One day, a woman came to the Agency with a peculiar request.
Her husband—let’s call him Volodymyr—was a wealthy businessman who had suddenly developed a fascination with witchcraft, magic, and various occult sciences.
Fortunately, his financial status allowed him to indulge in the purchase of books, amulets, and assorted "artifacts." His little hobby did no harm to the family, and they regarded it as the harmless eccentricity of a rich man.
That was until Volodymyr attended one of the gatherings of fellow enthusiasts and made the acquaintance of one Vasyl—a “hereditary warlock and sorcerer.”
From that moment, life in Volodymyr’s household took a sharp turn for the worse.
Vasyl moved into Volodymyr’s house. Exploiting his host’s obsession with magic, he convinced him that he, too, was a great wizard. Enjoying Volodymyr’s absolute trust, Vasyl gained access to his money, spent lavishly on his own whims, and brought various women into the house, among other things.
For Volodymyr’s wife and daughter, life became a nightmare. Every attempt to open his eyes to the fact that Vasyl was nothing more than a cunning fraudster met with disbelief—and even aggression.
Desperate, the woman sought help from the Agency.
What happened next is as follows:
A courier from a foreign notary’s office arrived at Vasyl’s workplace—an office, naturally, arranged for him by Volodymyr. Upon signing for the package, Vasyl opened it and was stunned.
The letter from the notary, based in a certain European country, stated that Vasyl had been summoned to the reading of the will of a distant relative. His travel expenses—both flight and accommodation—would be fully covered. Airplane tickets in his name were enclosed in the package.
Enthralled by the prospect of sudden wealth, Vasyl did not hesitate to embark on the journey.
At the destination airport, he was met by two grim-faced security men in an enormous black SUV.
On the way to his hotel, the senior guard explained the situation. It turned out that Nicholas, the deceased "relative," had been a multimillionaire with a sole heir—his son. However, seven years ago, the son, an influential figure in Buenos Aires’ criminal circles, had attempted to expedite the natural course of events and rid himself of his long-lived father.
The assassination attempt was thwarted, and as a result, the son was disowned and stripped of any inheritance.
Sensing his end was near, Nicholas relocated to Europe, where he secretly drafted his will. The heir? Vasyl—who was not actually a direct relative but happened to share the same surname.
Now, Vasyl had just one significant obstacle: surviving the three days between the reading of the will and the official transfer of the inheritance.
Alan, Nicholas’s disinherited son, had gotten wind of the will and would stop at nothing to remove the rival claimant—by any means necessary, up to and including murder.
But that, the security men assured him, was not his concern. They would take care of it, per the deceased’s final instructions.
Dazed and intoxicated by visions of American presidents’ faces printed on six-figure bills, Vasyl readily agreed to everything.
The SUV pulled up in front of the notary’s office—an entire floor of an old building in the city center. The office was empty except for the notary himself—a distinguished-looking elderly man—and his stunning blonde assistant.
Everything had to remain strictly confidential, per the late Nicholas’s wishes. Thus, the notary had dismissed his entire staff, keeping only his most trusted associate—who happened to be his daughter.
The will, penned on fine paper bearing numerous watermarks, was opened.
Vasyl was declared the sole inheritor of a vast fortune—factories, steamships, lucrative properties in Argentina, and a magnificent villa right here in the European capital.
The newly-minted magnate even managed to persuade the notary’s daughter to join him for a candlelit dinner that evening.
Accompanied by his security detail, Vasyl proceeded to inspect his new property. The villa, nestled within the historic district, was a lavish two-story Empire-style mansion surrounded by lush greenery.
All day long, Vasyl basked in his newfound luxury. Then, in the evening, the phone rang. The soft voice of the blonde invited him to an exclusive restaurant.
Rushing over, flanked by his guards, Vasyl enjoyed a romantic dinner under the watchful eyes of the security men seated at a nearby table.
Then, the blonde drew the velvet curtain of their private booth, shielding them from prying eyes…
Vasyl awoke to a brutal slap across the face.
Where was he? What was happening?
Glancing around, he saw that he was lying on the floor of a bedroom in his villa, dressed only in his underwear. His hands were shackled with handcuffs. A man in civilian clothes loomed over him, flanked by two uniformed gendarmes.
What were they doing in his private residence? By what right? They would pay for this!
The man in civilian clothing silently yanked Vasyl to his feet and shoved him toward the grand canopy bed.
There, in a pool of blood, lay the beautiful blonde. The gruesome slash wounds on her body were enough to unnerve even the most hardened soul.
Panic-stricken, Vasyl glanced down at himself—he was covered in blood!
“You’re a murderer!” the man in civilian clothing declared. “And you will answer for this crime according to the law!”
The officer continued speaking, mangling Russian words with his accent, but Vasyl understood enough. The nightmare was real, and it was suffocating him.
It was over. One moment he had been at the pinnacle of life—now he faced a 25-year prison sentence, if the jury showed mercy. Looking at the mutilated corpse, Vasyl knew there would be none.
The gendarmes dragged the naked Vasyl toward the waiting police car, while the police commissioner—the man in civilian clothing—was already calling in a forensic team.
As they reached the vehicle, one gendarme’s legs suddenly buckled, and he collapsed. The second followed moments later.
Vasyl turned and saw his security men. In an instant, they had scooped him up, stuffed him into the SUV, and sped away.
Back at a rented apartment, Vasyl learned what had happened:
He had consumed a great deal of alcohol at the restaurant and had dismissed his guards.
Later, he had driven back to the villa alone with the blonde. The security men had to take a taxi and found the house locked upon arrival. So, they waited in the car, using a spare key to gain entry if necessary.
Then, in the dead of night, they heard the woman’s bloodcurdling screams.
A neighbor approached the villa—a man who, by cruel coincidence, was the city’s police commissioner.
Recognizing him, the guards decided to stay hidden. The screams continued. Minutes later, a police car arrived, its lights flashing. The gendarmes, under the commissioner’s orders, broke down the door and stormed inside.
What happened next, the security men could not say. But when they saw Vasyl being escorted out by the police, they acted.
One of the security men, who had connections in local law enforcement, went to investigate further. He returned, his face dark as night, and wordlessly laid out several sheets of paper.
One was a crime scene photo of the murdered notary—half his head blown off with a shotgun.
Another was a police bulletin for a serial killer—Vasyl.
There, in the report, was his identification photo, the details from the documents he had left at the villa, and a chilling note at the bottom: "Armed and extremely dangerous."
All records from the notary’s office regarding the inheritance had vanished. There was nothing they could do for Vasyl now.
He was on his own.
Returning home was out of the question—Interpol had been notified.
And so, they parted ways.
Despite the hefty cost of the operation, Volodymyr’s wife and daughter were satisfied.
As for Volodymyr, he had no choice but to adjust to a life without Vasyl—the parasitic remora that had latched onto him.