July 5, 1993 – Moscow, Tverskaya Street
The building had seen better centuries.
It stood on Tverskaya, Moscow's premier thoroughfare, a six-story structure from the 1890s that had survived revolution, war, and seven decades of Soviet neglect. Its facade was crumbling, its windows boarded, its entrance blocked by a gate that had rusted open years ago. Pigeons nested in the cornices. Weeds pushed through the pavement. A faded sign announced it as the property of "Moscow City Property Committee" – a bureaucracy that no longer functioned.
Alexei stood across the street, Ivan beside him, both men studying the decay with professional interest.
Volodin had arranged this meeting. His trading company had done business with a small real estate firm that specialized in distressed properties. The owner, a man named Arkady, was waiting for them by the broken gate.
Arkady was in his fifties, with the hungry eyes of a man who had spent his life watching opportunities slip away. He shook hands quickly, nervously, his attention constantly darting to the street behind them.
"This building," he said, gesturing at the crumbling facade. "Six stories, three thousand square meters total. Prime location. Five minutes from the Kremlin. Worth millions, in a normal market."
"It's not a normal market."
"No. It's not." Arkady lit a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly. "The city wants to sell. They're desperate for cash. But the bureaucracy is a nightmare. Seventeen different agencies have claims on it. The Culture Ministry says it's historic. The Architecture Department wants approvals. The Property Committee can't agree on a price. Anyone who tries to buy it legitimately will spend two years in meetings."
"And if someone buys it... less legitimately?"
Arkady's eyes narrowed. "That depends. There are people who can push the paperwork through. For a fee. And there are people who can make the claims disappear. For a larger fee."
"How large?"
"For this building? Maybe two hundred thousand, all in. Plus the purchase price."
Alexei calculated. Two hundred thousand in bribes, plus whatever the city wanted for the building itself. It was a lot. But the potential value, once the title was clear and the building renovated, was in the millions.
"Can you introduce me to these people?"
Arkady studied him for a long moment. "You're young."
"I'm the one with the money."
A short laugh. "Fair enough. I'll make some calls."
July 8, 1993 – Moscow, A Private Office Near the Kremlin
The man's name was Kuznetsov, and he smelled of cheap cologne and desperation.
He sat behind a desk piled with files, his office a cramped space in a building that had once housed Soviet planning ministries. His suit was Soviet-era, his tie stained, his eyes constantly moving – the look of a man who knew his job was disappearing and was looking for a way out.
Arkady had made the introduction. Now Alexei sat across from Kuznetsov, Ivan a silent presence by the door.
"The Tverskaya property," Kuznetsov said, flipping through a folder. "Six stories, prime location, seventeen outstanding claims. The Culture Ministry, the Architecture Department, the Property Committee, three different historical preservation societies..." He looked up. "You want to buy it?"
"Yes."
"You know what you're getting into?"
"I know it's complicated. That's why I'm here."
Kuznetsov leaned back, studying him. "The city's asking price is one point eight million dollars. But that's just the beginning. You'll need to pay off the claimants, grease the wheels, make the paperwork disappear. Another two hundred thousand, at least."
"Can you make that happen?"
For a long moment, Kuznetsov said nothing. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper – a list of names, titles, and numbers.
"These are the people who need to be paid. In this order. For these amounts. If you miss one, the whole deal falls apart."
Alexei studied the list. Twelve names. Twelve prices. Total: two hundred thirty thousand dollars.
"And you?"
Kuznetsov's eyes flickered. "I'm not on the list."
"What's your price?"
"A job. When this is over, when the building is yours, I'll need somewhere to go. The Property Committee won't last another year. I need an exit."
Alexei considered this. Kuznetsov was corrupt, desperate, and useful. Exactly the kind of person who could be valuable – if handled carefully.
"You'll have a position. Real estate acquisitions. Neva Group is expanding."
Kuznetsov's eyes widened. "Neva? The trucking company? The bank?"
"The same."
A long pause. Then Kuznetsov nodded slowly. "I'll make the calls. Give me a week."
