Gold Digger

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Henri separated from them first thing in the morning, telling Nikolai not to worry, and Nikolai figured that whatever came out of this, even a bad ending was better than this drawn-out pressure. At the end of the day, it was people who mattered, not companies. And he preferred Henri and Ruslan over Cybele and LBM any day.

  But when the brokers ushered them into the meeting room—all wood-paneled and with a view over busy Mayfair—his stomach was boiling with acid. He stayed away from the offered coffee and instead looked toward the other end of the table, where both LeBeaus sat, surrounded by their pack of advisors, lawyers, and brokers. Whereas on his side—just Ruslan, who looked wrinkled and crumpled and puffed-up like he’d only gotten to bed at five in the morning, or like a disgruntled professor who really wanted to get back to his lab. Nikolai wished they’d taken at least one lawyer along. They’d met a couple who were so cold and professional they could freeze anybody’s balls off.

  Henri looked gorgeous in his light brown three-piece suit, hair perfect, a bit of stubble (because, yeah, they hadn’t managed to get up early enough to get shaved, and with a guy as dark as Henri, that immediately stood out, though he’d told him that was the French-Anglo heritage), and otherwise cool as a cucumber—an expression coined just for him. Nikolai kept himself from grinning at him. Leering openly at the up-and-coming junior of the enemy side would only confuse people. Though he did wonder if the elder LeBeau had any idea about Henri’s interests and orientation. Maybe they had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy.

  The older LeBeau sized Ruslan up from across the polished dark red table. Ruslan was scribbling notes on a dog-eared notepad with a pen he’d nicked from yesterday’s lawyer meeting. The scrape of the tip on paper was the only sound in the room for an uneasy fifteen seconds.

  “Well,” Ruslan finally said, but didn’t stop writing. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. LeBeau. It’s interesting to finally meet you in person.” His soft Russian consonants filled the room, and Nikolai wondered again if he’d ever taken either singing or public speaking lessons. There was no tightness in his throat when he addressed the man who was about to wrestle his company away from him. Then, with timing that bordered on genius, he stopped writing and looked toward LeBeau. “And to learn your intentions.”

  One of the hot young bankers was about to speak, but LeBeau stepped right into the opening. “Mr. Polunin. As of the last market close in Toronto, we own twenty-four percent of Cybele. We intend to announce a public tender for the remainder when the market opens in a few hours.”

  Ruslan nodded. “Seems like a good investment. Congratulations.”

  Nikolai stared at him and caught even Henri’s façade slipping, showing open disbelief. This was Ruslan’s defense? Congratulate the enemy on a sound decision and walk away defeated?

  “So you understand that Cybele is only being held back by your inexperience?” growled the older LeBeau. “And that the company needs a new CEO to prosper?”

  “My inexperience.” Ruslan pursed his lips in thought. “How much do you know about how business is done in the CIS states? Doesn’t matter, because I think you’ll eventually be able to pick up where we left off. But it’s a steep learning curve, let me tell you that.”

  LeBeau sneered. “Our offer is that you’ll stay on as senior consultant for such matters.”

  “I won’t be available.”

  “You’ll be compensated well.”

  Ruslan looked down at his notes. Nikolai glanced at them, but he couldn’t make out Ruslan’s handwriting. Not in Cyrillic. “I’m going to pursue other interests. Isn’t that what you usually write in these press releases?”

  Nikolai leaned over. “I can apologize and resign, you know that,” he whispered to Ruslan, but the man shook his head and whispered back, “It’s not about you, Nikolai.”

  Then Ruslan looked back at the bankers. “When I walk away, the whole management team is going to leave as well. Of course,” he said mildly, lifting a hand against protest, “you have the right personnel to replace everybody. You’re after the licenses and the agreements and the results of our drilling. You’ve made similar investments that have yielded an excellent return on investment. I honestly believe Cybele is going to be in good hands with you.”

  LeBeau looked confused and defensive. He’d probably been prepared for a locking of horns, possibly shouting, anger, a show of drama and dismay, and instead he got Ruslan who just conceded and folded and refused to play the game. As much as it hurt to see the writing on the wall, they were losing Cybele because there was no defense against a determined attacker with deep pockets. What Ruslan was denying LeBeau was the emotional payoff of being the guy with the biggest balls in the room.

