the knowledge of what capitalism was, how it worked, and how it can make the right people rich.
Vitaliy Myatlev wasted no time. Within months of his departure from the KGB, he had opened several companies in Russia with foreign capital he’d been able to raise rapidly. He brought into the country luxury household items like ice-free refrigerators, washing machines, dryers, convection ovens, and microwave ovens. He knew not many Russians had money to buy these at first, but he would hold the stake in the appliance market, and once all the known brands had been deployed through his companies, no one else would be able to grab that distribution market from him. Moreover, all the KGB officers and Party officials who were loaded but had decided to keep their accumulated savings in Russia, had heaps of rapidly devaluing Russian Rubles to spend. Myatlev’s prices were ridiculously high, but his merchandise moved fast nevertheless. From Whirlpool to Kenmore to KitchenAid, he brought them all to Mother Russia, for a substantial profit.
He moved on to bringing wireless cellular services into a country that had almost no telecommunication infrastructure outside of the major cities and where citizens were forced to wait months for a new landline, despite the copious bribes they were willing to pay. The mobile phones addressed that need, and within a few years, almost eliminated residential landlines.
He still didn’t stop. Next, he built a few banks. He finally held the capital reserves needed to attract partner names like Credit Suisse and AIG, and to issue a credit card product of his own. After all, the Russians needed a financial institution to lend them money at predatory interest rates to pay for the highly expensive appliances and overpriced cell phones. Once the foundations of his financial empire had been laid, he proceeded to acquire vast amounts of real estate at ridiculous prices, knowing those prices would soon rise. He was able to foresee the inflation that soon took over Russia and moved his liquidities to hard currencies and gold.
He had already made the list of the top 100 richest people in the world, and that was before he started his oil and gas endeavors. He wasn’t going to stop; it was never going to be enough. His lust for power was tireless, and the thrill of the hunt was too exciting for him to give up.
Vitaliy Myatlev had moved to Kiev a few years before, when his wealth had grown to be large enough to cause him sleepless nights. Some of his old KGB friends had climbed the ranks of political power, achieving interestingly strategic and useful roles in the Russian government. One had just become President; the other had been the Minister of Defense for a while, holding that seat for a few years now. Their influence, kept motivated by large cash payouts, luxury cars, and custom-built villas, had proven very advantageous over the years. But Myatlev was not stupid. He knew their favor could turn into scorn overnight, and he couldn’t trust any of them. Therefore, Myatlev acquired the Ukrainian citizenship in addition to the Russian and Iranian citizenships he had gained at birth, bestowed upon him in a hurry and without due process by the Ukrainian Minister of the Interior. Of course, now the Minister had a new Mercedes S65 AMG, Lunar Blue Metallic, but there was a rumor spreading that a dying aunt from Germany had willed him the exquisite vehicle.
Myatlev opened the door to his suite as soon as Ivan swiped the access card and entered the imposing living room to find his guest reading a magazine, installed comfortably on the plush sofa. Fuck . . . he thought, remembering he was wearing only a white spa bathrobe.
His guest rose and extended his hand with a slight nod. Myatlev shook the man’s hand vigorously.
“Welcome, Mr. Zaidi,” he said in his most dignified tone of voice, trying to compensate for his inappropriate attire.
His guest, dressed to the nines, smiled and responded, “Or maybe I should say welcome, yes?”
“Yes, indeed, indeed. My deepest apologies for keeping you waiting and for having you endure through seeing me dressed like this,” Myatlev responded, making a hand gesture to apologize for his improper appearance.
His guest, Samir Jamal Zaidi, an Iraqi national of considerable wealth, was rumored to be well-connected to both sides of the political battlefield in his country. Welcomed in the high circles of American political power and equally honored in Iraq by various political factions otherwise at war with