Interactive action and total immersion continue. I’m sitting in court myself, and on top of that I’m getting text messages about how my brother Oleg’s apartment is being searched. At this very moment, it looks like this:
The elderly man and the woman on the floor are, as I understand it, official witnesses to the search. What are they searching for so aggressively? My one-and-a-half-year-old nephew Stepan’s illegal little bike, bought with unearned income? Well, that’s a rhetorical question: it’s obvious they’re looking for fear—mine, Oleg’s, our family’s. They won’t find it. It isn’t there.
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