predictably full of staff wives. They were chatting animatedly on the exercise machines but fell silent as soon as he walked in, averting their eyes and whispering quietly. About him, of course. Daniel smirked as he began his warm-up - his case would be remembered for a long time. Whatever, he wouldn't be around much longer, and he'd long since learned to brush off outsiders' opinions - prison had taught him that.

On the treadmill, he cranked up the pace - better to exhaust himself physically, since achieving the meditative calm of a marathon pace was out of the question. The goal was simple: get through today and mentally check off the "done" box.

Stomp, stomp, stomp - the belt trembled under his sharp, hard strides. His thoughts raced along with the rhythm - just as harsh and unappealing. No pity, no reflection, no room for remorse.

He wouldn't allow himself to split into his preferred refined self and the alter ego buried deep in his memory. It was time to accept himself with all his flaws, even if some of those flaws meant someone else's downfall.

Ilya's call rang in his headphones like a funeral bell. Daniel nearly stumbled off the treadmill, his heart racing as he pulled the stop key with trembling fingers and stepped off the slowly winding-down belt.

"I'm listening."

"Found the money, got the clip, everything's in order. A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. N," Ilya rumbled contentedly. "I sent the video link to your email - you've got yourself a three-hour movie to enjoy. I'll have the article written by the end of today and start spreading it around. I'll send you a link to the publication as soon as it's up. Any questions, call or write - I'll be happy to help."

"Thanks," Daniel whispered, quickly heading for the exit. "I hope there won't be any questions."

"I've got one," Ilya hesitated, clearly unsure how to phrase it. "As a journalist, I can't help but wonder... why? It's important for me, not for the article, but just to understand - why did you..."

"We agreed from the start - no 'why,' no 'who,' no 'what for,'" Daniel said coldly. "And that hasn't changed. Your fee is generous enough to cover those questions, and the size of the investment in the ad campaign should've convinced you of one unchanging truth: silence is golden."

"No questions, got it," Ilya quickly reassured. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

Daniel finally reached his apartment, sat down at his laptop, and set both video files to download. Only then did he walk on stiff legs to the bathroom. He shocked himself with ice-cold water, trying to snap back to reality. The icy sting forced his focus onto the physical discomfort, pushing aside the mental strain. Once he was thoroughly chilled, he turned the faucet to hot and stood still, slowly warming up and calming down.

He'd earned the right to watch.

The video quality was far from perfect - grainy and tinted green. The audio was patchy too, with some phrases getting lost. But overall, the effect was powerful - Sennoy occasionally looked into the crowd, as if looking directly into the camera, directly at him. It was like Sennoy was searching for him among the spectators and journalists.

His gaze was fierce, full of hatred, almost blinded by emotion - Daniel had never seen Sennoy this tense. The intense satisfaction Daniel felt reminded him of his own helpless fury when he first learned the truth. Sennoy must have been seething, knowing he couldn't drag Daniel down with him - the incriminating video files that Daniel had sent to the authorities hadn't even surfaced in court. Sennoy must have worked hard to keep them off the internet, desperate to protect his straight image.

Foolish... Daniel smirked darkly. You tried in vain, Sennoy. You'll still end up as a rooster, tasting the same fate you once dished out.

Daniel settled in, taking a sip of water - he wasn't going to miss a single moment of this precious show.