The maze of the white deserted corridor was spinning like a long ribbon under Eric's feet. He walked slowly, barely audibly, although time was running out, and the clock on his hands reminded him every five minutes that the meeting was about to begin. A young blonde secretary with a wide badge ribbon that looked ridiculous on her thin neck suddenly appeared from a corner office numbered with a laconic "A-6". She was fussing, and the curls that had escaped from her strict hairstyle were clear evidence of that.
Eric, having just silently covered the distance to the office, smiled like a Cheshire cat and coughed invitingly politely.
–Oh," she slammed the door in confusion and quickly hid the key card in a folder under her arm.
 A condescending smile appeared on his lips. – May I ask you an indiscreet question?
Her neat, slightly bird-like face suddenly turned into a grimace of disgust.
– I'm a married woman.
"I'm afraid my question is even more indiscreet," Eric tilted his head slightly to the side. – Are you the owner? Do you have any personal property?
The alien face relaxed, but the persistent shade of dislike did not leave it.
– I'm a married woman, – she repeated with emphasis, – I don't need it, – perfect thin fingers nervously tapped on the plastic folder. – Why carry a burden that you can get rid of? And my husband is a respected man, so neither I, nor even you, should rummage through this.
– My apologies.
She quickly moved forward, glancing back several times with tension; and only then, after waiting for a while in a very gentlemanly way, Eric headed down the corridor straight after her.
***
The large conference room seemed to shimmer from the dust sparkling in the air, illuminated by the sun from the windows of a clear street. Eric slipped into his seat right next to his brother and two other lawyers.
"Where have you been?" his brother said, more rhetorically.
"I got a little lost," he said easily.
They were sitting in the fourth row, watching the mass of guests moving back and forth across the hall, shaking hands and cordial greetings, asking each other about wives, children, parents. This lively farce inspired exceptionally kind feelings, but a storm was brewing in Eric's head.
– I hope I can start our conference, – a woman of about fifty-five appeared in the center of the hall, and her badge indicated exactly who she was by color and blood, but from his seat Eric could not see.
His brother shoved him irritably on the shoulder, as if he were a restless boy, urging him to sit still.
– It's no secret what we're here for today, – the triumph of her tone could decorate the city on the eve of the holidays. – The ability to honor historical memory is an exceptional feature of our people, and today we will not only remember what we owe to the past, but also conduct an easy historical excursion. The opening speech is given to Yuri Alekseevich Andreev, Honored Lawyer of the Russian Federation, chairman of the historical and educational society "Zarya" and ... just my wonderful old friend, with whom we went through many difficulties side by side.
***
Eric walked in circles along the corridor, feeling his hands tremble. The cigarette in his hand flickered softly with an orange diode: you couldn't buy real ones for twenty years, for sure, and there wasn't even nicotine in these pacifiers – a pathetic parody of the destructive habit of the past, helping to keep your hands busy at a time of anxiety. It was a conventional heating with odorless glycerin and a filter system that allowed the release of ordinary smoke, without smoldering, gorenje and other destructive processes. The advertising song of these cigarettes often stuck in Eric's head. 
Pandemonium has always had a depressing effect on him: especially when they praise things that you don't agree with. He looked at the cigarette in his hand again and lightly tapped the glass tube with his little finger, while persistent images from the past were spinning in his memory: his grandfather, shaggy as a taiga bear, in his battered plaid plaid, swinging his leg. He is sitting on a veranda chair and blowing thick clouds of stinking smoke into the air, which makes the boy playing on the steps of the house have tears in his eyes and his throat is seriously sore. Grandma, as always perfect and neat, goes outside and shakes her fist expressively, forcing grandfather to put out a cigar – a real Cuban one. You can't buy them for any money right now. But despite the ban on selling, no one forbade owning and disposing of them: so my grandfather sent various curiosities to an old army friend every month under the guise of gifts, receiving in return a box of these smelly cigars.
Grandma usually just sighed heavily and, turning somewhere to the sky, said that she couldn't wait for the day when this stuff would be banned forever.
Eric smiled sadly and looked at the piece of glass in his hands for the third time. It's a pity, Grandma, that you didn't catch this time. Maybe if you had heard what was being said today, your heart would have been calm and joyful. I'm sorry your grandson doesn't share that.
He put the cigarette in his breast pocket, having previously wiped it with a special fiber, and turned at the sound of footsteps: his brother came out into the corridor. His report was the last to keep the farewell word for himself. Alexander grew up in that gloss of pride in which only the descendants of great people can afford to grow up. When he talked about his grandfather, his eyes shone like the lights on a Christmas tree, and Eric's hole only grew bigger in his chest. 
"You did well," he managed to say.
Alexander, arching his eyebrows, only smiled mockingly. It seemed that the distrust with which he spent the last time with his younger brother stood between them as an almost tangible barrier; but despite this, he still agreed to help with the request.
***
They drove almost in silence: Alexander, who had set up autopilot to get home, leaned back in his seat and read some kind of news report on the screen of his carpad. Eric sadly thought that he was probably looking for news about today's conference: anyway, something less pretentious had never got into his news filters. 
Upon arrival home, they were met by Anna, Alexander's wife. Despite the fact that she, like most of the women of her time, did not bear the financial burden, her household duties were also purely formal. The Baumans' apartment was sterile and as cold as Alexander's eyes. (Eric inherited his mother's brown eyes.) The light decoration and minimalistic furniture were no more comfortable than Eric's lonely apartment. Even the nephews were calm and phlegmatic, like their ice-eyed father. Eric shivered and, after briefly greeting the household, followed his brother into the library.
– Why did you say you needed drafts of grandfather's notes?  My brother raised his hand, and a holographic menu bar appeared in the air above the scanner. He took out some old folders and took out priceless original sketches. The scanner line went through the papers, and the scanner produced several copy sheets. Alexander was always surprised by his brother's quirk of working with paper, when air projectors and banal tablets allowed him to assemble a whole world of information inside himself. Probably picked it up in his journalistic corps. Some habits can't be knocked out of even the worst head.
"I'm working on a project," Eric replied evasively. Then he swallowed. – Yes, and I want to get to know the heritage better. Your report was impressive.
"I thought I wouldn't live to see this moment,– my brother replied ironically.
Eric held the scans carefully in his hands, like a newborn baby. His eyes glided greedily.
"You can stay with me and work on the originals," my brother said a little more gently. It even seemed to Eric that the icicles in the stranger's eyes were filled with an unusual blue caress. – Anna will invite you to lunch around two, and then you can continue. At least until the evening.
Eric smiled.
Holding the door open, Alexander said:
– I'm really glad you came. We haven't talked for a long time.
As soon as the door closed behind his brother, Eric spread out all the papers on the table, bending over them so attentively that he almost touched the sheets with his nose. He always liked these strokes of his grandfather's letters with strong pressure, which betrayed his character's energy and determination. Straight and even lines – willpower, practicality and proper self-esteem. Running his eyes over the lines, Eric mentally thanked himself for choosing a graphology course for the elective. In the modern world, people did not pay attention to writing at all and generally resorted to this method very rarely. Voice and intuitive typing have taken up too much of my life.
My grandmother was fond of design in her youth and spent a lot of time making sure that her grandchildren had a beautiful handwriting. Eric has loved this activity since childhood, and the journalistic path has taught him to always carry a notebook and pen with him.
Despite his interest in handwritten notes, he decided to familiarize himself with the draft version of the report, which served as the beginning of that very reformation. It seemed that the same rows of soulless printed letters could not hurt, but what this man printed was just as painful as what he eventually did to his country.
There is no denying that despite the cooling of relations with
the collective West, we still inherit their democratic ideas.
But with this fact that the democratic ideology has shown its
inconsistency for Russian society and law, we still
We continue to adopt legislative initiatives that give
more space to people in the economic and legal spheres.
And this is on the condition that the surveys of the National University
The Social Sciences (hereinafter – NUSN) showed a high percentage
of legal and economic illiteracy. The point here is not
that the state blocks access to legal or
economic information in any way, but that the capitalist spirit as a
whole is not inherent in our mentality. In this case, we
need to turn to the experience of our Asian colleagues – China.
