Simon looked again at Marta Becknats, who was kneeling expectantly at his feet, and shook his head. "I'd advise against aiming to become the next Tymoshenko—her future won't be as bright as you think."
Marta hadn't anticipated this unexpected turn, her striking blue eyes widened slightly as her mind raced.
Yulia Tymoshenko had become Ukraine's most influential woman in recent years, rapidly building a business empire backed by powerful allies like Lazarenko. To Marta, Tymoshenko epitomized the pinnacle of a woman's success.
But what did Simon mean by "her future won't be good"? Could he be preparing to take control of Ukraine's energy sector?
As the effective manager of the hot spring estate, Marta diligently performed her duties while discreetly keeping tabs on various matters. With the Rovno syndicate growing in power, its senior members were eager to expand further. Marta, though relatively junior, understood that in today's Ukraine, no industry was as profitable as the natural gas sector Tymoshenko dominated.
Given the country's reliance on natural gas, not only for its own population but as a supply line to Western Europe, it was a sector rich with opportunities for exploitation. Marta also recalled a recent assassination attempt targeting a political figure.
An assassination attempt? Suddenly, Marta felt a chill down her spine.
Simon didn't elaborate further on Tymoshenko, nor did he concern himself with Marta's thoughts. Tymoshenko's rise and fall, and Lazarenko's own downfall, could all be summed up in one phrase: "Victory writes history."
Lazarenko's unchecked greed was undeniable, but that didn't mean the Kuchma faction was any more restrained, not to mention the recent brazen assassination tactics employed by the Donetsk clan.
Ultimately, the losers would have nothing.
Of course, Simon was aware that most people would struggle to foresee Tymoshenko's downfall, given her current prominence. At her peak, she symbolically controlled around 20% of Ukraine's GDP, even if some of it was an inflated figure. When Lazarenko fell, Tymoshenko's assets in Ukraine were swiftly stripped away. In later years, when financial disclosures became mandatory for elections, Tymoshenko's assets supposedly amounted to only a few hundred dollars, with no real estate in her name.
It was a laughable claim, given that Tymoshenko's daughter's wedding in the UK had cost hundreds of thousands of dollars just for the venue. However, this public financial declaration underscored how thoroughly her domestic assets had been wiped out.
For Simon, Tymoshenko's situation was comparable to that of Lazarenko. Once stripped of her empire, she had nowhere to turn. For oligarchs who sought asylum overseas, the wealthy might find themselves preyed upon by their new host countries. Those deemed "sheep" were invariably fleeced.
Lazarenko, for example, had fled to the USA hoping for asylum. Despite the favors he'd done for Western backers, he was instead met with prison and hefty fines, leaving him destitute and without the fortune he'd painstakingly accumulated.
Simon looked down at Marta's face and gently cupped her chin. "It's a pity. Ukraine is too small, and it's not the right time. Otherwise, you might've had a real shot at becoming another Chen Qing."
Marta didn't recognize the name but guessed it was a prominent figure in China.
After a pause, she asked cautiously, "Boss, then… could I leave with you? Leave Ukraine?"
"If you leave, who will manage things here?"
Marta pouted, rubbing her cheek against his hand like a cat. "Eve, or even Natalia. They're both capable."
"They're not as competent as you. Besides, you used to jump at every opportunity to take on more responsibilities, didn't you?"
Marta's tone turned pleading. "Boss, I was wrong."
Her expression reminded Simon a bit of Chen Qing.
There were only so many personality types in the world, and the Westeros family had a rigorous screening process for selecting companions, prioritizing loyalty and temperament. While most were like Eve—calm and compliant—a few exhibited the ambitious nature Simon favored. But the family couldn't handle too many ambitious types without risking discord.
After gently pinching Marta's cheek, Simon said, "You're 24. Stay here for two more years and help me manage things. Use the time to improve yourself. By the way, what's your current salary?"
"Two thousand dollars."
"Tell Eve tomorrow to raise it to her level. That's a decent sum here in Ukraine. You can start small, explore business within your control, and in two years, let's see how much you've grown."
"Thank you, Boss. I'll do my best."
She straightened herself, placing a tentative hand on his waist. Simon stopped her, shaking his head. "It's late. Get some rest; I need to sleep as well."
"Boss, may I join you upstairs?"
"No need."
He stood, and Marta followed him out of the sitting room.
In the hall, they parted ways, and Simon headed upstairs alone to his suite. The room was dimly lit, with only a few warm lamps casting a soft glow. He entered to find three figures on the sofa in the sitting area, each looking as nervous as a quail. When they saw him enter, they all stood up.
Simon glanced at Galina, who appeared both guilty and eager to please. Sensing her intent, he merely smiled and motioned toward the bedroom. "Come along."
With that, he entered the bedroom.
The next day, Monday, July 22nd, Simon remained in Rivne for another day of appointments. His morning involved visits to several factories, with a particular focus on Alderke Furniture, a company that had been growing steadily.
Over the past two years, Alderke had secured contracts beyond IKEA, now shipping truckloads of furniture to various European countries daily. Its own brand, Caterina Home, initially intended as a mid-tier line, had been repositioned to cater to the luxury market under the Melisandre umbrella, with a handcrafted focus.
Alderke's team was now developing a budget furniture line.
Furniture manufacturing also played a key role in Sergei Komorov's "Light Industry Consortium." While it was primarily focused on contract manufacturing, Simon was keen to avoid it becoming permanently relegated to an outsourcing role.
Lunch involved more socializing with local figures.
In the afternoon, Simon took a break at the military-themed amusement park, though there were still some matters to handle discreetly.
