This was the second significant loss in my life after Sergei Magnitsky. My mother’s natural, peaceful death at home and among people she loved made his murder that much more awful. In addition to being robbed of decades of life, Sergei had spent his last moments alone without any loved ones, in a cold isolation cell, being beaten to death. As I flew back to London, I realized that the best way for me to mourn my mother and right the injustice of what had happened to Sergei was to convert my sorrow into righteous action. In two weeks, I would return to New York. And I would promote the hell out
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