  “The share options clause gets triggered during the takeover, so this will be expensive, but I have no doubt that you’re winning.” Ruslan took the pen and crossed one line out, then, after a moment’s consideration, the second. He looked up, attentive and mock-casual. “Anything else, or are we done?”

  LeBeau had recovered from the surprise and bared his teeth. “No, we’re done.”

  “Great. I really need a tea,” Ruslan said and took his notepad and pen off the table.

  “Not quite.” Henri cleared his throat and stood. He pulled a sheet of paper from his suit and pushed it over to his uncle. “I’m not going to be available to lead the takeover or Cybele’s integration.”

  “What do you mean?” LeBeau said and turned his attention like a storm front on Henri.

  “I’m quitting, effective immediately. I have enough untaken holidays that I won’t be coming to the office until my notice period is over.”

  “I made you!” roared LeBeau. “How dare you!”

  Henri grimaced. “Ah. Yes.” He looked flustered, and then glanced toward Nikolai, who smiled at him and waved him over. Henri turned his back on his uncle and all but ran to Nikolai’s side. Nikolai shielded him physically and herded both him and Ruslan out of the room.

  The door closed behind them and they rushed back down to reception. Nikolai expected to hear LeBeau shout, and his stomach was busy digesting itself with all the acid.

  “Are you sure about that? Your career?” he asked on the way out.

  Henri shrugged. “Well, it’s done, isn’t it?”

  “Coffee or tea?” asked Ruslan.

  Which was so like him that Nikolai couldn’t help laughing.

  They all but piled into the nearest coffee shop, which, this early in the morning, had an abundance of space.

  Between a smattering of tourists and shoppers, they stuck out somewhat in their suits, crowded around a small table and holding their paper cups, looking shell-shocked. There was just way too much rolling around in Nikolai’s head. They’d lost Cybele. Henri had tossed his job in his uncle’s face. They were all completely fucked.

  “Well. I’m officially on gardening leave. Plenty of time to sell the condo and the car and all the rest. Apart from the fountain. I’m keeping that.” Henri said.

  “Are you crazy? I like that car,” Nikolai said.

  Henri shrugged. His face said very clearly crazy for you, but he didn’t reach out and didn’t touch. Nikolai ached to do it for him, but they were sitting in front of his boss, and this was serious and he had no idea what Henri would be doing thirty seconds from now.

  “You said it. No roads for it where you’re going.”

  “I . . . could be convinced to live in a more civilized area. I mean, I’m out of a job now too. Selling my stock—I could live pretty much everywhere. Could even be Toronto if I won’t get into trouble with immigration.”

  “So why did you quit, Henri?” Ruslan asked, again making notes on his pad.

  “I don’t want to run Cybele. I ran Malawi Explorations Corp., and it was fun and hard work, but I really don’t want to repeat that, especially not by hurting good men, and I believe that Nikolai and yourself are good people.” He’d barely finished the sentence when his phone rang, and he muttered an excuse be
fore he answered it.

  “LeBeau?” He paused, his face showing surprise, but not the shock Nikolai would have expected if it were his uncle. Henri’s lips then pulled into a smile. “That is correct, yes.” He glanced at Nikolai and rolled his eyes while he listened. “Well, thank you for the call, but my contractual gardening leave is six months. Yes. Maybe after that. Thank you.” He ended the call, put the cell phone on silent, and slid it back into his pocket. “Headhunter. One of the brokers must have dropped one of his friends a message—or this was the cleverest journalist I’ve ever encountered.”

  “Already. Wow.” Nikolai shook his head.

  “So you’re hot?” Ruslan asked calmly.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” Henri said without a hint of modesty.

  And you’ve cracked that Krasnorada shell open, too. Damn you, you crazy bastard.

  “I see.” Ruslan kept making notes.

  “What are you writing down? The terms of your resignation as CEO?” Nikolai asked.

  Ruslan looked up. “That? Oh. No. Just something I remembered yesterday. What do you guys think of Rhea?”

  “It’s another mother goddess,” Nikolai said. “Wasn’t that Cybele’s alternative name?”

  “Like it?”

  “Well, it sounds less, I don’t know, dark. What are you sitting on there, Ruslan? You going to share it?”

  “Well. Do you remember the prospect we have in Georgia? The talks I had there? It just occurred to me that none of that is tied into Cybele. We could just build a new legal structure and pursue our ideas in Georgia with a new company. It’s smaller than our Armenia prospect, riskier, but we might be able to finance it without going public and having some bastard ruin everything before we actually produce gold.” Ruslan smiled and winked. “If you’re willing to throw your lot in with mine again, Kolya?”

