Once Upon a Time in Russia (27 page)

Christ
. The man in the suit blinked, hard. He knew what he was supposed to think happened here; and really, he had no reason to believe that the scene in front of him wasn't as simple as it would
soon appear to the veritable brigade of police officers that would descend on this lavish mansion within the next few hours. The body on the floor, the suited man's employer of many years, whom he had last seen alive just eighteen hours earlier, had over the past few weeks become visibly depressed, despondent, and withdrawn. His final interview, which he'd given the night before, had almost been a suicide note: a despondent, lurching conversation, full of self-incrimination, dripping with desperation. A broken man, appearing even older than he actually was.

And no wonder; his boss's change in fortune over the past decade, and especially over the past few months, had been immense, the stuff of epic. This ending, a bathroom door locked from the inside, an apparent suicide by hanging, followed by the inexorable pull of gravity that had brought the body to the floor, capped a tragic spiral that probably couldn't have ended any other way.

But still, standing there in the doorway, seeing his boss lying there, cold, bruised, and twisted, it was hard not to wonder: could things really have been as simple as they seemed? And if so, how the hell had it come to this? How the hell had it all come crashing down?

The corpse on the floor had gone from being one of the richest men in the world to selling off his belongings—paintings, houses, cars—to pay off bills both professional and personal. His divorce from his second wife had cost him somewhere in the order of a quarter billion dollars. The lawsuit he had just lost had cost over one hundred million more, and there was a chance he was also on the hook for his opponent's legal feels, equally immense. He had split with his longtime partner, the Georgian, and had just finished battling his dead best friend's widow in court for a piece of her inheritance. In France, the government had taken most of his assets,
at the behest of the Russian government that was trying to recoup what they accused him of having looted from a variety of businesses.

And his financial problems were only part of his descent; he had gone from being one of the most powerful kingmakers in modern history to living in a sort of gilded exile. Bodyguards, armed security, bulletproof cars and boats and planes, all were a way of life for a man who had survived multiple assassination attempts—some real, some threatened, some perhaps imagined.

Yet somehow he had always recovered, clawing his way back into history again and again. Perhaps the only real surprise here, in this second-floor bathroom, was that this dead man's third act had dragged on so long.

Whatever the truth, the man in the dark suit knew that these things were well beyond his pay grade. He was simply a bodyguard, who no longer had a body to guard. Eventually, the police investigators would arrive. They would come with radiation detectors and chemical sniffers, they would dust for fingerprints and scan for any signs of foul play. And no doubt, they would find nothing that would lead them to any conclusion beyond the most simple and obvious.

Still, no matter what the police officers found, no matter what their eventual inquest into this apparent suicide concluded, the man in the dark suit was certain that his boss wasn't killed by a scarf around his throat, a fall that broke his neck, or even by way of a sip of polonium-laced tea.

Boris Berezovsky was killed months before his corpse hit the bathroom floor, felled by a judge's gavel. A judgment not simply of a civil case—even the biggest in recorded history—but of an epic story, and the unique, ambitious, sometimes delusional man at its core.

F
IFTEEN HUNDRED MILES AWAY,
in an empty, wood-paneled office, atop a cavernous desk, a dark red folder lay open, revealing monogrammed pages covered in a scrawl of handwriting—letters and words carefully applied, though running together in some places, mimicking their author's style of speech. Natural light spilled across the pages, mid-morning sun leaking into the room through a sliver between the thick, heavy drapes that covered one of the office's massive windows. Sunlight caught, refracted, and then reflected by the metallic coat of arms hanging high above the desk itself—a glorious double-headed eagle, talons on one side clutching a magnificent scepter, claws on the other clutching an ornate orb. Each head bore a matching crown, with a third crown even higher.

A few feet away from the desk stood an athletic man in a perfectly tailored suit, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't relish mornings; nor did he particularly like to spend time in this office, though it lay at the heart of the country he loved, and had vowed years earlier to fiercely protect. But sometimes, this office—and that enormous desk—were an unavoidable part of his job.

As for the letter in the folder—which he had indeed read, with a mixture of amusement, pity, and maybe even disgust—well, that,
on the other hand, was perfectly avoidable. Whether it would end up filed away somewhere or at the bottom of a drawer in that desk, he hadn't yet decided.

