Until My Final Memory

Natasha's Stance.

I woke up and immediately wrote in my password-locked diary.

“David is stealing from me. Michelle is pregnant with his child. Trust Margaret, Yuri, and Adrian Cole. Trust no one else.”

Every minute, I read yesterday's entry and remember who I'm fighting.

This is my life now.

Michelle was already making breakfast, wearing yoga pants and one of David's shirts.

“Good morning, Tasha. How are you feeling doing?” She set the pill organizer on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

My face went slack, confused. “I think so. What day is it?”

Her eyes light up like she just won the lottery. “It's Thursday, sweetie. You have a fitting today for your tour costumes, remember?”

I blinked slowly, playing the role perfectly. “Oh yes. I don't know what I'd do without you keeping me organized.”

I took the pills, faked the swallow, and hid them in my napkin when she turned to pour coffee.

The moment she left the room, my confused look vanished.

I added the pills to a plastic bag and locked it in my pain bench.

I was meeting with Samuel Briggs today, the entertainment lawyer Margaret recommended. We met at Margaret's, where David won't find out.

I spread out my evidence across the dining table. Samuel looked impressed and worried in equal measures.

“Ms. Volkov, this is airtight evidence of fraud, theft, and conspiracy.” He tapped the copyright documents. “But there's a problem. Your husband made you sign a comprehensive management agreement years ago. Legally, he owns the rights to anything you create during your marriage.”

“That agreement was based on trust. He violated that trust.”

“I agree. But we need to prove coercion or fraud in the inducement. If we can show David manipulated you into signing away your rights when you were vulnerable, we can void the entire agreement.” He looked at me. “We need to prove he was planning this from the beginning.”

My mind drifted back to fifteen years ago. David found me at that hotel bar, desperate, broke, and grieving, and he promised me the world.

“This was always the plan. He didn't fall in love with me. He acquired me.”

Margaret placed her hand over mine. “Let yourself remember, child. Before the disease takes it.”

I closed my eyes and let the memory come.

I was nineteen and alone in America. I played piano at the Belmont Hotel bar for tips, eating one meal a day, sending every spare dollar to Russia for my grandmother's care.

David walked in wearing a suit that cost more than I made in six months. He sat at the bar for an hour, just listening.

“You're extraordinary,” he said when I finished. “You're wasting your talent in this place. I can make you a star.”

I laughed bitterly. “Everyone said that.”

“I'm not everyone. I'm David Richmond. My family owns Richmond Records. Let me manage you. I'll take care of everything. You just focus on playing. Trust me.”

He left a five hundred dollar tip, more money than I'd seen in months.

A week later, my grandmother died. I had nothing. No money for the funeral, no family in America, no future.

I called David, sobbing.

He came immediately, paid for everything, and made me feel safe when the world was crushing me.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “You'll never be alone again.”

And I signed whatever he put in front of me.

When I opened my eyes, Margaret was watching me with such sadness.

Samuel leans forward. “If we can find evidence that David researched you before that first meeting, we can prove predatory intent. Do you have access to his old emails?”

“I know his passwords. He never changed them because he never thought I'd look.”

That night, while David slept, I went through his home office, and I went back fifteen years in his email. Though, everything was now saved in different folders.

And there it is.

An email chain between David and his father, dated three weeks before David “discovered” me.

I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming.

I was purchased, a long-term investment in human form.

Without hesitation, I photographed every email with shaking hands.

The next morning, Michelle arrived glowing with news.

“Tasha! I have something exciting to share.” She was practically bouncing. “I'm pregnant!”

My face arranged into surprise and joy. “Oh Michelle! That's wonderful! Who's the father?”

“Oh, my boyfriend, of course. It's still new, so I'm keeping it private. But I wanted you to know since we're so close.”

The lies come so easily to her.

“I'm so happy for you. You'll be a wonderful mother.”

Inside, I was screaming so loud I was surprised the windows didn't shatter.

That afternoon, Michelle left her phone on the kitchen counter, unlocked. I shouldn't look, but I was long past shouldn't.

The screen shows a text thread with David.

David: “Did you tell her about the pregnancy?”

Michelle: “Yes. She believed the mystery boyfriend story. God, she's so stupid. I can't wait to move into the penthouse permanently. I've already picked out new furniture.”

David: “Perfect. After the first tour concert, we'll announce we're together. The timing will seem natural. Her farewell, our new beginning.”

I photographed it all before she came back.

That evening, David came home with white roses, not even my favorite color, and handed me an envelope.

“Dinner reservations for tomorrow night at that French restaurant you love. Just the two of us.”

I'm genuinely touched for half a second until I saw Michelle in the background, smirking.

This is a setup.

“That's so thoughtful, darling. Thank you.”

That night, I met with Adrian in his car parked on the next street. The moment I settled into the call, all the strength I had been performing crumbled.

“I can't do this.” I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe. “They're destroying everything. Maybe I should just give up.”

He took my hand. “Is that really what you want?”

“I don't know! I'm so tired of fighting, so tired of pretending to be strong. And I'm terrified.” The words poured out. “What if I forget why I'm even fighting? What if six months from now I don't remember any of this?”

“Then I'll remind you every day if I have to.” His voice was fierce. “Natasha, you're not just fighting for your music. You're fighting for every artist who's been exploited by people like David and Richard.”

“What if I lose?”

“Then you lose fighting for something that matters. But you won't lose.” He squeezed my hand. “Because you're not alone anymore.”

He showed me his research. “I found something. Michelle failed out of Juilliard eight years ago for plagiarism. She's done this before, Natasha.”

We met with Margaret and Samuel to revise our strategy. Though the Lincoln Center concert was scheduled for next week and I doubt even David knows about it, I need a new venue he or his father's money won't be able to buy.

“I have an idea. I'm on the board in Steinway Hall. We can book it for a private recital but livestream it globally. David won't be able to stop it without causing a scene.” Margaret suggested.

“And I'll present the medical evidence live,” Adrian added.

“I'll play every composition Michelle claims to have written,” I said. “I'll show the world those pieces came from me.”

Samuel looked worried. “It's risky. If David figures out what you're planning…”

“We'll keep this a secret. And when the curtain goes up, we'll hit them with everything at once.”

I got home to find David waiting up for me.

“Where have you been?” There was an edge to his voice. “You've been disappearing a lot lately.”

I kept my face neutral. “Just doctor's appointments for my condition.”

“You seem different. Have you been taking your medications?”

“Of course. Michelle gives them to me every morning.”

“Good.” But he didn't look convinced.