The fog of corruption hangs heavy over the court, and the Crown's prosecutor has finally laid bare his cards. In a most peculiar turn of events, the magistrates summoned a tradesman from Zlatoust via a magical glass—a video link—to testify in the trial of Alexander Gontsov, the former master of the 'Kurganavtodor' works. The matter at hand? A religious icon, passed from the hands of a certain road-builder, Araik Zakoyan, to Gontsov. The detectives, with their keen eyes, call this piece of art nothing less than a bribe of a most substantial sum.

The Icon of 'Tenderness'

Step into the courtroom, and you'll find Albert Kharisov, a man of trade and director of a steelworks, taking the stand. He spoke plainly: he had dealt with Zakoyan and sold him an icon titled 'The Mother of God: Tenderness.' He described it as a fine thing—ash wood, galvanoplastics, jewelry enamel, and nickel with a glimmer of gilding. It looked the part of a king's gift, wrapped in finery and studded with stones.

Mr. Karetsky, the prosecutor, pressed the witness on the matter of the gems. "Are there precious stones embedded in the frame?" he demanded. Kharisov, without a blink, replied that there were no true jewels—only cubic zirconia and nephrites, minerals that play with the light but hold no real wealth. When asked about rubies, the tradesman gave a firm 'Nay.'

As for the coin of the realm, the icon cost three hundred thousand rubles. The road-builder, Zakoyan, paid in cash, sneaking the money through hansom cab drivers in installments, as if he were paying off a debt in a dark alleyways of the rookeries.

The Price of a Prayer

One must ask: why such a sum for a piece of wood and glass? Olesya Ivanova, from the Department of Construction, questioned how such a price was conjured. Kharisov’s answer was simple: the cost lay in the toil of the hand. Hand-crafted, he claimed, from the first sketch to the final gilding.

No receipts were issued—no paper trail for the detectives to follow. Kharisov simply asserted that his costs were two hundred and twenty thousand, and he sold it for three hundred. He admitted the piece possessed no historical value; it was a mere 'new-make,' a modern imitation of piety.

False Rubies and Glass Pearls

The defense counsel, Mr. Lomakin, spotted a crack in the story. The earlier testimonies mentioned pearls and rubies—some twenty-five of them! The judge, Denis Cherkasov, read the old statements aloud, and the air in the room grew thick with tension.

Kharisov, however, remained as cool as a cucumber. He explained that in the product's passport, they list the color of the stone, not its true nature. "Every stone in that frame is artificial!" he insisted. The lawyer's brow furrowed: why pay such a king's ransom for something with no intrinsic value? "Because the labor is arduous," the tradesman replied, stubbornly clinging to his price.

When asked about the cost of these 'jewels,' the truth came out in a trickle: the red stones cost a mere 700-800 rubles, and the white ones—the fake pearls—scarcely 500. With that, the witness was dismissed, and the court retreated to its papers.

The detectives believe this icon was a bribe delivered in the winter of 2023. But the rot goes deeper. Gontsov is also accused of abusing his power, causing a ruinous loss of over 142 million rubles in a road reconstruction project in the Shadrinsk district. The Crown claims Gontsov signed off on payments to a Chelyabinsk firm for work that was poorly done. Gontsov, however, stands his ground, denying every charge, while the law prepares its final blow.