Free Web NovelBerezovsky no longer showed any trace of his once-proud demeanor.
Instead, he glanced nervously at the agents beside him as he reached out and held my hand.
“President Kim, it’s been a while.”
“I suppose I can’t ask if you’ve been well. I heard you wanted to see me.”
Still holding my hand, Berezovsky nodded.
“Yes. I did want to see you. Come, let’s sit.”
He led me toward his study.
“You wait outside.” frёewebηovel.cѳm
The agents followed us into the study. Even as Berezovsky tried to dismiss them, they didn’t move.
I felt anew just how completely his influence had withered.
In the past, his word would have been law.
The phrase flowers do not bloom for ten days came to mind.
For ten years, Berezovsky had bent Russia’s politics and economy at will alongside Yeltsin.
But now, none of that remained. Frustrated, I stepped forward myself.
“Igor.”
I called his name quietly. Reading my eyes, Igor exchanged a few words with the agents and then led them all out of the study.
Only Manager Ma, Berezovsky, and I remained.
Perhaps because he saw with his own eyes that our positions had been reversed, Berezovsky’s face carried a look of irrepressible self-loathing.
“Berezovsky. I cannot spare much time. I am here only because of the bond we once had.”
I spoke coldly. He met my gaze, then slowly opened his mouth.
“I remember the day I first met you. I should have realized then, when you asked me to introduce you to Putin, why you wanted that connection.”
“And what does that matter now?”
A bitter smile crept to his lips.
“Yes... what does it matter now. The reason I called you here is...”
His voice trailed off as his fingers fidgeted with his hand on the table. It was the behavior of a man struggling to speak.
“Help me. I beg you.”
“You want my help?”
“Yes. I can give everything up. I only want to live quietly abroad, like Gusinsky. You could persuade Putin, couldn’t you?”
It was not even worth considering. I shook my head at once.
“You and Gusinsky are not the same. Gusinsky never supported Putin. But you did—and you know most of what he did to become president.”
“...”
Gusinsky had fled to Spain and never once spoke about Russian politics again.
But Berezovsky was different. Even after seeking asylum in England, he constantly criticized Putin and hurled negativity toward Russia.
Putin understood his nature and gave him the punishment he deserved.
“Even if I spoke to Putin about you, he would never listen. No—shall I be honest? Even if I could persuade him, I have no reason to.”
Berezovsky had once served as the bridge connecting me to Putin. With that role finished, all that remained for him was ruin.
Curling my lips into a cold smile, I added:
“You haven’t forgotten, have you, Berezovsky? That day you threatened me in front of the hotel.”
I still remembered clearly—how he had shot his own driver before my eyes, using it as a warning.
“You are in this position now because of that arrogance. Every action you took has come back like a boomerang. If you didn’t want this end, you should have flattened yourself when Roman came to you. If not, you should have fled. I warned you, but you didn’t listen.”
Had he humbled himself and watched carefully, Putin might have treated him better than this.
“You couldn’t even properly grasp the kind of man Putin is. And why would I help someone like that? I am a businessman. If there is no profit, I cannot help.”
Berezovsky’s face stiffened. His clenched fist trembled with humiliation.
“You...”
“What did you expect? That if you asked me, I would say ‘Yes, of course. I’ll speak to Putin for you’?”
“...You go too far. Then why come see me at all? To laugh at my misery? Like Roman?”
He spat Roman’s name with venom, his face twisted in rage. No longer even pretending to hide his emotions. I sneered.
“Roman will survive. Unlike you, he knows how to bow low when he must. As for loyalty to you—I consider him to have repaid it in full by saying nothing to Prime Minister Primakov when that man pressed me.”
“...”
I had not come here to help Berezovsky.
“I have repaid the favor. Now it is time for you to pay for the day you tried to threaten me.”
Perhaps because of the smile on my face, Berezovsky exploded with fury the moment he heard it, springing to his feet.
“What did you say? President Kim, you!”
He slammed the table and glared at me. The sound was loud, but my eyes stayed calm as I continued:
“To see you lose your temper tells me you still have some life left in you.”
“This is Russia. Even if I am cornered, I can still—against someone like you...”
I cut him off as he ground his teeth.
“You still do not understand reality? A man who cannot endure even this much humiliation—what kind of plea is that? Even Roman, whom you nurtured, has a broader heart than you, Berezovsky.”
“Don’t compare me to Roman!”
To flaunt his pride even in desperation—he was smaller than I had thought. Shaking my head, I stood.
“Putin will not be like Yeltsin. He will not be a puppet president manipulated by men like you. He will be Russia’s true Tsar. And the one who threw away the chance to walk beside him is you, Berezovsky.”
When Berezovsky had risen, Manager Ma already had a gun trained on him. I pressed his hand down and smirked.
“That was your last chance, Berezovsky. If you had simply knelt, begged for your life, apologized for what you did to me—I might have helped you.”
