“A relative tore up the IOU so he wouldn’t have to repay his debt to the widow.
‘The paper’s gone now, Anechka. How are you going to prove anything to anyone?’
Vitalik leaned back in the heavy leather armchair, baring his teeth in a smug grin.
The notary’s office was stifling. An old air conditioner buzzed under the ceiling. Vadim Petrovich, the owner of the office, sat at his massive desk, calmly adjusting his glasses.
‘Vitalik, are you out of your mind?’
Anya dug her fingers into the wooden armrests of the chair.
‘Absolutely,’ her brother-in-law sneered. ‘To be continued in the comments.’”
“— The piece of paper is gone now, Anechka. Who are you going to prove anything to now?
Vitalik leaned back in the heavy leather chair. A smug grin spread across his face.
The notary’s office was stuffy. An old air conditioner hummed under the ceiling. Vadim Petrovich, the owner of the office, sat behind a massive desk and calmly adjusted his glasses.
— Vitalik, are you out of your mind?
Anya dug her fingers into the wooden armrests of the chair.
— Absolutely not,” her brother-in-law scoffed. He demonstratively shook tiny scraps of thick paper onto the floor. The blue official seal scattered into dozens of unreadable pieces.
— Relax, Anya. No body, no case. No promissory note, no debt.
Anya closed her eyes. She was tired. So tired of him.
Her husband’s death three years ago had knocked the ground out from under her feet. Igor had burned out from cancer in just a couple of months. Her husband’s brother, Vitalik, had immediately seized the moment. He bought out Igor’s share in their joint auto repair shop. For next to nothing. He took advantage of the fact that Anya was out of her mind with grief and heavily sedated. Back then, she did not care about anything at all.
But even that pittance had not been enough for him.
— We didn’t come here to put on a show,” Anya said evenly, opening her eyes. — I want my money back.
— What money?” Vitalik spread his hands theatrically. — I never took anything from you.
— Two years ago, you came to my kitchen.
— That never happened.
— You came drunk. You cried about the tax office freezing the repair shop’s accounts. The same repair shop you snatched from me for a song.
— I didn’t snatch it!” Vitalik leaned forward, his face turning even redder. — I saved that business! Igor was sick, he wasn’t running it. It had more debts than assets. I was doing you a favor by paying you anything at all back then.
— A favor, was it?” Anya smirked. — And after that “favor,” you came running to ask for a hefty sum. My last savings, the money sitting in my account.
— That was an investment. In a shared venture.
— It was a loan, Vitalik. One you solemnly promised to repay with interest.
— We’re family, Anya. What kind of debts are there between relatives?
Vitalik adjusted the collar of his ever-present leather jacket. He always did that when he started getting nervous, though right now he was trying to look like the one in control.
— Let’s stick to the point,” Anya cut him off. — We were relatives while Igor was alive. Now you simply owe me money. The deadline expired exactly one month ago.
— There’s a crisis in the country, Anya. You have to understand. Spare parts have gone up, logistics have collapsed. Where am I supposed to get free cash right now?
— You found money for a new SUV.
— That’s a work vehicle! It’s about status. Clients look at what the director drives.
Anya took a breath. Arguing with him was pointless. He always had an excuse.
— You ignored my calls for a month, Vitalik.
— I was busy! On-site all day long.
— You read my messages in the messenger apps. The checkmarks turned blue. And then you simply blocked me.
— I tapped it by accident. The touchscreen glitches.
— The only reason you came running here today is because I mentioned Igor’s old tax documents. You got scared your repair shop would be shut down.
— Well, I came, didn’t I?” her brother-in-law barked. — I thought there really was a problem. And you lured me to a notary just to shove that piece of paper in my face?
He nodded toward the white snow of scraps on the red carpet.
A minute earlier, Anya had taken her copy of the loan agreement out of a plastic folder. She had wanted to hand it to Vadim Petrovich to formalize the procedure. Vitalik had always been twitchy. He reacted instantly. He snatched the thick sheet right from under her fingers. Tore it in half. Then again. And again.
Anya had not even had time to squeak. She just watched as her money turned into confetti.
— Are you insane?” she had breathed then.
— I’m practical,” Vitalik laughed. — You said it yourself two years ago: paper is just paper. No paper means I took nothing. Go sue thin air.
Now he sat there openly savoring his victory. In his version of the world, he had just beaten the system.
— So long, Anechka,” Vitalik heaved himself out of the chair, adjusting the belt on his jeans. — Don’t think too badly of me. Poor people are always so worked up over paper scraps. You should’ve invested in business instead of wasting away over pennies.
He took a confident step toward the massive oak door.
— Citizens,” the notary finally spoke up.
He had silently watched the family scene the whole time. Vadim Petrovich removed the glasses hanging on a gold chain and wiped the lenses with a special cloth.
— Are we finished? Or would you prefer to continue settling your differences?
— There’s nothing more to settle, boss,” Vitalik declared brazenly. — My relative and I have sorted it all out. The debt no longer exists. Neither does the proof.
— The debt exists,” Anya said quietly.