  Nikolai almost laughed with relief. “Georgia. Holy shit. Sure!” That’s why Ruslan had just walked away. He’d located the one rescue boat on the Titanic and quietly readied that as an escape route. He looked at Henri, who smiled too.

  “Now, Mr. LeBeau, it appears you’re in need of a job.”

  “Yes, sir.” Henri grinned widely.

  “I’m offering you a position in my management not to spite your uncle . . .”

  “Though it’s a welcome side effect,” Henri added.

  “Well. There’s that.” Ruslan stretched out his hand.

  Henri took it. “That means I’m an Attis boy now, too?”

  Ruslan grinned. “If you want, yes. I’ll get you a contract with shares and everything later. I build companies on people. You’ll fit right in.”

  “I always considered gold diggers the ultimate optimists,” Henri said. “I’m glad my uncle didn’t beat you.”

  Ruslan shrugged. “He’s won the company, but my people are all still intact, and we’re going to go on and build something even better. It’s an opportunity.”

  “Though my contract has a gardening leave clause. I won’t be able to join for six months at least.”

  “I’m not in a rush. It’ll take a while to wrap the takeover up and get Rhea off the ground and wrangle the Georgian bureaucracy. Slowly does it.”

  Henri grinned like a naughty boy. “I like the sound of that. Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Nikolai here will keep an eye on you for me,” Ruslan said, then glanced at his watch. “Kolya, I’m off to meet the lawyers about Rhea. You have everything here under control?”

  “Everything that matters,” Nikolai answered and squeezed Henri’s hand. Henri squeezed back, and Nikolai felt completely at ease and peace, though his heart was doing the good kind of somersaults. He was stupidly excited about the idea of getting Henri into his room tonight and the fact that Henri didn’t have to rush back to work—not for months. And they’d end up working together. That would make everything so much easier. They’d have time to actually learn about each other.

  When Ruslan had left, Nikolai shook his head. “I’m still shocked you’re selling your condo.”

  Henri nodded. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s also a relief. Following my heart and all that. Seems I’m turning a bit into my old man, just minus the drugs.”

  Nikolai chuckled and touched Henri’s arm. “Sometimes that’s not a bad thing.”

  Funnily enough, I’ve learned everything I know about this part of life from my father, too. If Vadim could manage to live contentedly with a former enemy somewhere in New Zealand, he could certainly give Henri a go, and it seemed like a challenge and a great big adventure. Like finding pure gold in the strangest place.

  Cybele is modeled on the one gold stock my partner and I are holding. All gold mining references, numbers, and expressions are based on their press releases and some things overheard from mining and resources analysts in my real-life career. All mistakes remain mine, as usual.

  Nikolai is a minor character from the free online epic Special Forces, and I hope Gold Digger answers some questions that readers have had about him (and a couple others).

  While I plucked New Zealand from memory, I had help regarding some Canadiana from Alyssa, Jocy, GB, and Heidi, who saved me from embarrassing mistakes. My friend Indigene fed me info on the Cree, and took us out one evening to the Ottawa-based Greek restaurant that inspired the Hellas in this story. My Tweeple and Goodreads friends provided encouragement and sanity checks throughout. Thank you!

  Many special thanks to my editors, JoSelle and Rachel, and Alex Whitehall.

  Skybound

  Incursion

  Country Mouse, with Amy Lane

  Dark Soul Vols. 1–5

  Break and Enter, with Rachel Haimowitz

  Counterpunch

  Scorpion

  Dark Edge of Honor, with Rhi Etzweiler

  The Lion of Kent, with Kate Cotoner

  For a full list, go to www.aleksandrvoinov.com/bookshelf.html.

  Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he makes his living editing dodgy business English so it makes sense (and doesn’t melt anybody’s brain). He published five novels and many short stories in his native language, then switched to English and hasn’t looked back. His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.

  In his spare time, he goes weightlifting, explores historical sites, and meets other writers. He singlehandedly sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing research projects and interests. His current interests include World War II, espionage, the history of money and banking, gold exploration, medieval tournaments, and prisoners of war. He loves traveling, action movies, and spy novels.

  Visit Aleksandr’s website at http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com, his blog at http://www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com, and follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @aleksandrvoinov.

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