When we come to a complete stop, a butler wearing white gloves promptly opens the passenger door for us. He says nothing. I’m happy to return the silence in kind.
Part of me wishes Clara and Willow could be here to see this place. They would have loved the gilded lion statues guarding the wide marble steps, which in turn lead to massive double doors hand carved from mahogany. Half the windows are painted glass, the other half crystalline testaments to the forgotten days of ancient Russia.
“The grand pakhan is waiting inside,” Oleg grumbles to me as he lumbers past.
Tolya and I fall in line after him. It’s a show of respect for the Old World. A father leads his sons, and the sons file in after him in order of birth. We’re here to support him in his cause he’s about to bring to the grand
