Deal with the Devil

Chapter 1

Siberia, 1992

About 100 miles north of Norilsk, a lone hunting lodge dotted the almost white landscape. The ice-cold wind would send chills down anyone's spine, but the air inside the lodge was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of aged cognac.

Five men sat around a heavy oak table, their faces lit by flickering firelight.

These were no ordinary men — they were the architects of a new Russia, the soon-to-be oligarchs who would shape the destiny of a fallen empire.

Viktor Volkov, a bear of a man with steel-gray eyes, leaned forward, his meaty fists clenched on the table. "Gentlemen, the Soviet Union is long dead now. It's now or never for us to seize power."

Anatoly Karpov, thin and sharp as a blade, nodded in agreement. "Yeltsin's government is still weak. They'll practically give away our industries in the name of privatization."

"But we must move carefully," cautioned Dmitry Sokolov, the youngest of the group. "The people are restless. We can't appear too eager."

Igor Petrov, a former KGB officer, smirked. "Leave the people to me. A few well-placed bribes, a bit of media control, and they'll be too busy fighting each other to notice us."

The fifth man, Mikhail Volkov — no relation to Viktor — had remained silent until now. He was the strategist, the one who saw beyond immediate gains.

"We must think long-term, gentlemen. Yes, we'll take control of the industries, but we need a puppet in the Kremlin. Someone who'll dance to our tune."

The others nodded, raising their glasses in a toast to their audacious plan.

Little did they know that their ambitions would set in motion a chain of events that would reshape not just Russia, but the global economy itself.

Moscow, 2002

A decade later, the same five men gathered in a luxurious penthouse overlooking the Moscow skyline. The mood was tense, a far cry from their triumphant meeting in Siberia.

"Putin has turned on us," Viktor growled, pacing the room like a caged animal. "The taxes, the controls... he's trying to clip our wings."

Anatoly, now sporting a designer suit and a paunch, shook his head. "We miscalculated. He was supposed to be our man, but he's got ambitions of his own."

Mikhail, ever the voice of reason, raised his hand for silence. "Gentlemen, we need to adapt. The world is changing. The Americans have shown us a new path with their dot-com boom."

Dmitry, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward. "What are you suggesting, Mikhail?"

"We diversify. We launder our assets into something new, something Putin can't easily control. The internet, social media, startups — that's where the future lies."

Igor, his hair now gray but his eyes as sharp as ever, nodded slowly. "And how do we do this without raising suspicion?"

Mikhail's lips curled into a smile. "We find hungry young entrepreneurs, people with big dreams but no means. We become their fairy godmothers, but with strings attached. Angel investors, they call it in Silicon Valley."

The men exchanged glances, a spark of excitement rekindling in their eyes. They had built an empire from the ashes of the Soviet Union. Now, they would adapt and conquer this new digital frontier.

As they raised their glasses once more, none of them could have predicted how their plan would intersect with the lives of four ambitious roommates in Delhi, half a world away. The game was about to change, and the stakes had never been higher.