June 1997 | Age 22 | Neva Group Headquarters, St. Petersburg
The June sun barely penetrated the heavy curtains of Alexei's office. He sat in darkness, watching the numbers on his screen. Olga had been working for three weeks, tracing every financial connection of Sergei Mikhailov—Transneft's dirty-work specialist.
"We have him," Olga said, entering without knocking. "Not just the rumor. Everything."
She placed a thick folder on the desk. Alexei opened it.
Inside: bank statements, loan documents, corporate registrations, and a web of interconnected companies that would make a spider dizzy.
"Sergei Mikhailov," Olga began, "is not just a Transneft employee. He's also the beneficial owner of Volga Logistics, a transport company that Transneft contracts for maintenance and repair."
"How much do they pay Volga Logistics?"
"Forty million rubles annually. Approximately seven hundred thousand dollars at current exchange rates."
Alexei studied the documents. "Volga Logistics has three employees and no assets. It's a shell. Mikhailov is billing Transneft for work that isn't being done."
"Embezzlement," Olga confirmed. "Clean and simple. But that's not all."
She pulled out another page. "Mikhailov also borrowed heavily to speculate in the stock market. Two million dollars, secured against his Transneft shares and his personal real estate. The loans are coming due."
"And?"
"And the collateral has lost value. His Transneft shares are down fifteen percent since the Petrovsky spur announcement. His real estate is illiquid. He can't pay."
Alexei smiled for the first time in weeks. "So we have embezzlement evidence. And we know he's overleveraged."
"We can destroy him," Olga said. "Or we can use him."
Alexei called Boris and Ivan into the office. The four of them sat around the conference table, the Mikhailov dossier spread before them.
"Two options," Alexei said. "Option one: we send the embezzlement evidence to Transneft's board. Mikhailov is fired, prosecuted, imprisoned. Option two: we use the evidence to force Mikhailov to cooperate with us."
"How would cooperation work?" Boris asked.
"Mikhailov tells us everything about Transneft's plans. Their political connections. Their vulnerabilities. Their next moves against us. In exchange, we don't destroy him."
"And the loans?"
"We buy them. We become his creditor. Then we call the loans—demand full repayment. He can't pay, so we seize his collateral. Transneft shares, real estate, everything."
Ivan leaned forward. "That's legal?"
"Perfectly legal. He borrowed money. He can't repay. The lender—which will be a shell company owned by us—forecloses. Mikhailov loses everything, but we don't send him to prison. He gets to keep his freedom, his family, his life."
"And in return?"
"In return, he works for us. Quietly. Indefinitely. Any Transneft plan to attack us, he warns us in advance. Any vulnerability in their network, he exposes. Any politician they've bribed, he names."
Boris nodded slowly. "We turn their attack dog into our inside man."
"Exactly."
Three days later, Sergei Mikhailov sat in a warehouse on the outskirts of St. Petersburg—the same warehouse where Dmitri Volkov had been questioned months earlier. Ivan's men had picked him up outside his Moscow apartment, blindfolded him, and driven him in circles for two hours.
He was a thin man, nervous, with darting eyes and a permanent sheen of sweat on his upper lip.
"You know why you're here," Alexei said.
"I know nothing. This is kidnapping. I have rights—"
"You have no rights." Alexei slid the dossier across the table. "Open it."
Mikhailov's hands trembled as he flipped through the pages. Bank statements. Loan documents. The Volga Logistics contracts. Evidence of embezzlement. Evidence of his stock market speculation. Evidence of his insolvency.
"Where did you get this?"
"I have people. Good people. They found everything."
Mikhailov looked up, his face pale. "What do you want?"
"Your cooperation. You're going to tell me everything about Transneft's plans. Their political allies. Their vulnerabilities. Their next moves against me."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then the dossier goes to Transneft's board, the prosecutor general, and every journalist who's ever written about corruption in the energy sector. You go to prison. Your wife loses the apartment. Your children grow up visiting you in a cell."