July 15, 1993 – Moscow, Various Locations
The next seven days were a blur of meetings.
A deputy minister who demanded twenty thousand dollars just to sign a release. A preservation official who wanted fifteen thousand to "re-evaluate" the building's historic status. A bureaucrat who asked for ten thousand and a promise of future work. Each meeting followed the same pattern: nervous glances, whispered figures, envelopes changing hands.
Alexei paid them all. Not with enthusiasm, but with the cold calculation that each bribe was an investment in the future. By the seventh day, he had spent nearly two hundred thousand dollars and collected a stack of signed documents, stamped approvals, and vague promises.
Lebedev met him at the hotel that evening, reviewing the haul with a mixture of awe and horror. "This is insane. We've spent a fortune, and we still don't own the building."
"We own the approvals. The building comes next."
"And if someone changes their mind? If a new official appears with a new demand?"
"Then we pay them too. The alternative is walking away from millions in potential value."
Lebedev shook his head slowly. "You're building an empire on bribes."
"I'm building an empire on relationships. The bribes are just... entry fees."
July 20, 1993 – Moscow, Property Committee Office
The final signature came from a tired-looking woman in a cramped office on the fifth floor. She didn't ask questions, didn't make demands, simply signed where Kuznetsov indicated and stamped the document with a heavy thump.
The building was theirs.
Alexei held the deed in his hands – a thick document covered in seals and signatures, officially transferring ownership of 47 Tverskaya Street to a company called "Moscow Commercial Properties," registered in St. Petersburg, owned by a holding company, ultimately owned by him.
One point eight million for the building. Two hundred thirty thousand in bribes. Total investment: just over two million dollars.
Estimated value after renovation: five million. At least.
Lebedev reviewed the numbers that evening. "If we renovate carefully, keep costs under control, we could double our money in two years."
"Or we could hold. Wait for Moscow real estate to explode. In five years, this building could be worth ten million."
"That's a long time to wait."
"That's how fortunes are built. Not in months – in years. In decades."
Lebedev studied him for a long moment. "You're nineteen."
"Nineteen."
"And you think like a man who's been doing this for fifty years."
"I had good teachers."
July 25, 1993 – Moscow, The Tverskaya Building
Alexei stood in the empty lobby, surrounded by dust and decay and potential. The building was a wreck – crumbling plaster, broken windows, the smell of decades of neglect. But beneath the decay, he could see it: marble floors restored, high ceilings painted, chandeliers hanging where bare bulbs now dangled.
Ivan walked through the space, his footsteps echoing. "This is going to cost a fortune to fix."
"Everything costs a fortune. The question is whether the fortune comes back."
"And does it?"
Alexei smiled. "Moscow is the capital. The center of everything. Real estate here will only go up. In five years, people will look back at today's prices and laugh at how cheap everything was."
Ivan nodded slowly. "You've thought this through."
"I've thought through everything. The question is whether I've thought through enough."
They stood in silence for a moment, two men in an empty building, surrounded by the ghosts of a country that no longer existed.
July 28, 1993 – Neva Bank, Alexei's Office
The numbers were solid.
First property acquired: 47 Tverskaya Street. Purchase price: $1.8 million. Bribes and fees: $230,000. Total: $2.03 million. Estimated renovation cost: $500,000. Total investment: $2.53 million. Estimated value after renovation: $5 million. Potential profit: $2.47 million.
Alexei reviewed the figures one last time, then filed them away. The real estate play was just beginning. There would be more buildings, more deals, more opportunities. Moscow was opening up, and those who moved early would own the future.
He thought of his grandfather's lessons. Fortune favors the prepared. He was prepared. He had capital, connections, a bank, a team. When opportunities appeared, he was ready to seize them.
His mother's photograph was in his pocket, as always. He touched it briefly.
Be better than this world.
He didn't know if buying distressed buildings with bribe money made him better. But it made him smarter. And in the world that was coming, smart might be the only thing that mattered.