But whatever the case, he had more important things to think about than a sad, desperate, old man's letter, the etchings of an Oligarch who had enjoyed a spectacular rise—and an equally dramatic fall. In the end, in this room, in this place of true power—it was nothing more than ink on paper.

He had a long day ahead of him. A hundred problems to solve. A dozen people to meet. A handful of minor fires to put out.

A nation to rule.

He crossed the distance to the desk in two purposeful steps, and closed the folder, obscuring forever the handwritten pages inside.

O
NCE UPON A TIME IN
Russia
began with a phone call from the director/producer Brett Ratner, who told me I needed to get on a plane to London to meet someone with an incredible story to tell. I could not have imagined the adventure—both wonderful and terrifying—that would begin the minute I stepped off that British Airways flight; so first and foremost, I am indebted to Brett, whose energy and genius made this book possible. Likewise, I am extremely thankful for the generosity of my unnamed sources, who were willing to open up their lives to me during the year it took to research this book. I am in awe of the events described in this narrative, and am grateful to have been able to hear much of this story firsthand.

I am immensely grateful to Leslie Meredith, my wonderful editor; Donna Loffredo, associate editor; and the entire team at Atria/Simon & Schuster. I am also indebted to Eric Simonoff and Matthew Snyder, agents extraordinaire. Many thanks to James Packer,
John Cheng, and everyone at Ratpac for pushing me to write the best book of my career.

As always, I am indebted to my parents, and to my brothers and their families. Special mention to Trina Palance, who helps my family run smoothly. And to Tonya, Asher, Arya, and Bugsy—this is all for you.

Ben Mezrich
graduated magna cum laude from Harvard. Since then he has published twelve books, including the
New York Times
bestsellers
The Accidental Billionaires
, which was adapted into the Academy Award–winning film
The Social Network
, and
Bringing Down the House
, which has sold more than 1.5 million copies in twelve languages and became the basis for the Kevin Spacey hit movie
21
. He has also published the national bestsellers
Ugly Americans
,
Rigged
, and
Busting Vegas
, and
Bringing Down the Mouse
, a book for young readers. He lives in Boston.

ALSO BY BEN MEZRICH

Bringing Down the House

Ugly Americans

Busting Vega$

Rigged

The Accidental Billionaires

Sex on the Moon

Straight Flush

The X-Files: Skin

Fertile Ground

Threshold

Reaper

Bringing Down the Mouse

Seven Wonders

Andrews, Suzanna. “The Widow and the Oligarchs.”
Vanity Fair,
October 2009.

Associated Press. “Berezovsky's Billions: How the Tycoon Lost So Much.” March 26, 2013.

BBC News. “In Full: Litvinenko Statement.” November 24, 2006.

———. “Timeline: Litvinenko Death Case.” July 27, 2007.

Campbell, Duncan, and Tom Parfitt. “Confusion Envelops Litvinenko Even As He Goes to the Grave.”
The Guardian
, December 7, 2006.

Chazan, Guy. “Russian Tycoons Face Off in Court.”
The Wall Street Journal
, November 7, 2011.

China People's Daily
. “Russia Publishes Kursk Sailor's Death Note.” November 3, 2000.

Cowell, Alan. “Russian Ex-Spy Lived in a World of Deceptions.”
The New York Times,
December 3, 2006.

European CEO
. “Oleg Deripaska and the Russian Aluminum Wars.” January 24, 2012.

Gardham, Duncan. “Berezovsky v Abramovich Trial: How Boris Berezovsky Lost a Fortune.”
The Telegraph
, August 31, 2012.

Goldfarb, Alexander, translated by Catherine A Fitzpatrick. “Berezovsky, an Admirer's View.”
The Interpreter
, May 7, 2013.

Heintz, Jim. “Videotape Shows Litvinenko Feared Retribution.”
The Moscow Times
, May 24, 2007.

Helmer, John. “What the Butler (Well, Roman Abramovich's Cook) Saw.”
Business Insider Australia
, November 21, 2011.

Jordan, Mary, and Peter Finn. “Russian Billionaire's Bitter Feud with Putin a Plot Line in Poisoning.”
The Washington Post
, December 8, 2006.