Mikhailov stared at the table. His hands stopped shaking—not from calm, but from resignation.
"If I cooperate, what happens to me?"
"You keep your job. You keep your freedom. You keep your family. But you work for me. Any Transneft plan to attack my businesses, you tell me. Any politician they've bribed, you name. Any vulnerability in their network, you expose."
"That's treason."
"That's survival. You started this. You spread the rumor about my bank. You tried to destroy me. Now I'm giving you a chance to make it right."
Mikhailov was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"What do you want to know?"
For the next four hours, Mikhailov talked. He named names: the Transneft executives who approved the rumor campaign, the politicians who received bribes to support Transneft's monopoly, the journalists who were paid to write negative stories about private pipelines.
He revealed vulnerabilities: Transneft's aging infrastructure was prone to breakdowns, their cost structure was bloated by overstaffing, their political support was eroding as regional governors grew tired of their arrogance.
And he revealed the next attack: Transneft was planning to lobby for a new law requiring all pipelines to be certified by the state—a certification that only Transneft could provide.
"They're going to make your pipeline illegal," Mikhailov said. "Not directly. They'll frame it as a safety regulation. But the certification process will take years. By the time you get approval, your customers will have returned to Transneft."
"When?"
"The draft law is being written now. It will be introduced in the Duma this fall. They expect it to pass by December."
Alexei absorbed the information. Six months. That was his window.
"Who's drafting the law?"
"A deputy named Viktor Korovin. He's on Transneft's payroll. Fifty thousand dollars annually, plus campaign contributions."
"Can he be turned?"
"No. He's too deep. But his assistant—a woman named Irina Volkonskaya—she's not on the payroll. She might be vulnerable. She has gambling debts. Expensive tastes. A lifestyle she can't afford."
Olga made a note. "We'll look into her."
As Ivan's men prepared to return Mikhailov to Moscow, Alexei pulled him aside.
"One more thing. If you betray me—if you warn Transneft about this conversation, if you try to protect yourself by exposing our arrangement—I will destroy you. Not financially. Not professionally. Completely. Your wife will leave you. Your children will disown you. Your colleagues will despise you. You will have nothing."
Mikhailov swallowed hard. "I understand."
"No, you don't. But you will."
Alexei gestured to Ivan. "Take him home."
That night, the team gathered to review the intelligence.
"Korovin is the key," Olga said. "He's drafting the law that would destroy our pipeline. If we can stop him—or change the law—we win."
"How do we stop him?"
"Three options. One: we bribe him directly. Two: we compromise him through his assistant. Three: we find something on him that we can use as leverage."
"What's his weakness?"
Olga pulled out a file. "Korovin has a mistress. A woman named Natalya. She lives in an apartment that he pays for—an apartment that costs more than his official salary. If we can prove the affair, we can blackmail him."
"That's the play. Find the evidence. Photographs, bank records, witnesses. Then we approach him. Not with a threat—with a proposal. He helps us amend the law to exempt private pipelines, and we keep his secret."
Boris nodded. "And if he refuses?"
"Then we destroy him. The affair becomes public. He loses his seat, his reputation, his future. He knows this. He'll cooperate."
That night, Alexei wrote in his journal:
June 30, 1997
Mikhailov is ours now. Not through loyalty—through fear. He'll tell us everything, not because he wants to, but because the alternative is worse.
This is how wars are won. Not on battlefields, but in back rooms. Not with weapons, but with information.
Transneft tried to destroy my bank. Now I'm destroying their network. One asset at a time.
Mikhailov is just the beginning. Korovin will fall next. Then the journalists on their payroll. Then the politicians in their pocket.
By the time I'm done, Transneft will have no friends left. No allies. No one willing to fight for them.
And my pipeline will still be standing.
That's the margin call. They borrowed against their influence. Now I'm calling in the debt.
And they can't pay.