— Oh really?” Vitalik turned back at the door itself. — How are you going to prove it? No witnesses. No cameras here either, from what I can see. The word of a widow against the word of an honest businessman.
— One moment,” Vadim Petrovich said in an even tone.
— What now? I’m not paying for the consultation. My last name isn’t Rothschild.
— Young man, sit down.
— I’m actually in a hurry. I’ve got workers standing idle at the lifts.
— Sit down,” Vadim Petrovich’s voice rang like metal. — Under the regulations, the procedure is not finished.
Reluctantly, Vitalik came back. He dropped into the chair again and crossed one leg over the other.
— You seem to have forgotten what century you live in,” the notary said, putting his glasses back on.
— The capitalist one. Where the boldest man wins.
— The digital one, Vitaly Nikolaevich. The digital one.
Vadim Petrovich turned his large monitor, which until then had been facing the gray wall, so the screen now faced Vitalik.
— You see,” the notary began in a lecturing tone, folding his hands into a steeple, — the destruction of the paper copy of a notarized agreement does not entail the termination of the parties’ obligations.
— What?” Vitalik frowned, stopping the swing of his leg.
— Let me put it more simply,” the notary said, clicking the mouse. — Since 2014, our country has had a Unified Notarial Information System. Abbreviated as ENIS.
Anya watched silently as her brother-in-law’s thick neck turned red.
— And what is your ENIS to me?” he snapped. — Some kind of database? Anybody can put anything in there. Hackers break into databases every day.
— What it means,” Vadim Petrovich said, tapping a dry finger on the screen, — is that two years ago, when you signed this agreement in my presence, I scanned it. I signed it with my enhanced qualified electronic signature. And I uploaded it to the register.
The office fell very quiet. The hum of the old air conditioner now seemed deafening.
— The electronic copy is stored there,” the notary finished him off. — With your personal signature. With my seals. And that electronic document has exactly the same legal force as the wastepaper you have just kindly scattered across my carpet.
Vitalik swallowed. His Adam’s apple jerked.
— That’s… illegal. I never gave consent for my data to be transferred into databases.
— Under the regulations and the Basic Principles of Legislation,” Vadim Petrovich smirked, — your separate consent for that is not required. It is the law.
— This is nonsense,” Vitalik tried to smile, but it came out painfully crooked.
— I can issue Anna Sergeyevna a duplicate right now,” the notary continued, not taking his eyes off the monitor. — On an official form. And I can immediately make an исполнительная надпись.
— What kind of inscription is that supposed to be?
— An enforceable notarial writ,” Vadim Petrovich shifted his gaze to Vitalik. — It’s a procedure. With that writ, she will go directly to the bailiffs. No courts. No long proceedings. Bailiffs don’t waste words.
Vitalik squirmed in his chair. He looked at Anya. All his insolence had suddenly evaporated.
— Anya, come on,” his voice abruptly dropped, turning wheedling, just like back in her kitchen. — We’re family. Why do we need bailiffs? They’ll freeze the accounts. My business will come to a halt. The guys will be left without wages.
— Let’s stick to the point, Vitalik,” Anya said, straightening her strict gray blazer. — You just told me outright to go sue thin air.
— My nerves got the better of me! I didn’t mean it badly. It’s a crisis, I told you. I’ll pay it all back. Honestly. I’ll transfer it in parts every week. I swear on Igor’s memory!
Mentioning her husband was the last straw.
— Don’t you dare drag Igor into this,” Anya hissed. — I’m tired of your “parts.” And I’m tired of your promises for tomorrow too.
She turned toward the desk.
— Vadim Petrovich, did you verify the tracking number?
— Yes, Anna Sergeyevna,” the notary nodded and began tapping on the keyboard.
— What tracking number?” Vitalik’s hunted gaze darted from Anya to the notary and back again.
— Postal,” Vadim Petrovich explained. — By law, for me to issue the enforceable writ, the creditor must send the debtor written notice. And wait fourteen days.
— I never received anything!” Vitalik shouted. — There were no letters!
— You simply don’t collect registered mail at your registered address,” Anya replied. — The notice was sent exactly fifteen days ago. With an inventory of enclosure. The post office recorded its arrival at the branch and an unsuccessful delivery attempt. By law, that is enough.
— All procedural requirements have been complied with,” the notary confirmed. — The fact that notice was sent has been proven. The claim is clearly uncontested. The agreement is in the register.
Vitalik sat in silence. The smirk had completely vanished from his face.
He stared blankly at the scraps of thick paper under his expensive shoes. At the white trash that, just fifteen minutes earlier, had seemed to him like a brilliant solution to all his problems.
— And for cleaning up this trash, Vitaly Nikolaevich,” the notary added without looking away from the monitor, — you’ll have to pay the cleaner extra. In cash. This is not a pigsty.
Three weeks later, the court bailiffs froze all the auto repair shop’s operating accounts. And a couple of days after that, they imposed a strict ban on any registration actions involving Vitalik’s beloved SUV. He had to pay the debt after all. Every last penny of it.”
