A car pulled up. It was thrown out of the window and shouted that for you.

- Thanks. Go, - Bulatov ordered quietly and looked at his friend in puzzlement.

- What's going on? – rode up on a chair closer to the table.

Bulatov opened the box and pulled out the contents. Slowly and intently examined, changing in the face. He unfolded the sheet and read the note, looked frowningly at Oleg. He threw everything to a friend and leaned back in his chair.

- What the hell is this?

“Look,” he pointed to the photo. - Basov slammed the financial director and deputy. My fucking CFO!

glanced at...