Mr. Radeesh looked like my old Biology teacher—tall and thin and grey. He had on a suit and a pained expression, probably because Harriet was giving him the evil eye the whole time we shook hands. His associate Mr. White was short, round and, almost bubbly by comparison. We all met around the dining room table across the long sides.
"Miss Zherdev," Mr. Radeesh began. "Do you have any identification to prove who you are? I hate to ask, but I'm required to."
"Not with me," I admitted, aware of my purse still being tucked away in the cabin across the lake. Mr. White produced a little briefcase and pulled out an electronic fingerprint reader, setting it up happily; I could tell he was the tech of the pair.
"Not a problem. We have your prints on file from your work records, and if you'd consent to verify—" He looked at Harriet, who scowled but nodded, "then we can proceed."
I pressed my thumb against the pad and it flared green, proving that I was indeed, Melora Ivana Christiana Zherdev, of Brooklyn New York. Mr. White beamed and put his toy away again as Mr. Radeesh cleared his throat. "All right, good. Miss Zherdev, my associate and I are here on behalf of the United State government to offer you condolences on the loss of your uncle and an explanation for the confiscation of your property at 40° 42' 16" North, 73° 59' 47" West also known as number Five Water Street."
"Confiscation? On what grounds?" Harriet asked.
"Terrorist activity, Ms Van Gundy," Mr. White replied. "Both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Homeland Security have uncovered enough evidence in the basement to justify commandeering of said property."
"Terrorism?" I squeaked, feeling panicky now. "No! My uncle was over eighty years old!"
"Please calm down Ms Zherdev," Mr. Radeesh murmured patiently. "Nobody is considering your uncle to have been a threat. Our technicians have told me that the apparatus in the basement of your house was extremely outdated in and of itself. Still, given that it had been installed and maintained—dubiously—by Hydra gives the government ample justification to impound the house and grounds."
Harriet started to bristle but I looked at her and sighed. "I'm not going to disagree because I can't. I just don't think anyone in my family was a terrorist. They never did anything to overthrow the government as far as I can remember."
Mr. White drew in a breath. "Given the state of that equipment I can vouch for that."
Mr. Radeesh shot him a quelling look and turned back to me. "As far as our background checks can show, your family was not involved in any political or criminal activity of any sort. Upstanding citizens, voted regularly, paid bills on time . . . if it wasn't for having a safe house in the basement they would be completely beyond suspicion."
"So what's your point?" Harriet wanted to know, and I appreciated her bringing the conversation back to the here and now.
Mr. Radeesh wouldn't be hurried though, and looked at me. "Those investigations included you, Ms. Zherdev, and again—nothing remotely out of the ordinary aside from a few more speeding tickets than the average person."
I blushed; Harriet made a face. "Uncalled for," she shot back.
"Point taken," Mr. Radeesh admitted, looking slightly apologetic. "I apologize."
"It's okay," I muttered. "So what do you want with me?"
"We would appreciate you assistance in closing up this particular situation," Mr. White told me. "I'd like you to answer a few questions about your family history, and after that we have a reimbursement check for you to compensate for your lost assets."
I looked at Harriet, and she looked at the two men. "I'd like a moment to talk to my client alone, please." Without waiting for either man to speak, Harriet got up and motioned me to follow her into the kitchen. I did, feeling torn between wanting to giggle or shiver. Once we were there she spoke up.
"Mel, I'd like to be there when they question you. It's your right to go it alone, but I think it would be best if I was with you."
I nodded. She went on. "And before you accept any money, let me have Morty run an appraisal of your place from the most up-to-date real estate assessment, all right? Nice as the offer is, I don't want to see them give you any less than the property was worth. There should be some compensation for your emotional trauma as well—you didn't ask for any of this to happen to you, kid, and they need to know that. Good?"
I gave her a hug, and she hugged back; for a moment there it was like having Mom or Aunt 'Milla back. She brushed my bangs out of my eyes, smiled at me, and we went back into the dining room. Mr. Radeesh and Mr. White looked up from their cell phones as I nodded to them.
"Okay. As along as Ms Van Gundy can stay with me."
