Free Web NovelRoman was still quietly building power behind the first-generation oligarchs.
I kept a straight face and continued our casual conversation.
“Do you like football, by any chance?”
I smiled at Roman’s question.
“Of course. Korean men are crazy about football. Ever since we co-hosted the World Cup with Japan in 2002, national interest has been sky-high.”
“Ah, yes. I heard about the co-hosting news. I really hope Russia qualifies for the finals. If I end up visiting Korea then, could you show me around?”
“Of course. Come anytime. I’ll guide you myself.”
“Roman, your whole face changes when football comes up.”
At Berezovsky’s teasing, Roman gave a sheepish grin.
“Alright, enough chit-chat. There are still a lot of people I need to introduce you to. Let’s go.”
Berezovsky led me, pulling me from my conversation with Roman, and took me into the center of the crowd.
It seemed to be his way of repaying me for keeping quiet even under pressure from Prime Minister Primakov.
He had even brought it up briefly at the party yesterday.
“Gusinsky.”
At Berezovsky’s call, a man turned his head from the conversation he’d been having with someone else.
“Let me introduce you. This is the Mr. Kim I told you about.”
“Nice to meet you, Chairman Gusinsky. I’m Kim Muhyuk.”
“Vladimir Gusinsky.”
He was none other than the media tycoon who held a tight grip on Russia’s press.
Funnily enough, he had the same first name as Putin—and they were the same age.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. They say that if the U.S. has Murdoch, then Russia has Chairman Gusinsky.”
“Thank you. That’s a flattering comparison.”
Gusinsky smiled at my smooth flattery.
Given that Murdoch was his role model, his response made sense.
“Why don’t you appear on one of our broadcasts someday?”
“It would be an honor if you invited me.”
Following Berezovsky around, I conversed with both first-generation oligarchs and the second and third generations who were still a bit lacking but would rise quickly with Putin’s regime.
Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the chairman of Yukos.
The cold-blooded corporate raider, Vladimir Potanin.
The steel king, Viktor Vekselberg.
The oil king, Vagit Alekperov.
If you added up the assets of everyone here, it would account for more than half of Russia’s wealth.
There were so many that I got tired just from shaking hands.
Perhaps influenced by Berezovsky, most of them were friendly toward me.
Eventually, I left the garden and had a private conversation with Berezovsky inside the mansion.
“So? This is where Russia moves.”
Berezovsky seemed proud of having shown off the full extent of his power.
This must be what it looks like when political power meets financial power.
But this man was destined to vanish into the shadows of history.
I smiled and hid my thoughts.
“It does feel that way.”
“Thanks for keeping your promise.”
“You already thanked me yesterday.”
“If you had spoken up, President Yeltsin might have fallen. I was just the start—Primakov’s real target was always Yeltsin.”
It seemed I’d really gotten on Berezovsky’s good side.
“Did you like the mansion?”
“It was wonderful. Though construction isn’t finished yet, just seeing it was enough to impress me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. More importantly, forget about that corporate acquisition we discussed before.”
Now that he had eliminated his political enemy, there was no reason to reshuffle his companies.
Berezovsky was completely underestimating Putin’s ambitions.
“Yeltsin will be announcing his resignation soon.”
I already knew that from Putin, but I feigned surprise.
“Putin will lead Russia as acting president until next year’s election. The problem is, even among the oligarchs, opinions are divided.”
Berezovsky was backing Putin.
Gusinsky was supporting Moscow mayor Luzhkov.
The oligarchs were split into two factions.
“Everyone agreed on reelecting Yeltsin, but they’re divided over his successor.”
“May I ask why you chose Putin?”
“He’s someone I recommended, and he listens well. Luzhkov’s been in politics too long—he’s too seasoned. Gusinsky has no choice but to support him since they’re practically like sworn brothers.”
As expected, Berezovsky had no idea about Putin’s true ambition. He just thought of him as some greenhorn who’d recently stepped into the political world.
He probably hoped to divide up power under Putin the same way he had under Yeltsin.
But Putin wasn’t the type to share power.
“I don’t know much about Russian politics.”
“Of course not. You’ve got no stake in this. So who would you back? Putin? Luzhkov?”
“I do have some ties to Prime Minister Putin, so my opinion may not be objective.”
“Still, go ahead and share. All of us have huge interests riding on this.”
I thought for a moment.
No matter what I said, Berezovsky would do whatever he wanted.
If anything, praising Putin too much could make him see me as a rival.
“Putin, Luzhkov... whoever you choose, it’s all the same. Wouldn’t the best choice be someone you can control? You should think about who will benefit you more—Putin, whom you support, or the mayor of Moscow, whom Gusinsky supports.”
“That’s a textbook answer.”
“There’s a reason the textbook answer is the right one. You already know that, don’t you?”
Apparently not quite satisfied, Berezovsky furrowed his brow in thought.
“But if the person you support takes power, you’ll have a chance to eliminate your competitors and stand alone, won’t you?”
He nodded silently.
Right now, the first-generation oligarchs who helped reelect Yeltsin—including Berezovsky—were fairly dividing up their spoils.
But he wasn’t the type to pass up the chance to wipe out the competition.
In the end, no matter who backed whom, the real successor to Yeltsin would be decided by the will of the Kremlin.
And since Berezovsky had a close relationship with Yeltsin’s family, his influence couldn’t be ignored.
“That’s true. Absolutely.”
Seemingly pleased with my answer, he finally smiled and stood up.
“Here I invited you to a party and just kept talking about boring things. Let’s head out. Come back to Russia after the election next year. There’ll be plenty to gain.”