Collectivism works great in a market economy, but
the state still plays an important role in the market: it allows
reduce unemployment and economic crime rates. 
Eric flipped through the page and stumbled into the fourth paragraph at random.
We should also not forget that, according to NUSN surveys,
over the past three years, the percentage of crimes linked
to fraudulent schemes has only increased. Respondents from
18 to 24 years old reported that they faced fraud when
purchasing goods or services from individual entrepreneurs
or small (local) manufacturers one or more times,
and respondents from 24 to 40 years old – two or more, while
citizens over forty have faced such deception
more than five times. Of course, we cannot assume that
the blame lies with the state, which is reluctant to highlight
the problems of legal literacy; rather, we can
conclude that too "free hands"
of private entrepreneurs (such as low
tax rates, benefits) do not lead to prosperity 
the economy, and to its decline due to increased
crime. According to law enforcement ...
Wearily, Eric put the document aside and pulled the papers with chaotic notes in the margins towards him.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights had not been in force in Russia for almost fifty years, but nevertheless its text could be found. Near the eighth article, in the same large handwriting, it read: "ownership of property is not an obligatory sign of existence, a person is able to live in the care of the state, as was practiced in the Soviet Union; the right to work is inalienable, but property ownership does not follow from it, only investment in the public good is a necessary result of this work."
Eric sighed and looked thoughtfully around the library. 
Grandma was the first to support Grandpa in his endeavors. By the time of the wedding, they had only her parents' house behind them, but she gave up her property rights to prove that the system worked. After that, she had a life and a regular job waiting for her, for the money from which she would not be able to buy anything for herself.
This later ownership began to be sold and acquired (not with the same ease, but still). The initial refusals were entirely voluntary and gratuitous: people were freed from the burden of taxes and risks and faced with freedom that they could not have imagined before. You don't have to look for housing anymore – if you're a refusenik, then you'll get it. You won't sell or buy, but there will be a roof over your head. That's what they all thought.
Eric saw some helplessness.: What happened to the wives who gave up property rights for their husbands? Where did they go after divorcing a man who could and started a new life afterwards, while they were left without memories and possessions? It's not just your stuff, it's baggage from the past and a bunch of memories. Yes, there was something unhealthy and selfish about this attachment, because "people were created to be loved, and things were created to be used. The world is in chaos because everything is the other way around." But what if Grandma hadn't lived her whole life with one person, how could she build her creative life without the right right? How could she sell her art if she can't sell anymore?
Eric squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It seemed to him that he had spent no more than half an hour reading, but the electronic panel of the clock indicated completely different figures. Getting up from his seat, he began to stretch his neck and reached for the glass of a fake cigarette. We need to pause. 
***
When he went out into the dining room, Alexander was already gone. Anna was leaning low over the oven in her mittens, watching the pie.
"Sasha's gone,– she said, turning around and tucking a blond curl behind her ear.
–What a pity,– Eric replied blandly. "But I'd like to talk to you."
Anna looked at him with her transparent gray eyes and did not even raise an eyebrow. Then she said loudly: "Masha, make two medium mugs of black coffee." A cool female voice answered with a short "accepted," and the coffee machine in the corner hummed faintly, dropping two black ceramic cups on a tray.
– Let's say, – Anna sat down at the table, interlacing her fingers with a lock.
Eric watched in confusion as the espresso machine slowly poured coffee into the cups, and only then decided to turn his gaze to the hostess of the house. Anna was gorgeous: sharp collarbones peeking above the triangular neckline of her housecoat, white curls scattered over her shoulders with charming carelessness. During the ten years of marriage with Alexander, she had not changed at all – Eric remembered her like this from the time of his university, when the surname Bauman did not belong to her yet. 
And he remembered well that he was ready to give this woman something that his brother would never have been able to. To own not only her last name, but also the house in which she lives.
– I am writing a short article for the next conference in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of the law. I need some statistics that I can trust.
Anna grinned and brought mugs of hot coffee to the table. Eric pulled one almost awkwardly, trying to find the words.
– You're a real bookworm, aren't there any suitable statistics in your books?
It shouldn't have hurt, but Eric felt his fingers digging into the black handle of the mug. From the lips of this woman, any comment taken by general standards as a compliment could sound like an insult.
– Tell me when you signed the waiver of your property, please.
– About a year after the wedding. There would be something to write a refusal from: I had an old car that did not appeal to me in any way," she shrugged her shoulders. – Yes, and you probably know how it happens: when your lover is on fire with something, it's hard not to catch fire with him. And he was very supportive of his grandfather's idea. I realized almost immediately that I didn't need any extra garbage. My mom moved in with my dad at the age of eighteen with a half-empty suitcase, so it wasn't a problem for me to leave it all behind. And Dad eventually stopped being possessive too. A university professor doesn't need this.
– Have you ever asked why Alexander didn't give up the property himself?
"Well, it's not about owning nothing, it's about getting rid of excess,– she replied evasively. "Besides, I could always come home." Mom didn't own anything, Dad didn't own anything, and they lived. Was I supposed to be special? 
Eric smiled sourly and took his first sip. He had never understood how such beliefs worked, but arguing with Anna in the absence of her husband was simply impolite.
Already returning home with a pile of scans, Eric thought that he knew exactly what he had to do.
***
"... Marx also said that "the worker becomes poorer the
more wealth he produces, the more the power and
size of his products grow.
The worker becomes a cheaper commodity the more
goods he creates. In direct accordance with the growth of the value
of the world of things, the depreciation of human labor is growing. Labor
produces not only goods: it produces itself and the worker
as a commodity, moreover, in the very proportion in which it produces
goods in general."
But despite the correct tendencies of the Marxist concept, one should not
assume that there were no flaws in it. For example, his view of labor as
the only source of realizing human potential is
a rather controversial statement. If we remove "property" and
put "labor" in its place, then we will only replace the denominators in
the evaluation system. We can consider private property
as an obstacle to some processes in our society on the way to
self-realization, but not as the root of evil. To some extent
, ownership is a motivator and a means of measurement
a man of his own well-being, but what Marx was right about is
that you can't make a person hostage to your property and
evaluate your achievements through him ..."
Eric underlined the last few sentences with a pen and put the article aside. Many years ago, he read the work of a modern economist who viewed property as an auxiliary element of competition, and the idea of finding it lit up in his head like a light bulb. The screen in front of him displayed a holographic wall, and Eric quickly set up a search for text tags and sources from the 2010s. There was no article, but he didn't stop until the voice assistant informed him that the coffee machine had finished cooking.
Already sitting on the edge of the bed with a cup, he reread another excerpt from his grandfather's report, but even caffeine could not help to understand what could click in the head of a man who possessed everything.
The Parliament archive, which could be accessed through his brother, probably contained articles that could help write a comprehensive rebuttal, but Eric knew that he was doing too many suspicious things lately.
I didn't really want to draw attention to myself.
– Reminder for eleven o'clock at night: fill out a diary.
Eric opened his laptop and quickly tapped on the keys.
12.11.2070 
"I find a lot of contradictions in his notes. He does not
support the Marxist concept directly, but draws
most of the information from it. Thus, the quote: "... labor is not the
primary public good, but its ultimate goal is to earn
money in order to acquire material, directs society to the idea
of working not only in the legal field ..." and "... an important task
is to balance the social usefulness of labor and its
respect as an approved occupation, the purpose of which is not
"profit"."
He does not want to provide a socialist subtext to his work,
but it is he who is overlooked. How else can you work without a great
idea if you don't get anything else in the end?
The information field was already saturated enough at that time
to filter out outright propaganda, because
people were more technically savvy than at the beginning of the twentieth century.
Removing the burden of taxation is not such a big
advantage when you have something behind your back. Why did people
take the idea of selling their ownership so easily?

