Chapter 1

When you’ve built yourself from nothing, you can’t help learning to respect your own achievements in any situation. Even one where you look like God knows what.

“Is it true, Citizen Vetrova, that you are causing a disturbance here? Why were you interfering with the work of the groundskeeping operator?”

“I’m the cleaning manager!” the tattletale cut in. “A responsible park employee! And this young lady,” the old woman rattled on, sidling up to the officer of the law with complete trust and jabbing a finger at me, “is a straight-up bandit! Not only was she jumping on my pile, she was also trying to take food away from a cat. I saw it myself! Oh, sonny,” the “actress” clutched at her heart. “Maybe she’s homeless and you can turn her over to a shelter?”

“What shelter? Are you in your right mind, ma’am?” I demanded. “I am not homeless. And that was my food!”

“See, sonny, she’s mean as a snake too! Let’s give her a shot… a calming one? Or cuff her! Otherwise she’ll attack the pile again!”

“I’m not mean. I’m simply having a… difficult morning!” I objected coldly. “And you immediately started a fight. For your information, it’s unhygienic to hit people with a dirty broom!”

“You’re not exactly squeaky clean yourself,” the old woman snorted. “And I bathe my broom in burdock decoction! Your hair will grow back prettier than ever now, and the right little screws in your head will settle into place. You’ll thank me yet for setting you straight!”

“What? Now, listen here…”

I had long since moved away from the tree and was now standing there, trying to incinerate the nasty tattletale with my eyes. The nerve, saying that kind of nonsense about me!

“Ahem!” Sergeant Leshenko cleared his throat as he wedged himself between us. “So what are we going to do, Citizen Vetrova?” he asked officially, carefully pushing us apart with his stocky shoulders.

“About what?” I didn’t understand, turning my face to him.

“The incident! Was there a public disturbance or not? Or is the cleaning manager mistaken? Or perhaps you’re one of those ladies who doesn’t respect other people’s work?”

I did respect other people’s work. More than that, I was one of those people who had studied hard and worked hard, knowing the value of every coin I earned since I was young.

Suddenly the whole situation appeared through the police officer’s eyes, and I felt ashamed. It wasn’t as if I could seriously complain to him about a black cat and a sudden streak of bad luck. Besides, I was a grown, independent twenty-five-year-old woman. I was used to taking responsibility for my own actions…

…Making excuses, however, was not something I was used to. But I had to.

“There was, Sergeant,” I reluctantly admitted the obvious. “I’m at fault, I admit it. It looked bad. What do you want from me? Let me pay a fine.”

I turned to the old woman.

“I’m sorry about the mess, ma’am. It was an accident. I would help you clean it up, but my leg hurts. And I need to get to work. I’m practically late already!”

“Oh, forget it,” the old woman waved me off. “You’ll be fired from that job soon anyway.”

I didn’t argue with her. What could she possibly know about me? Specialists like me in the advertising industry, where I worked, were almost impossible to find. And once you’d found one, you’d have to be an idiot to give me up.

I worked without sparing myself or my subordinates and squeezed the best results out of my department. My ads were printed in magazines and ordered by famous brands. I was the one invited to presentations and personally introduced to company owners. My name was known by heart in the right circles. That, I suspect, was exactly why Arnold was dating me, and why his mother and sister—my direct bosses—put up with the competition from my magnificent self.

Fired? Ha! Impossible!

“So how much do I o-owe, Sergeant?” I asked the man coldly, suddenly realizing I was freezing. And my leg ached like hell.

The police officer did not give the impression of being a nitpicker, and he gave me a strange sideways look. Almost pitying. Tufts of hair stuck out from under his uniform cap, and a slip of paper suddenly appeared in his hand.

That was what he handed me.

“Here you go, Angelina! I’m not authorized to collect fines, but I am authorized to collect promises. As soon as your leg heals, you’ll work off a day in the park as a groundskeeper.”

“But…” I had opened my mouth, then immediately closed it again. Leshenko was looking at me far too reproachfully… and, at the same time, trustingly. And I had never known how to let down people who believed in me.

“You must, Angelina. You must!”

He said it and left.

The old woman left too. Returning to the scattered pile of leaves, she began diligently sweeping them up with her broom, muttering something under her breath.

A couple I didn’t know walked past from the direction of the coffee kiosk, paper cups in hand, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee brushed my nostrils. At the edge of the path sat the cat—the very one that had stolen my hot dog. Glancing in my direction with yellow eyes, he licked his long paw in smug satisfaction.

I unfolded the small paper sheet in my hand and read:

“/first words illegible/ Compliance mandatory!”