January 1997 | Age 22 | Neva Group Headquarters, St. Petersburg
The new year arrived with a cold front that froze the Neva River solid. Alexei watched from his office window as children skated on the ice below—a scene of normalcy that felt increasingly distant from his own reality.
Boris entered without knocking, which meant something urgent.
"We have a problem," he said, dropping a folder on the desk. "Multiple problems, actually. All arriving at once."
Alexei turned from the window. "Define 'multiple.'"
"Three. One, Transneft is lobbying the Energy Ministry to classify our pipeline as 'subject to state regulation.' Two, Berezovsky's people have been asking questions about our Cyprus holdings. Three—and this is the concerning one—someone put a price on your head."
Alexei sat down slowly. "A price."
"Two hundred thousand dollars. The word is circulating in criminal circles. Ivan heard it from a contact in the Moscow underworld."
"Who?"
"Unknown. But the timing suggests it's connected to the Forbes listing. You're visible now. And some people would prefer you weren't."
The New Calculus
Alexei opened the folder. The first document was a draft Energy Ministry regulation, leaked by General Sokolov's office. It would subject any pipeline carrying more than 50,000 barrels per day to state oversight—including rate controls, safety inspections, and mandatory capacity sharing.
"Our pipeline carries 90,000 barrels per day," Alexei said. "This regulation would apply directly to us."
"Which is why Transneft is pushing it. They can't compete with our rates, so they're trying to regulate us into submission."
"The second document?"
Boris pointed to a memo from a contact at a Moscow law firm. "Berezovsky has hired investigators to trace our offshore holdings. He's looking for leverage—tax violations, money laundering, anything that could be used against you."
"Does he have anything?"
"Unlikely. The Cyprus structure is solid. But the investigation itself is a problem. If Berezovsky is looking, others will follow."
"And the third?"
Ivan entered, closing the door behind him. He'd been waiting in the outer office.
"The price on your head is real," Ivan said. "Two hundred thousand dollars, offered through a intermediary in the Northern Caucasus. The target is 'the young banker from St. Petersburg.'"
"Can we trace the source?"
"Not yet. But I've increased your security. No more walking along the river alone. No more public appearances without a detail. And I'm moving you to a new apartment—one with better defenses."
Alexei processed the information. Transneft, Berezovsky, and an unknown assassin. Three threats arriving simultaneously, none of them coincidental.
"The Forbes listing made me a target," he said. "I knew this would happen. I just didn't expect it to happen this fast."
Alexei spent the next hour developing countermeasures.
"Call Sokolov. Tell him we need the Energy Ministry's draft regulation delayed. I don't care how—bribes, favors, blackmail. Buy us six months. In six months, we'll have more allies in the Duma, and Transneft will have less political capital."
"Boris, I want a full audit of our Cyprus structure. Every document, every filing, every transaction. If there's a vulnerability, I want to find it before Berezovsky does. And I want to know who in his organization is running the investigation—names, weaknesses, price tags."
"Ivan, double the security detail. I want twenty-four-hour coverage. And I want you to find out who placed the bounty. Not necessarily to stop them—to understand who I'm dealing with."
Ivan nodded. "And if we find them?"
Alexei paused. The old Alexei—the 16-year-old orphan—might have hesitated. The 22-year-old oligarch did not.
"Find out who they work for. Then we decide."
Three days later, Alexei sat in General Sokolov's Moscow office. The deputy defense minister looked older than his fifty-two years—grayer, heavier, wearier.
"You've made enemies, Volkov."
"I've made money. Same thing in Russia."
Sokolov didn't smile. "The Energy Ministry regulation is moving faster than I can stop. Transneft has friends in the Kremlin. Yeltsin's family, specifically."
"How much to make it go away?"
"Not money. Political capital. The kind I don't have."
Alexei considered. Sokolov had been useful—opening doors, smoothing approvals, providing cover. But his usefulness had limits.
"What if I gave you a reason to have political capital?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I'm going to start buying Duma seats. Not directly—through proxies, regional funding, campaign contributions. In two years, I'll control ten votes. In four years, twenty. Those votes would be available to friends who help me now."