Where is the line between selling this right and the right, for example, to life?
What did Ernest Bauman say so convincingly that half of my
family easily passed into the status of refuseniks, despite the fact that the
author himself did not do this until the last day of his life?"
– A reminder of tomorrow's event: a meeting with an academician
Trubetskoy. 
His fingers froze over the keyboard. After a bit of hesitation, Eric closed the laptop and asked his assistant Masha to send the file to a secure cloud storage.
Trubetskoy Jr. was the only person who could still tell something about how the fundamental work of the most famous of the Baumans was created. This decrepit old man, who had long passed eighty-five, was reputed to be a very reasonable man, but knowing what was to be disputed, Eric already harbored a dislike for him in advance. In the end, it was not worth deluding yourself: he is already the white crow in the family. He did not go to university with a law degree, did not give up property (for some reason, Alexander was forgiven for this), did not get married, did not go into public service; so after this meeting, he will fall in the eyes of a very small circle of the public even more.
***
Diary entry from 11/15/2070
As I expected, Trubetskoy did not give me a single significant argument
. It was more like a report on a memorized script that I could
get at any reporting session of our Parliament.
My brother uses the same cliche phrases, but I'm almost forty
and I can't understand them in any way. I think Trubetskoy can make a call.
Alexander and tell him about the meeting that took place with his
younger brother, and this will prevent. Still, I took a chance, even if
It was in vain.
I got a monograph from the Parliamentary Library in 2024
by the economist Lutsk, who was an opponent of my grandfather at the time.
I also found out that his grandson lives in Toronto and is engaged
in applied economics. In the 2030s, their entire family immigrated
to Canada for permanent residence. I had the idea
to contact him, but my English is not good enough to have
a conversation using professional vocabulary. I would probably
use simultaneous translation by my virtual assistant, but
recently Alexander said he would check my filters because
I am very concerned about the research I am conducting.
He is a parliamentarian, he will not get away with such a duck. And I don't want
to lose his trust until I've gathered all the necessary information
and finished the job.

