The next morning, the warehouse was silent. Only the dust motes danced in the shafts of light hitting the empty loading docks. Sokolov arrived, flipping through Yuri’s modified forms.
Yuri had spent months hunting for the perfect space. He finally found "Sector 4"—a sprawling, cold-storage facility with high ceilings and a questionable history. The landlord, a man named Sokolov who smelled perpetually of cheap tobacco, had handed him a thick folder of forms. blanki dogovorov arendy sklada
To anyone else, they were just templates. To Yuri, they were the key to a gamble that could either make him the king of the industrial district or leave him broke by winter. 📄 The Paper Trail The next morning, the warehouse was silent