Page 12 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2
or he’s really a saint
Talia
The alluring scent of Chicken Lo Mein fills the tiny office as I try to eat and work. I skipped lunch and it’s nearly eight already. My stomach is very angry with me.
It’s been a busy day of calls and research and I still haven’t gotten my files unpacked and organized. Nor have I had a chance to investigate further into Boris Dr?ghici’s financials.
I pull out his folder and dig in, my notebook at the ready.
I already know we’re going to need to chuck the cryptocurrency from his portfolio, but as I scan the details, I see even more risky investing.
There is money tied in options and futures, and even in exploratory drilling contracts throughout Russia.
I note seven highly risky investment lines that will immediately need to be moved to standard-risk portfolios.
It gets worse as I go, though. Over the course of a year, I can see ten withdrawals not tied to a reinvestment strategy.
They’re not fees, though there are plenty of those and they are steep—a whole other issue that needs addressing—but rather, just amounts which got pulled from the portfolio and never reinvested.
After talking with Boris, I don’t think he’s authorizing these large withdrawals.
He doesn’t strike me as someone who lives lavishly.
Some of our foreign players support family in their home countries, and I guess it’s possible he moves money to family, but the pit growing in my stomach says otherwise.
The withdrawals are well-hidden enough so I doubt Boris would ever notice them.
Considering his dyslexia and admitting he avoids reading as much as possible, I can’t imagine he’s even looking at all—and his investment agents are probably banking on it.
Literally. But I’m so pissed off. From what I know of Boris Dr?ghici, he’s a gentleman, not an asshole.
Wish I could punch the lowlife scuzzballs who have been doing this to him.
I pick up the phone and call Harold.
“What’s up, young pup?” he answers. “Doing any sinning in Sin City?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Doing lots of working for sure.”
“That’s my girl. Always looking out for the company. What’s going on?”
“You know the guy you sent me? Boris Dr?ghici?”
“The Ice Dragon. Yes, ma’am. He’s got a fat new contract out there. Did you get him on our rolls?”
“Nearly,” I say. “But his prior investments have been managed overseas and there is just red flag after red flag as I’m looking through his numbers.
This guy has invested most of what he’s made and yet he’s making nothing.
He’s losing big time, and I don’t want to see him get hosed on this new multi-million-dollar contract with the Crush. ”
“Walk me through it.”
I give him everything I’m seeing and support my thoughts with corresponding solutions. Harold listens and gives feedback but announces my plan is sound. “However, you’ve got to get the accounts away from his current investment agents first.”
“Yeah, that’s the second thing I wanted to ask about. Have you heard of a Vladimir Nechaev?”
“He’s an agent-slash-fixer. A little gray, if you know what I mean,” he says wryly.
Gray, in our world, means not totally good but not totally bad.
“I do know what you mean,” I say. “My Spidey senses are going crazy on this one. Boris told me this guy Vlad could maybe get me in touch with his fund managers in Russia.”
“Well, Vlad is a man who can make connections, yes.”
“Is he Boris’s agent?”
“No, that’s Scott Rose.”
“Oh,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Boris is a good guy and he deserves a straight-up agent. Boris doesn’t even read his contracts. He leaves it to Scott, so I’m glad to know someone principled has his back there, at least.”
“Vlad’s not bad, per se, he’s out for the best interests of the players he represents for the most part. He represents Viktor Demoskev, so there’s another Crush connection if you need it. I suppose he’s worth a call and you gotta start somewhere.”
Harold and I talk about a couple of other clients and then say good night.
We’re two peas in a pod, Harold and me. We never stop working and we always win for our clients.
I got really lucky having him for a mentor at such a young age.
A timely internship in San Francisco while at uni got me in the door with his firm, and we hit it off from there.
As I inhale the rest of my now-cold noodles, I ponder what the hell this Vlad guy has to do with anything. He doesn’t represent Boris, and he’s not Boris’s financial advisor. I mean, why can’t I just call up these guys and talk to them like any normal businessperson would? So weird.