Diary entry from 11/18/2070
I met a girl who came by special
permission from Munich. As I understand it, she is collecting materials
for the European forum to show what is happening in Russia.
I found out from her which foreign sources criticize our
new law to this day and wrote out the names that would help me
collect the material to finish the work. There is not much left, but
it is difficult to shorten the material, so I am still doing a lot of sketches
on the last paragraphs.
***
The report
"Negative trends in practice
renunciation of private property" [draft title].
"Private property makes it possible to distribute
the economic power existing in it among numerous members of society
. This decentralization of power finds
expression in competition, which is the main factor
of economic development. In addition, the following can be distinguished
aspects of private property confirming its positive
role in the economy ...".
"... individualism in a state with a market economy is
its necessary component, since investing
in property, the value of which
often only increases over time, is a popular way
to preserve and increase savings. From this
we can conclude that private property is not only a condition
for the existence of a market economy, but also a consequence of its
functioning."
"The increase in crime in the economic system
It demonstrates not the fact that our society "does not know how" to think
like a society of free private owners, but that
there are many gaps in the field of law that the state
does not want to deal with, thereby forcing its citizens
to privately give up property in order to reduce
possible risks. But how can risks be reduced in the very concept
of a market economy, when risk is a feature of entrepreneurial
activity, and entrepreneurial activity is the engine
of social progress? How could the state have those
the resources it has now, if at some point
it decided to limit the right of its people to dispose of their
economic freedom?"