"Absolutely," Mr. Radeesh agreed, and we got started.
It took about two hours for me to answer questions, and most of them were pretty basic—where my folks came from, when they arrived, what I knew, if I knew about anyone from the former Soviet Union. I told them as much as I could remember about Dad and Uncle Mischa's jobs, about my doctor appointments, about growing up in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. Managed to get through most of it, but I came close to tearing up a few times as it sank in that I really was alone now. Mr. White was pretty sympathetic, and even Mr. Radeesh was patient, but in the end I don't think there was anything much I told them that they didn't either already know.
After that I was too tired to think straight, so I let Harriet examine the compensation offer and when she began blinking like a disco strobe, I took a peek over her shoulder at the check in her hands.
There were too many zeros on it, and my overtaxed little mind couldn't quite fathom how much this really was, but Harriet cleared her throat and set it down, giving Mr. Radeesh and Mr. White a little smile.
"We need to think this over and would appreciate twenty-four hours before we come to a decision," Harriet murmured. I nodded my agreement and the two men nodded back.
"Very wise," Mr. Radeesh replied. "We will be in town for the next two days so anytime you need to reach us, you can. Ms Zherdev, Ms Van Gundy, thank you for your cooperation and time."
And like that they were gone, escorted out by Morty while Harriet let herself collapse in the chair, overcome by what looked like a fit of giggles. I asked her what was so funny.
"Oh nothing . . . I've just never held a check for three and a half million dollars before sweetie!" she told me, giving a shake of her head. "So good to see they're not low-balling you at least because that sounds like fair market value for the property."
"Three million . . ." I mouthed it but I couldn't get my head around it. Three million was over the moon to me; more money than I could even conceive at the moment. "I . . . why? Why so much?"
"Because your Uncle's house was on prime real estate mostly," Harriet got up and put an arm around me. I really appreciated the way she was so generous with her hugs, and squeezed back. "It may not have seemed like anything special to you, but a location like that can be re-zoned, developed-I'm surprised Stark didn't put a bid in on it, you know?"
"Maybe he did," I sighed. "Still, I'm glad you told them we'd think it over. Right now I just want to go see James."
-oo00oo-
It had been a few days and Doctor Goldie had said that they were going to take James out of the coma gradually; I felt better about talking to him under those conditions. I went in and kissed him, feeling cheered when he sighed a little in reaction, then I sat down next to him, taking his hand.
"So should I open my own restaurant, or just go into the catering business?" I asked James lightly. "Looks like I've suddenly got enough to do either. Maybe even both. Might even consider some foodie road trips to learn about world cuisine, dorogoi moy. What do you think about a journey across the world to find the best corndogs in the world, huh?"
I didn't expect any response, but the weak squeeze of my hand made me look over. James' eyes were still closed but he was definitely smiling, those adorable dimples of his bracketing his mouth. For a second I said nothing, and then ever so gently tightened my grip on his fingers. "Ohhh, so you like that idea, huh? Crazy man. That would mean a lot of carnivals and fairs you know, in all sorts of weird towns."
He didn't look fazed by the idea, even with his eyes closed so I chuckled and bent closer. "And when we're done, I'll compile all the best recipes in a book and call it 'Jimmy's Corn Crack and I Don't Care."
It was terrible; the worst pun I could think of and James groaned, still smirking, and I reached out to stroke his face, a shiver of pleasure running through me as I touched his bristles and warm skin. If he could respond, he was getting better and that was all that mattered to me.
Mattered to me more than the money, actually.
I whispered to him, things that would have embarrassed me if anyone had been listening in, things I felt and meant, and finally I kissed him, ever so gently, hoping he'd open those big blue eyes of his for me like some guy version of Sleeping Beauty.
He didn't, but James did lick his lips as I pulled away, and I'd be lying if I denied a throb of hunger for him. I hadn't known James Buchanan Barnes long, but I had known him deeply, and man, I wanted to know that sensation again. But he was in a hospital bed, and I was stuck wondering how to deal with a sense of uselessness that all the money in the world couldn't quite erase.
"Wake up soon," I begged him. "I really miss you."