December 25, 1994 – Neva Bank Moscow Branch, Alexei's Office
The report arrived like a Christmas gift.
Lebedev placed it on Alexei's desk with a flourish, his expression a mixture of triumph and disbelief. "Read it. Slowly. Savor it."
Alexei picked up the document—a quarterly earnings summary from Neva Bank's corporate banking division. The numbers were impressive enough on their own, but one figure stood out:
Corporate Fees (Q4 1994): $1,047,000
"One million," Alexei said quietly. "In three months."
"One million and change. From account maintenance, wire transfers, letter of credit fees, consulting charges—all the little things that add up when you have enough corporate clients." Lebedev was practically glowing. "The Smolensky collapse drove them to us. The crisis made us look safe. And now they're paying us for the privilege."
Alexei studied the breakdown. The largest contributors were the oil traders—companies moving Surgutneftegaz product through their infrastructure. Next came the shipping companies, paying for letters of credit and international transfers. Then the construction firms, the import-export operations, even Leo's mysterious businesses, all paying their fees like clockwork.
"This changes things," Alexei said.
"How so?"
"We're not just a bank anymore. We're a machine. A million in fees, with no risk, no loans, no exposure—just service charges. This is recurring revenue. Predictable. Sustainable."
Lebedev nodded slowly. "We can count on this now. Build budgets around it. Plan expansions."
"Exactly."
The secure phone rang—the line reserved for General Sokolov.
Alexei picked it up, his mind still on the million-dollar report. "Yes?"
"Volkov." The General's voice was calm, measured, the voice of a man who had spent decades delivering bad news. "We need to meet. Tonight. Your office."
"What's happened?"
"Viktor Sokolov. He's been caught." A pause. "He was selling information. Military information. To people who shouldn't have it."
Alexei's blood ran cold. Viktor Sokolov—the angry veteran, the one who had never quite fit in, who had been meeting with shadowy figures for months. He had been a liability, a risk, a potential disaster. Now that disaster had arrived.
"How bad?"
"Bad enough. He's in military custody. He's talking. Not about you—yet. But he knows things. About the early deals, about the network, about how everything works. If he keeps talking, it leads to you."
Alexei's mind raced. "Can you contain it?"
"I can try. But it will cost."
"Whatever it takes."
The General's voice hardened. "We'll discuss terms tonight. Nine o'clock. Your office."
The line went dead.
General Sokolov arrived precisely at nine, as always. He was alone, which meant something—no aides, no security, no witnesses. He sat across from Alexei, his expression unreadable.
"Viktor Sokolov is a problem," the General began. "He's been selling information for six months. Unit locations, equipment inventories, troop movements—nothing top secret, but enough to get him shot if the wrong people find out. The military police caught him two days ago."
"And?"
"And he's been talking. Not about you—he's smarter than that. But about his contacts, his buyers, his methods. Eventually, someone will ask the right questions. Eventually, they'll connect him to Neva, to the early deals, to everything."
Alexei waited. The General hadn't come to deliver bad news without a solution.
"I've made some calls. Called in some favors. Viktor Sokolov will be transferred to a different facility tomorrow. The records of his interrogation will be... incomplete. The questions about his past associations will go unasked."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." The General's eyes were cold. "This cost me. Favors I can't call in again. Leverage I can't use elsewhere. And Viktor Sokolov is still a problem—just a contained one."
"The price?"
"Ten luxury watches. Rolex, Patek Philippe, the kind that open doors. And fifteen thousand dollars in cash. Not for me—for the people who made this go away. The ones who need to be reminded that Viktor Sokolov was a lone operator, not part of anything larger."
Alexei nodded. "Done."
"And Volkov?" The General leaned forward. "This is the last time. Whatever debt your grandfather held over me is paid. From now on, our relationship is... professional. Transactional. If you need help, you pay market rate."
Alexei met his gaze. "Understood."
The watches were procured within twenty-four hours. Ivan's network knew people who knew people—luxury goods, no questions asked, cash on delivery. Ten of the finest Swiss timepieces, worth perhaps fifty thousand dollars on the open market. Add the fifteen thousand in cash, and the total was significant but manageable.
Lebedev handled the transfer through one of the front companies. "Sixty-five thousand, all in. A week's fees, essentially."
"Worth it. Viktor Sokolov could have destroyed us."
"He still could, if he talks."
"He won't. The General's people will make sure the right questions aren't asked. And Viktor knows that if he brings us down, he loses his only leverage." Alexei paused. "Where is he now?"
"Transferred to a facility in the Urals. Low security, easy duty. He'll serve a few years, then disappear. The General arranged it."
Alexei nodded. Viktor Sokolov was contained. The threat was neutralized. But the cost was real—not just the money, but the relationship with the General. That debt was paid. Future help would come at market rates.
December 28, 1994 – Neva Bank Moscow Branch, Alexei's Office
The million in fees still sat on his desk, a reminder of what they had built. But the events of the past days had cast a shadow over the achievement.
Lebedev reviewed the final accounting. "Sixty-five thousand for the General's people. Plus another twenty in legal fees and incidentals. Total cost of the Viktor Sokolov situation: eighty-five thousand. About eight percent of the quarter's fees."
"Acceptable."
"Barely. But it could have been worse. Much worse."
Alexei nodded. He had survived another crisis. But the warning was clear: the empire was growing, and with growth came attention. Viktor Sokolov was a symptom of a larger problem—the difficulty of controlling an organization that had expanded beyond the personal network of loyalty.
"We need better screening," Alexei said. "For new hires, for partners, for everyone. No more Viktor Sokolovs slipping through."
Lebedev nodded. "I'll work with Ivan on protocols."
"And the General?"
"Paid. The watches were delivered this morning. The cash was transferred through the usual channels. He's satisfied."
For now. But the relationship had changed. The debt was paid. Future favors would cost more.
Alexei turned to the window, looking out at the Moscow skyline. A million in fees. A contained traitor. A shifted relationship with a powerful ally.