"In recent years, we have seen a tightening and "enslavement"
of the business sector. The state strives for a monopoly
on property, and the indulgences it gives to refuseniks are
only a way to legalize their robbery. Unwilling to work
on the legal and economic literacy of the population, it
seeks to gradually destroy private property
and roll back progress for almost 150 years, although we know that once the country 
if it collapsed (here and further – we are talking about the USSR),
then this indicates the inconsistency of its concept.
Of course, we can turn to the experience of China and praise it
for the fact that the communist system has not only
not collapsed over the years, but has also yielded positive results, but this
is only because they have taken the best from capitalism,
while our state wants to turn to the failed
experience of the past entirely. It is also worth understanding that
collectivism turned out to be not close to our state, which
works perfectly in the realities of the eastern mentality. However
However, Japan did not resort to communist ideology,
nor did South Korea, despite the same notorious
"mentality ...".
– Reminder of tomorrow's event: meeting with Hannah Lloyd.
Eric shook himself and ran his gaze over the last paragraph, born under tired fingers. He knew that this girl from Munich was unlikely to get access to any government information, so he was going to find out what she could tell him now. After meeting with Trubetskoy, Alexander visited his apartment and strongly advised him to stop doing "what you are doing there."
– Masha, apply to participate in the second congress of the Bauman Law Conference as a speaker.
– Do you consent to the inclusion of your personal data in the questionnaire? For familiarization, ask me to voice them in more detail.
– I give my consent.
– I am sending a questionnaire for your approval. You can edit the data if necessary.
Eric took a deep breath and locked the encrypted vault, saying:
– Send it this way, no corrections are required.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, the bell suddenly rang. Eric flinched and waved his hand, accepting it. A hologram with his brother's face appeared in the air.
"I told you to stop," he breathed through his teeth.
"I'll stop when I'm done," and the call was dropped with the same wave of his hand. Eric already knew that access to the Library of Parliament was prohibited for him, as well as subscription to the archive. My brother couldn't do it officially, so as not to bring a shadow on himself, so he definitely had a hand in person.
There wasn't much left. 