Had he tried to sway me, or laid his cards on the table, I might have considered it. But instead, he had tried to pressure me with a shred of power.
Berezovsky, intoxicated by past glory and clinging to pride, gave me nothing but disappointment.
“Putin will put you on trial to mark his farewell to Yeltsin. Disappear as the foundation stone of Putin’s power, Boris Berezovsky.”
Looking at his face, filled with humiliation, I renewed my vow never to become like him.
He tried to act strong, but he knew better than anyone what his fate would be.
Biting his lip, he stood motionless like a nailed post. I turned and opened the study door without another word.
Perhaps my leaving snapped him awake; Berezovsky hurried after me, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) reaching for my shoulder. But Manager Ma blocked him.
With a crushing grip, Manager Ma pinned his hand and delivered a chilling warning.
“Do not lay hands on the Boss without permission.”
Igor, speaking with the agents nearby, noticed and rushed over.
“Boss!”
“The conversation is over. There’s nothing more to say.”
Manager Ma released his grip and came to my side. The FSB agents closed in on Berezovsky.
“President Kim, wait... just a moment—”
“The conversation is over. Take him away.”
There was no longer any point in speaking. At my cold glare, the agents seized Berezovsky by both arms.
“President Kim! President Kim!”
Dragged off, he kept calling out my name in a pitiful voice.
Ignoring his cries, I left the house.
The car slowly pulled away from Berezovsky’s mansion.
Not long after passing the gate, my phone rang.
— President Kim. This is Medvedev.
It was Medvedev. Calling immediately after I left the house.
He had said he wouldn’t wiretap, but of course he had people monitoring me.
— I heard you just left Berezovsky’s mansion.
“Yes, just now.”
— Did you have a good conversation?
A good conversation? I let out a hollow laugh.
“He’s still trapped in the past. Tell Putin this—he can do exactly as I advised him back in Korea.”
— Mm... is that all I should say?
“That should be enough. I would have liked to see Putin once more before leaving Russia, but I have too much work in Korea. It will be difficult.”
— Understood. I will tell him.
“Thank you. Until next time.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my jacket. Weariness hit me all at once, and I sank into the car seat.
Soon, we reached the mansion. As I stepped out, I gave Igor an order.
“Make preparations so I can return to Korea tomorrow.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Before entering the house, I turned briefly. The sun was setting, twilight settling in.
Time passed quickly.
As instructed, Han Kyungyeong quickly began clearing contracts with every bank and insurer we had signed forward deals with, including UT Investment Bank.
Meanwhile, the U.S. presidential election had begun, and the world’s eyes were fixed on America.
Unlike Korea, where citizens directly vote for the president, America used an indirect system through the Electoral College.
Citizens in each state vote for electors, and those electors in turn vote for the presidential candidates.
Thus, in America, a candidate who wins the popular vote can still lose the presidency.
In history, Al Gore won more votes, but lost in the Electoral College to Bush.
Unless something unusual happened, history would unfold the same way again.
“How much longer?”
“About ten minutes, Boss.”
The U.S. election was important, but something even more significant had occurred.
Chairman Song Youngjoo of Daehyeon had collapsed.
The moment I received word that he had been rushed to Korea National University Hospital, I headed there immediately.
Fortunately, I was told he had regained consciousness, but I did not turn the car around.
Soon, I arrived at the hospital and went up to the VIP ward where he was admitted.
By the time I reached the room, his entire family had already gathered outside.
But instead of worry on their faces, there was only the look of rivals watching one another.
The sound of shoes broke the tense silence in the hallway.
Hearing it, Chairman Song Chanwoo, who had been whispering to his secretary, turned. He rose and approached as our eyes met.
“President Kim Muhyuk.”
“Chairman Song Chanwoo. It has been a while.”
There was no atmosphere for a warm handshake. We skipped further pleasantries.
“I heard Chairman Song Youngjoo has regained consciousness. Has his condition improved?”
“Yes, he has come to his senses for now. At the moment, he is speaking with his personal lawyer.”
So, nothing too grave. Quietly relieved, I nodded.
But already, cracks had formed within the family.
I could see it in the hostile gazes his siblings cast at him as we spoke.
Chairman Song Chanwoo, aware of this, kept his words short.
At that moment, the hospital room door opened, and the lawyer stepped out. Every gaze turned toward him.
“President Kim Muhyuk, Chairman Song Youngjoo asks you to come in.”
I turned to Manager Ma.
“Wait here. I’ll meet the Chairman.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Passing the lawyer and secretary, I entered the room. Chairman Song sat upright against his raised bed.
“President Kim, you’ve come?”
“Yes, Chairman. It has been a while.”
His face had grown thin since I last saw him.
My expression showed concern as I walked slowly to his side. Seeing it, he let out a hearty laugh.
“I once boasted I would live to one hundred and twenty. All that turned out to be meaningless.”
His laughter filled the room, carrying with it the fleetingness of life.