At a secluded firing range closed off to the public, three men in their forties were brought to the area. The first thing they noticed was a young man in military fatigues wielding an impressive anti-materiel sniper rifle, firing rounds in a steady rhythm. Despite knowing this shooting stance was unconventional, all three were still in awe. Handling such a heavy, high-recoil rifle with ease was no small feat, and they could appreciate the physical prowess involved.
As they approached, Simon finished his magazine, not even glancing in their direction as he reloaded and continued firing.
A tall, long-haired man among the three looked around nervously. The range was dotted with over a dozen guards positioned at varying distances. He quickly realized that any attempt to escape or resist was futile.
Simon continued firing through two magazines before stopping. He walked over to a nearby seating area, where Alexander handed him a towel to wipe his brow. Taking a seat on a bench, he finally turned to the three men who had joined him. After scanning their faces, he locked eyes with the long-haired man and motioned for Alexander and Andrei to step away.
They obeyed, exchanging a glance that suggested they'd identified the three men's probable background as former KGB officers, now mid-level operatives within the Westeros family's intelligence network in Ukraine. Memorizing their faces, Alexander and Andrei quietly left, ensuring they could later report on them if needed.
Simon looked through the file in front of him, his posture relaxed as he read. Meanwhile, the long-haired man stood there, sweating profusely despite the cool Ukrainian weather.
Finally, Simon spoke. "Viktor Yelyanev—that's your real name, isn't it?"
The man hesitated before nodding slightly.
Simon tapped the file on his knee, his gaze still fixed on Viktor. "Do you know why you're here today?"
Beads of sweat dripped from Viktor's chin as he knelt, shoulders slumped in resignation.
The three men were all part of Simon's private intelligence network in Ukraine, overseeing various operations. Though each worked independently, they shared a past as former KGB colleagues and had been recruited together due to their close bond.
Seeing Viktor's actions, the other two realized something had gone wrong, potentially implicating them as well.
Simon's expression gradually hardened as he observed Viktor. "Let's not discuss retirement benefits or the generous allowances I provide for your families. Just the basic salary you're receiving now is tens of times what you earned with the KGB. In almost any country, you'd belong to the elite. I believe that if I pay you so much, you're bound by contract—not only to loyalty but even to sacrifice if required. Viktor, do you agree with me?"
Viktor, still kneeling, kept his head down, his body trembling slightly, unable to meet Simon's gaze.
Simon continued without waiting for a response. "What you did wasn't entirely unexpected. After all, your task was to maintain connections with Ukrainian syndicates in Western Europe. But concealing it from me was a mistake. Worse, you killed a subordinate who objected. And then you misappropriated operational funds to set up a drug lab on Riv
ne's outskirts. Viktor, why did you think you could hide this from me in Rovno?"
The two other men now looked at Viktor with a mixture of complex emotions, understanding the gravity of his misdeeds.
Viktor's operation was straightforward. Over time, he'd discovered "opportunities" in the Western European syndicate he oversaw. He had then sourced two top chemists from Simon's vast academic recruitment at Rivne West School and misappropriated family funds to support his illicit enterprise—a story reminiscent of Breaking Bad.
Simon, however, said nothing further. He rose and left.
What happened afterward was no longer Simon's concern.
After watching Simon leave, Neil Bennett took out a handgun and placed it in front of Viktor. "Go in peace. Your death will be reported as a line-of-duty sacrifice, and your family will receive full benefits."
Viktor stared at the 7.62mm Tokarev for a long moment, the tremor in his hands stilled. He picked up the gun, glanced at his two friends nearby, and whispered, "Yuri, Boris, please look after Elena and the children. Thank you."
With that, he lifted the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the empty firing range, and Viktor's body slumped to the ground.
Neil looked impassively at the other two men. "From today on, your teams will no longer oversee your previous assignments. You will first take over Viktor's operations, consolidating Rovno's underground network. You'll be entitled to half of Viktor's revenue sources, with the other half going elsewhere."
Handing them a file, Neil continued, "This contains your instructions. That's all; you may leave."
Yuri Yagushevsky accepted the file, glancing down at Viktor's lifeless body. "Mr. Bennett, could we take Viktor's body to his family?"
Neil shook his head. "Someone else will see to that."
The two men exchanged looks, nodded, and left the firing range in silence.
Each driving their own vehicle, they finally stopped on the outskirts of Rivne. Exiting their cars, they leaned against the side of the road and lit cigarettes.
Yuri thumbed through the file, muttering, "Did you know about this?"
Boris Olyrevich hesitated, then nodded. "I got a call from Viktor last week when I was in France. He said he wanted to discuss something and thought you should join us."
Yuri's expression darkened. "I should have stopped him."
He had known more than the others, having been in charge of monitoring Rivne, but had opted to stand by, observing Simon's reaction. In the end, that decision had spared him.
After a few moments of silence, Boris asked, "What do you think he wants us to do?"
Yuri replied, "Initially, he didn't want any organized gangs in Rivne, but now he understands the reality. Eastern Europe is overrun with crime, and Rivne can't escape it. So he'd rather have us take control."
Boris nodded. "We're probably the best fit."
"Yes. Even with only half, we'll still be able to build up resources."
Boris considered it before asking, "What about the other half? He wouldn't care for it, would he?"
"Ever been hunting?"
"Huh?"
"A hunting dog, if overfed, won't chase game. But half-starved, it'll hunt fiercely."
The analogy struck Boris as both apt and irrefutable.
Yuri had accurately deduced Simon's intentions. Initially, Simon had hoped Rivne could avoid becoming a crime hotspot. Yet as he observed Eastern Europe's realities, he'd come to a different conclusion: it was better to control it. His personal appearance at today's confrontation was a clear message to Yuri and Boris that their accountability was to him alone, just as he could take Viktor's life, he could do the same to them.
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