Sokolov's eyes widened. "You're twenty-two years old. You can't buy the Duma."
"I can buy influence. The same way Berezovsky does. The same way Khodorkovsky does. The difference is, I'm offering you first access."
A long silence. Then Sokolov nodded slowly.
"I'll delay the regulation. Not indefinitely—six months, maybe eight. Use that time to build your political capital. If you deliver, I'll kill the regulation entirely."
"Agreed."
Boris returned from Moscow with a file on Berezovsky's investigator—a former KGB officer named Viktor Krylov.
"Krylov has a weakness," Boris said. "He's been embezzling from Berezovsky. Small amounts—a few thousand dollars here, a few there. But enough to compromise him."
"Proof?"
"Bank records. His wife's shopping habits don't match his declared income. If we send this to Berezovsky, Krylov is finished."
"Then don't send it to Berezovsky. Send it to Krylov. With a message: 'Stop investigating Neva Group, or your employer learns the truth.'"
"And if Krylov refuses?"
"Then we send the evidence to Berezovsky and let him deal with his disloyal employee. Either way, the investigation stops."
Boris smiled. "You're learning."
"I had good teachers."
---
Ivan's team identified the source of the assassination bounty: a Chechen warlord named Ruslan Gelayev, who had ties to the Moscow criminal underworld. The bounty wasn't personal—Gelayev had been hired by someone else, someone unknown.
"We can't touch Gelayev directly," Ivan said. "He's protected by his clan and by corrupt FSB officers. But we can make it expensive for him to continue."
"How?"
"Pay him off. Offer him a larger bounty to cancel the original. Turn his own game against him."
"How much?"
"Five hundred thousand dollars. Triple his current offer."
Alexei calculated. Five hundred thousand was nothing—less than a week's profit from his pipeline tolls. But the principle bothered him.
"So we pay a warlord to stop trying to kill me?"
"We pay a warlord to be someone else's problem. It's how business works in the Caucasus."
"Fine. Arrange it. But find out who hired him first. I want a name."
Three weeks later, Ivan had the name: a mid-level oil executive from a competitor that Alexei had displaced. The man had lost everything when Alexei's pipeline made his transport business obsolete. He'd hired Gelayev out of desperation, using the last of his savings.
"He's broke," Ivan said. "Living in a studio apartment. No connections. No future."
"Then he's not a threat. He's a warning."
"A warning of what?"
"That enough people hate me that one of them might eventually succeed. I can't stop them all. But I can make sure the cost of trying is higher than the reward."
Alexei instructed Ivan to pay off Gelayev, but to leave the desperate executive alone. A man with nothing had nothing left to lose—and killing him would only create a martyr.
That night, Alexei sat in his new apartment—a fortified penthouse with bulletproof windows and a secure elevator. Ivan's men patrolled the building's perimeter, watching for threats.
He opened his journal:
January 31, 1997
Three threats in one month. Transneft, Berezovsky, and an assassin. The Forbes listing changed everything.
I'm no longer the curious youngster who built a pipeline. I'm a target. A competitor. A problem that needs solving.
The response:
- Delay Transneft's regulation through political influence
- Neutralize Berezovsky's investigator through blackmail
- Pay off the assassin through brute force
Each response worked. But each response created new risks. The people I bribed now expect more. The blackmail victim will eventually try to escape. The warlord now knows my name.
This is the cost of being visible.
But the alternative is worse. If I weren't visible, I wouldn't have the infrastructure. If I didn't have the infrastructure, I wouldn't have the money. If I didn't have the money, I couldn't protect myself.
The circle closes.
I built walls to protect myself from poverty. Now I need walls to protect myself from other rich men.
So be it.
He closed the journal and checked his phone. A message from Boris: "Regulation delayed. Investigation stopped. Bounty canceled. You're safe. For now."
For now.
Alexei turned off the light and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere in Moscow, other oligarchs were also calculating, also planning, also building walls.
The game continued. And he intended to win.