Eric knew that his brother would not show up at his apartment before the end of his working day. But he wanted to be so childishly proactive that he forced himself to go to enemy territory first.
Before leaving the house, he hesitated and dialed his mother's ID. He waited anxiously until the outlines of someone else's face appeared in the air in the bluish light of the hologram (Eric did not overpay the operator to keep the picture in natural colors; anyway, he knew that her warm brown eyes, like his, were hidden behind this bleak blue).
"Hi, baby," she said softly, as if there hadn't been a month–long silence.
– Mom, – a lump suddenly rose in my throat. He cleared his throat and, clenching his fists, asked without unnecessary curtsies on his exhale: – Am I doing everything right?
The outline of her mother's face took on a deeply sympathetic expression before she said anything.
"I do not know,— came the soft reply."But if you're doing something, then you have a good reason, honey.
– Mom...
- Yes?
– I love you.
– I love you too, honey. 
Eric paused. Mom bit her lip:
– Tell me, will you call me soon?
– If it 's over... If everything ends well, I'll call you as soon as I can.
She hung up without question, because she knew all too well that there was nothing more to say to him.

***
The rain was mercilessly pouring down the street, but Eric walked until his feet brought him to his brother's house. He walked up the stairs at a rapid pace, taking the steps one at a time, until he raised his fist over the door. Anna opened the door for him. She looked a little disheveled, but right now, an unprecedented tenderness suddenly stirred in him, which had been periodically awakened during all these ten years. 
– Is Alexander coming soon? – He asked from the doorway.
–I have to,– she replied anxiously. – Will you come in?

They were silently drinking coffee, sitting opposite each other, until there was an insistent knock on the door. Eric frowned and almost jumped up from his seat. Anna gently slowed him down, placing her palm on his chest, and led the way to the door. She gave Masha a command, but she didn't even respond. Turning the lock, Anna took a step back, and a middle-aged man in uniform appeared on the threshold. A group of operatives immediately followed him.
Eric staggered back in surprise, involuntarily covering the "mistress" with himself.
– Frolov Georgy Semyonovich, investigator. This apartment will be searched.
Anna shuddered violently.
– Where's your warrant? My husband is a parliamentarian, he has senatorial immunity!
" Oh," the investigator shook his head in mock sympathy. – Your husband has been taken into custody, and his immunity has been taken away from him during the investigation, my dear.
– Where's the warrant?  Anna repeated urgently.
– You are not the owner, I do not have to show you a warrant.

– I am a person who lives with the owner on a permanent basis, – she breathed out. – Where is the warrant, damn it underground?
The investigator reluctantly pulled the resolution out of the folder. Eric quickly ran his eyes over the lines, and his heart skipped a booming beat.
"You seem to have forgotten about the witnesses," he smiled wryly and as if in hope.
– Mr. Bauman, – Frolov grinned, – I would be more worried that you forgot in someone else's house with someone else's wife.
His heart continued to hoot so loudly that Eric could hardly hear other people's words. All this time it seemed to him that he was just writing a little rebuttal to the achievement of his own ancestors. But now everything turned into horror: the terrified Anna could no longer just breathe erratically. Tears were streaming down her face, and he didn't know what to do or say to calm her down. While the apartment was being turned upside down, and information systems were being downloaded to a separate medium, he slowly realized what he had dragged people close to him into. This is not just a contradiction in concept, it is akin to the unconstitutional activity that he became interested in as a boy.
– Stop them, — Anna burst into tears, throwing herself on his chest. – Stop them, stop them! Be a fucking man! 
Anna's tears, the frightening mess and the operatives scurrying back and forth slowly plunged Eric Bauman into a waking nightmare. 

