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The fluorescent lights of the notary’s office hummed with a clinical persistence. Elena sat on the edge of the velvet-backed chair, her fingers tracing the edge of a crisp, white sheet of paper. At the top, in bold, stark letters, it read: (Application for Renunciation of Inheritance). "Are you certain, Elena Petrovna?" the notary asked, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. "Your father’s dacha in Komarovo is worth a significant amount. And the apartment on Nevsky... it is a legacy." |
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