During this period, Sikinkov's life was very calm.
No need to go to work, no phone calls urging meetings, no alarm clock to wake him up with a headache. Every day he lay in bed until he naturally woke up, going to sleep and waking whenever he wanted. Time, once a scarce commodity, became something he could squander endlessly.
But this was just the calm before the storm, as fragile as a cicada's wing, ready to shatter with the slightest nudge.
At Lake Heart Island Manor, Sikinkov's home was in disarray. The floor was littered with empty wine bottles, and the wool carpet was stained with spilled wine, forming unsightly blemishes.
Fast food boxes, waste paper, and cigarette butts were stacked haphazardly. Various household trash rendered the expensive villa a mess, and the air was filled with the mixed smell of alcohol and stale garbage.