***
He gathered in the dark. Anna was sleeping on the couch, and the children were in his room. The morning had not yet had time to enter into its dawn rights, so Eric moved by touch. His head felt heavy, as if lead had been poured into it, and guilt was spreading like an ulcer inside his body. In an hour, he had to say something that would finally sow chaos and destruction in his own life and the lives of those for whom his heart was breaking at that moment. Anna's hand hung slightly off the sofa, and he paused for a moment, carefully returned it to the sheet before taking his tablet and quietly leaving the apartment.
He expected nothing: no success, no freedom. Only peace of mind for your heart when the last sentence is spoken. And, winding circles along the same ill-fated corridor in which this stupid, corrosive thought settled in his head, he did not even see the message that was sent a moment before.

09:15 
Good afternoon, Eric. This is Hannah Lloyd. You may not have saved
my ID, but I've written yours down. My friend got permission
to hold a rally. Of course, we did not specify the true purpose.
It is purely patriotic in nature in order to
to have the possibility of legal approval. Your words hurt so much
that I couldn't delay any longer. I have lived in Russia for almost ten years, and my soul has never hurt as much as it did at the moment when you
shared your story. You are an incredibly brave man,
because no one has ever so fiercely challenged his legacy.

11:01
Eric, it's still Hannah. The meeting was held, we were dispersed after some quarter of an hour, but there were a lot of people. What we are doing is not in vain.
12:00

Eric, are you there? I hope you're not in custody? I heard,
what happened to your brother. I'm really sorry.

19:19 
I've heard about your report. He's everywhere now. Media, newspapers,
reports. Please write as soon as you are released.
Still Hannah. 

***

January 16, 2100 
11:17
Andrey Skuratov
"Progressive regression: how to destroy the family
legacy that was destroying your country"
– Twenty-five years ago we faced one
of the largest constitutional reforms that
have only fallen on our century. Eric Bauman, the unremarkable
grandson of the remarkable Parliamentarian Ernest Bauman,
He began a revolution on the return of private property
as almost a natural right. Today we have
his daughter, Katarina Bauman–Lloyd, who, many years later, following
in the footsteps of her father and no less proactive mother,
continues to engage in legal studies, including
human rights activities. Graduate of the Academy at 
In the EURAES Constitutional Court, this brave young woman will tell
you how the country has changed in twenty-five years. Katarina, hello. 

– Good afternoon, Andrey.

– Could you give a brief historical digression?

– With great pleasure. Thirty years ago, my
father thought about how his grandfather's ambitions were harmful. 
A family business is good only if your
soul lies towards it. Thanks to my father, mother and all concerned
citizens of that time, I now have the opportunity to be
in this studio and dispel the long-term darkness of ignorance,
to be a free and simply happy citizen of my country.

– Your father was accused of espionage and assistance to foreign
intelligence agencies.

– My father was definitely inspired by the European example,
but he never betrayed his homeland. He just wanted to bring
order to the country in which he lives.

– And your mother? Hannah Lloyd has worked and lived
in Europe for many years. Did it have any effect?

– To some extent. But it was the community of spirit and ideas
that brought them together. Still, it is worth understanding that
it was important for the pope that everyone in his
environment could feel like a real and full-fledged
citizen. Without indulgences and other fake advantages,
freely and valuably.

– Katarina, you have done a lot of research
on the works of your grandfather. Tell me, what do you think of them?
– I'm just surprised that it was once normal for people
to give up natural things. Of course, this is a waste
of time. Once upon a time, slavery was the order of the day.

– Katarina, I know that our listeners are interested
to know if you are preparing any work in the near future.

– I will be a guest on the podcast of our Commissioner
for Human Rights, where I will briefly and not really touch on various
legal problems and consequences of those times. Get connected!
It will be very interesting.

– Thank you very much for your time. Truth.

– You're welcome, Andrey. Thank you for inviting me.

– Would you like to say something else?

– Don't forget about the history. It is cyclical.
Don't be afraid to defend your rights. Maybe someday you
will fix something that worries you. Don't be
indifferent. My ot... dad... My dad was not indifferent.
And so is my mom. And now we are all protected
by the law as before. The benefit is something that depends on us.

– Thanks again, Katarina. See you on the air
The Messenger of Change, friends!