“Understood.”
I followed Berezovsky out of the room.
Then, with a glass of wine in hand, I wandered through the garden alone, taking it all in.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
Roman approached and asked.
“Ah, Chairman Roman.”
“Drop the ‘Chairman.’ Just call me Roman. And could I ask your English name? I find your name a bit hard to pronounce.”
“It’s Charlie.” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
“Charlie. Great. I’ll call you Charlie, and you call me Roman.”
“Sounds good, Roman.”
Roman smiled broadly.
“You said you like football?”
“Yes.”
“Do you watch the Premier League?”
“Yes. Domestic leagues are a bit... well...”
“Hahaha. Same here. In the end, football is money. Where the money flows, the best players gather—and the leagues become fun to watch.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
Roman really did seem to love football.
No wonder he bought Chelsea and turned it into real-life Football Manager.
“Do you support any particular team?”
“Manchester United. I prefer the manager over the players. Sir Ferguson.”
“I see. I like Chelsea. Their performance isn’t great, but still.”
A Chelsea fan, huh? I thought he just bought a club that happened to be up for sale.
Our football talk wouldn’t end.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had such an enjoyable conversation. Charlie, let’s keep in touch.”
“I’ve enjoyed this too.”
“How about this—next time, let’s each buy a football club and face each other in the Premier League. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“That sounds like a lot of fun.”
Not something I’d ever thought about before.
“Well then, see you next time.”
Our long conversation ended as Berezovsky called out for Roman.
I went with him to say goodbye to Berezovsky, then left the party.
As someone who knew the future, it was both amusing and hollow.
“I’ll never fall like those people.”
The words I muttered like a monologue lingered in the car.
* * *
The day I returned to Korea after my time in Russia, Kim Hakgwon summoned me to the Blue House.
“It’s been a while, Mr. President.”
“Welcome, Mr. Kim.”
It was a fake smile, but we exchanged pleasantries nonetheless.
“Have a seat.”
Kim Hakgwon dismissed even the chief of staff.
“I heard you helped the Foreign Minister in Russia?”
“It was just a coincidence. I couldn’t ignore it. After all, I’m still a citizen of the Republic of Korea.”
“True... So, do you have connections in Russia?”
“Business takes me all over. I thought you already knew, Mr. President.”
Lee Chanjong, the former head of the NIS, had destroyed most of the records he’d collected on me before stepping down.
But I was sure the new director appointed by Kim Hakgwon was feeding him everything he could find.
I would’ve liked to win that person over too, but Kim Hakgwon wasn’t a fool. After getting burned once, he wouldn’t appoint someone easily swayed by me.
He didn’t refute what I said.
“You’re close to the newly appointed Prime Minister Putin?”
“Yes, a little.”
“You’re better than our Foreign Ministry.”
Kim Hakgwon sighed.
Seems like his attitude had changed quite a bit.
“Why are you always so combative with me?”
I gave a short laugh at that.
“Mr. President, I haven’t been combative. You were the one who tried to put a leash on me, remember? I’m not a dog. It’s hard to trust or show goodwill toward someone like that—especially when it wasn’t even that long ago.”
“...”
“I did help you come to power. But in return for my goodwill, I got suspicion.”
“This is South Korea! A place we proudly claim is a gun-free zone! Yet a firearm was used here. How could I just let that go?”
Now that’s the perfect example of gaslighting.
“If you needed a scapegoat, I would’ve given you one—someone in a way that benefited you. The gun wasn’t the issue. You just wanted an excuse to control me. Am I wrong?”
“...”
He had no answer now that the tables had turned.
“You should’ve just left me alone. Then I would’ve helped you with everything I had.”
“I made a mistake. I regret it.”
Regret, huh.
Sure. You’re just too proud to say /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ you’re sorry.
Not that an apology from Kim Hakgwon had any value anyway.
“It’s alright. I understand.”
“Thank you. I hope you’ll assist the government from now on.”
“I will—if it’s something I can do and it doesn’t harm me. But you have to promise me something in return. Don’t meddle in what I do anymore.”
Seems the Foreign Minister said something nice about me when he got back from Russia.
“Alright. I’ll agree to that.”
“Good.”
Who knew what he was really thinking—but now he wouldn’t be able to openly interfere with me.
As I left the office, Chief of Staff Park Wonseop scowled as our eyes met.
I laughed. How pathetic.
On the way home, I casually spoke to Chief Ma.
“Kim Hakgwon wants to reconcile. Probably a double-faced strategy. Keep an eye on the government—there’s likely something brewing.”
“Yes, Boss.”
A few days later, I got a call from Wen Jiabao.
— Mr. Kim, I’ve spoken with Wang Gang. We’ve also handled things with the Hong Kong government, so there should be no problem extracting him.
“Thank you. I’ll contact you again once it’s over.”
— I’ll be visiting Korea next month. Let’s talk then.
“Yes, see you then.”
Soon after, Eric contacted me. Mei Hong had been subdued, and they were on their way to Korea on the private jet.
“Chief Ma, have him taken to the factory.”
“Understood.”
While Chief Ma left, I pulled out my phone and called Eva.
— Boss!
“Eva, are you busy?”
— I am, but if you’re calling, I’ll come.
“I’ll pick you up. We’re going somewhere.”
— Where?
“You’ll find out when we get there. Just wrap up what you’re doing.”
It was time for Eva to face her trauma head-on.
It would be hard—but I planned to make her confront it, and kill him with her own hands.
