On May 1st, 2023, I went to the federal courthouse in downtown San Francisco.

My cousin Alan was on trial for hiring someone to kill his ex-wife, Priscilla.

The man he hired was actually an undercover FBI agent who worked out of the San Francisco

office, so the trial was in California.

No way was I going to miss this.

Nine months had passed since Alan was arrested in my father's backyard. Now in the courtroom,

he looked like he'd aged 20 years in that time. Alan used to be fat and shiny. His bald

had shown, as did his gadgets and his cars. He used to wear cowboy boots and big leather hats.

Now he was dressed in a white shirt and a gray blazer. Defense attorneys often counseled their

clients on what to wear to trial. The plain white shirt could communicate respect for the court.

The blazer was non-threatening. But it was Allen's physical transformation that struck me.

He was thin, something he'd struck me. He was thin,

something he'd never been. He was stooped. He'd let his beard grow long and gray. Well played,

Alan, I thought. We both grew up with stories of our very talented, very entrepreneurial,

and somewhat famous great-grandfather. When he was arrested in Stalin's Russia, he grew a long gray beard

to make sure he was perceived as an old man by the court.

That didn't help our great-grandfather,

but maybe Alan thought it was worth trying in an American court.

My family had learned a lot in the months since Alan was arrested.

We already knew about the time he took his

son, O, from Russia, and moved to the U.S. without telling Priscilla. And the time he took O.

from the U.S. and went to Canada, again without telling Priscilla. Now we also knew about all the

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