Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,21

minuscule next to the sums Orwell was hoping to secure on Zorn’s behalf. But Alix had never known a rich man who did not keep a very close eye indeed on his spending. Malachi Zorn was not known for being unduly extravagant in his own lifestyle. If he was willing to fund such extravagance for others, then he must have a reason for doing so. And Alix was by no means certain that the reason was as straightforward as Azarov assumed.

Her feelings had only intensified when she and Azarov had met Zorn himself at his Italian villa. All the guests owned their own private planes, yet jets had been laid on to spare them the cost of flying on their own account. The champagne had been served from magnums of 1982 Krug Collection, which retailed for around two thousand dollars each. The quantity of food provided had been far in excess of what could ever have been needed. Zorn’s reputation was surely enough to guarantee his fund all the money it could possibly need. So why was he going to such unnecessary lengths to impress?

When she had got back to London, where Azarov was spending the early summer before departing for the Mediterranean, Alix called her office and put two of her best researchers on to the task of compiling a dossier on Malachi Zorn’s new fund. The results were skimpy. There had been some coverage of Zorn’s plans in the media, especially from publications and websites aimed at financial professionals and wealthy individuals. Yet amidst all the promotional puffery and awestruck descriptions of both Zorn’s financial prowess and his investors’ vast wealth there was very little hard detail about precisely what he planned. She emailed back a terse message. ‘I need more. Want to know about his set-up: offices, staff, overheads, etc. What’s he paying Orwell? Where’s the investors’ money going? More! AV’

Again, the response was disappointing. For all the hype, there was little to be seen of the fund itself. Perhaps that was no surprise. Zorn had spent his entire working life as a one-man band, working his magic from a single desk. Why would it be so different, just because the money he was risking came from a new source? And then one detail caught her eye. Zorn had leased office-space in London and Manhattan. In both cases he had chosen prime properties in exclusive locations. But when Alix looked closely, the offices had something else in common: Zorn had only signed three-month leases, of which more than two months had already expired. She had produced this fact as a trump card earlier in the evening, as she had pleaded with Azarov to reconsider his decision.

‘If this is intended to be such a great new business, why will the leases run out so soon?’ she asked. ‘That does not sound to me like a man who is planning for the long term.’

‘Maybe it is a man who thinks he will need more space by then,’ Azarov had countered. ‘Maybe he looks at the way the real estate market is going, and knows that he will soon be able to get a better deal. Or maybe he is just smarter than you, my darling, and is making decisions that you cannot understand.’

‘Maybe he is being too smart for you too, Dmytryk. Have you considered that? Have you asked yourself why this man who already makes billions without a single penny of anyone else’s money suddenly runs to men like you for help?’

‘Because he wants to make even more billions for himself.’

‘Why? How much more does he need?’

Azarov laughed. ‘How much does anyone need? It is not about need. It is about winning. It is about being the best. It’s that way for all of us. The money is just the way we keep score.’

‘Well, I hope you know what you are doing. I think you are making a terrible mistake, and you will live to regret it.’

‘Oh, really?’ sneered Azarov. ‘And how would you prefer that I spend it? On more jewels and pretty dresses for you, my pampered darling? I suppose that’s what you expect, after all. Your services have always come at a price.’

Her slap hit his face like a full stop at the end of the sentence.

‘How dare you?’ Alix hissed. ‘I have never asked you for a penny. I earn my own money and pay my own bills. And what right have you, a petty thief from the gutters of Kiev, to look down