Still, when I get a text from Harold with Nechaev’s cell phone number and a confirmation he’s in the US, I automatically dial and hope for the best. He answers on the first ring.
“Hi, Mr. Nechaev?”
“Yes, this is Vlad Nechaev,” he answers in a deep, heavily accented voice.
“I’m Talia Wentworth. I work for Harold Shaw and Baseline Investments.
We’re in the process of working with a new client whose investments have long been managed overseas.
I was told to call you in hopes of having you connect me to the current investment manager for Boris Dr?ghici.
He’s got a new contract going here in Las Vegas and wishes to move his investments to a local investment manager. ”
“I have not heard this directly from Boris,” he says after a lengthy pause.
“I’m happy to have him give you a call to confirm.
I have to confess. I’m unsure of your role in this process.
Honestly, I have a lot of questions for the investment manager that would better be discussed directly.
I’m concerned, as is the client, why there has been so little growth and return after so many years.
” Although, I know exactly why. “If you could give me the contact details, I can make the call myself.” Nice one, Wentworth.
Vlad laughs on the other end of the line. “I suspect maybe that the reason his investments are no good is because he isn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp.” What the fuck?
“That’s not funny,” I say flatly. “Mr. Nechaev, I don’t have any idea why, in seven hells, I would have to go through someone with no direct connection to the client in order to have a simple business discussion.
I just need to know who to call. Stop being an obstructionist to what is a totally normal business practice.
What the hell do you have to do with any of this anyway?
” Here’s hoping Mr. Condescending doesn’t disconnect the call after that moment of unprofessionalism.
I hold my breath for a moment, but then God bless him, this guy laughs into the phone yet again.
“You are a real spitfire, Miss Wentworth. Look, I help players to straddle the United States and Russia. Sometimes there are accusations about doping that we manage through independent drug testing. Sometimes we have visa and border issues. I do actual contract and player management as ninety percent of my business, but I am also known to help these players when they have business spanning the two countries. In this case, I am the conduit to the Ice Dragon’s financial managers. ”
“Why the hell wouldn’t they just talk to him directly? If I made my clients go through an intermediary, they’d say I was shady as hell and to fuck on off. This is beyond stupid. Just connect me so I can switch the accounts to our management, and I’ll leave everyone alone after that.”
“What a mouth on you,” Vlad says, sounding delighted by my outburst. “Okay, because you are so ballsy, I will make a call for you.”
“Thank you, I guess?” Christ, this is weird. “Please explain I’ll expect to hear from them within the week.”
Vlad offers some pleasantries and then we hang up, with me unsure of whether I should be pleased with myself, or worried.
I think I feel a little of both. Yes, I do have a mouth on me, and perhaps I shouldn’t blame it on my environment I worked in.
But Vlad sounded far too cocky for me, and I wanted him to know I was serious.
Although, I’ve never heard Harold say fuck to a client’s contact.
Shit. Oh well, time will tell. Hopefully, I didn’t just shoot Baseline Investments in the proverbial foot.
The last call I make for the night is to Boris.
He sounds sleepy when he answers, but I ask him if he can pop in the office for a quick update sometime this week.
He says he’ll check the practice schedule and stop in when he can.
I mention he may need to call Vlad Nechaev to let him know he does indeed want to move his investments to an American investment manager.
I’ll also have paperwork for him to review and sign in order to start the process.
When he hesitates, I immediately promise to assist him with the contract review…
preferably in the presence of someone he trusts, like Scott Rose, but keeping Scott blind to the reason why he’s needed there.
He thanks me and says good night in that sexy accent of his which should be illegal. I seriously doubt he’s even remotely aware of his hotness.
I can’t stop thinking about Boris Dr?ghici on my short walk home from my office, so much so that I settle on my chaise and pull open my laptop to do some reconnaissance, rather than my regular habit of opening a book to read.
LuLu even complains loudly at being displaced by the evil hard metal thing taking up her spot in my lap.
I’m forced to set her up on the gray blanket tucked in beside me before I can even get started.