The Man in the File

Morning arrived, and the sunlight began to seep through the gaps in Vanya's apartment curtains, illuminating the scattered files on her desk. Vanya was still awake. She had managed to sleep for just an hour but woke up again, her mind too preoccupied. The word "Hint" from the anonymous email still echoed, along with the GPS coordinates leading to a secluded house in Fontainebleau. A mix of anticipation and suspicion filled her mind, but one thing was certain: she couldn't simply ignore it.

Before taking another step, Vanya knew she had to understand Damian Volkov. Not just as a name in an Interpol file or a frightening shadow from a mysterious phone call, but as a human being. She had to delve deeper into his past, searching for the cracks behind his brutal facade.

She looked at her laptop again, accessing the secret Interpol database, which was accessible only to high-ranking agents like herself. With fingers dancing across the keyboard, Vanya began her search. Birth records, family history, schooling, and the psychological reports Moreau had mentioned.

Information began to flow. Damian Volkov was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, into a family with a strong military background. His father was a high-ranking officer, and his mother was a respected military psychiatrist. A bitter irony, Vanya thought. The son of a psychiatrist had become a master psychological manipulator.

She found more details about Volkov's dissociative episodes as a teenager. The report was brief, dry, and full of medical jargon, but Vanya could read between the lines. Childhood torture. The words stung. She imagined a young Damian suffering at someone's hands, perhaps his own family, or a cruel military faction. That unhealed wound had shaped him into the monster she now knew.

Vanya read again: "Extreme emotional detachment, volatile outbursts, and a profound inability to form healthy attachments due to prolonged exposure to severe psychological and physical abuse during formative years." Damian wasn't just a victim; he was a product of cruelty.

An old photograph appeared on the screen, taken from the Russian police archives. Damian Volkov, around 15 years old, stood in a rehabilitation room. His eyes were vacant, yet a terrifying intensity lurked within them. Set apart from the other teenagers, he seemed isolated, as if he already knew he was different.

Vanya felt... something. Not sympathy, no. More like recognition. As a psychologist, she often encountered patients or perpetrators who carried invisible wounds. She knew how trauma could shape, even ruin, a soul. Volkov's trauma, however horrifying, felt familiar to Vanya. She carried her own wounds. A distant father, a mysteriously deceased mother. A feeling of abandonment and unanswered questions.

A small whisper in her mind asked, What's it like to be him? To be so broken that you can break others? It was a dangerous thought, a tiny crack in her wall of professionalism. But her curiosity was too strong to ignore.

Of course, she knew Volkov was a brutal mafioso, a cruel manipulator, and now likely her abductor. Her rationality screamed at her to stay vigilant, to see him only as a threat. Yet, a part of her, a psychologist who always sought to understand, felt a slight fascination with the very wounds that shaped Volkov. It was a dark side she couldn't explain, a resonance between two equally damaged souls.

The abductions of the elite women, their psychological manipulation, and Volkov's desire to utterly destroy them internally—all of it now felt like a reflection of Volkov's own trauma. He wasn't just taking victims; he was playing with them in a way that mirrored his own suffering.

Vanya continued digging through the files when an old, unusually archived document caught her attention. It was a small investigative report from the Prague police, years ago, concerning a minor incident involving a charity foundation affiliated with Damian Volkov's parents. What made Vanya pause was a handwritten note in the margin: "Key witness: Dr. Elena Kuznetsova. Refused to speak in Paris, only in Prague."

Dr. Elena Kuznetsova. Vanya searched for the name in the database. A child psychologist, she had worked at the same rehabilitation center where Damian Volkov was treated. She had suddenly disappeared from public records after that small incident. If anyone knew the true details of Volkov's childhood trauma, or even her father's connection, Vanya was certain it was Elena.

And she was in Prague. Prague, one of the three red dots on Vanya's interactive map, is the location of one of the recent victims. A coincidence? Vanya didn't believe it. This was a far more concrete lead than the mysterious Fontainebleau coordinates. Someone, or something, had led her to Elena.

"This isn't just about a case anymore," Vanya murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. "This is about something bigger."

She had to go to Prague. The hint from the email, if valid, might be connected to Volkov's trail there. She needed full access, without bureaucratic delays. She had to meet Elena Kuznetsova before going to Fontainebleau.

With newfound determination, Vanya rose from her chair. She opened Interpol's internal messaging application.

To Agent Moreau,

I require official authorization for an immediate investigative trip to Prague. I have discovered crucial information regarding a key witness, Dr. Elena Kuznetsova, who is directly linked to Damian Volkov's past, whose testimony is vital to the elite women's disappearance case. Departure is planned within the next 24 hours.

Please note, this is not a request, but an urgent necessity for the progression of this case. I am prepared to provide a full report upon my return.

Sincerely, Agent Vanya Mikhailova

Vanya pressed send. She knew Moreau would object. There would be questions, doubts, perhaps even a prohibition. But Vanya couldn't wait any longer.