Work was hard. Work was slow. Even in the morning. Even at night. But one particular morning, he was given the news that displayed he had failed.

Yakov Yurosky sat at his desk inside a government building in St. Petersburg, now Petrograd, filing papers for the Cheka, the secret Bolshevik police, when he heard a knock at his office door.

"Come in," he answered, not looking up.

"News from England regarding the Romanovs, sir." the young man panicked, handing him a newspaper.

Yakov snatched the newspaper from his hands and looked it over. He paused in shock as he read the headline. He slowly placed the newspaper down.

"You may go now." he pushed the man away. Once his office door had closed, he slammed his fists down. He shoved all of his papers off his desk in frustration and ripped the newspaper.

"Damn that Andrei!" he spat.

He now knew he had smuggled the girls out. He had heard rumors that people had seen Maria and Anastasia. He had never believed them, confident they were indeed dead. No wonder he couldn't find Andrei when he had called all of his men to the forest to help dispose of the bodies.

He was defeated.

He knew he would go down in history.

His plan to destroy the Romanovs had failed.

Failed completely.