Hide-and-Seek. Sergey Redkin

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      (Definition of hide-and-seek from the Cambridge Academic Content Dictionary © Cambridge University Press)

      Chapter 1

      The office was large and looked on-trend opulent–plenty of natural light through large windows, grey walls, black leather furniture and contemporary art on the walls. I couldn’t say that I liked it. I preferred more classical interiors. Be that as it may, it was intended to show, along with its location on the top floor of the highest building in the city, that the owner of this place had a lot of financial power. The April morning sun shone brilliantly in the clear, blue sky, adding saturation to the professional décor of a site where tens of millions of multiple currencies were routinely made before some people had their first cup of tea. I was sitting in one of the two very expensive-looking custom-made armchairs at a large coffee table in the part of the office where the owner would want people to feel more comfortable, a few meters away from his big meticulously organized working desk with two big computer monitors. The man I was meeting was one of the most successful money wizards in the City. His name was Jared Shannon, and he was a few years younger than me and a couple of billion dollars richer. The latter fact was annoying, the former was baffling.

      Why would a man of his level want to talk to me about my little country project? I mean, I realized I was not an average Joe, but I could hardly be of any personal interest to him unless he micromanaged everything in his company, which was highly unlikely. He had enough people below him in his empire whom I could meet and to get what I wanted without meeting the man. It could only make sense if he was into aristocrats and their lands. Whatever the reason, I was there, and it was all that really mattered at the moment.

      I was trying to concentrate and appreciate the moment of this opportunity, but it was proving hard to do because of the hangover I’d tried to suppress with some painkillers before the meeting. It had not been a good idea to go to a party last night and spend half of it flirting with some open-minded young women to schmooze them into a more meaningful conversation in my apartment later. One of them was susceptible to my oratorial skills and I had to wake her early and put her in a cab to give myself enough time to be presentable for this meeting.

      “Well, I don’t think I have any more questions,” Jared said, still nonchalantly holding what looked like my proposal. He was a tall man in a good shape in his late thirties with a face that projected intelligence and confidence, sitting in the other armchair in front of me on the opposite side of the table. “Perhaps you’d like to ask me some questions?”

      He was wearing an unpretentious but extremely good quality custom-made T-shirt and a pair of jeans, accompanied by a pair of matching Louis Vuitton sneakers. Anyone who didn’t know much about quality outfits wouldn’t even look twice at this man on the street. I, on the other hand, knew a thing or two about sartorial choices that made you stand out among the initiated. Someone had done a decent job putting together this look for him. No watch though. Apparently, he was one of those people who could afford any watch in the world but used his phone to check the time. It said “new money” to me. No tradition yet.

      I like to feel comfortable in my outfit as well, but I am not a T-shirt type of person. I had on a nice light brown jacket by Orazio Luciano and a white dress shirt by Jean-Manuel Moreau I had ordered in Paris. I had done a bit of research about Jared’s company, and I knew about their casual attire policy. I could be casual. I was wearing a pair of Luigi Borrelli jeans with a comfortable pair of Tod’s loafers. That was my type of casual. My watch choice was a silver and blue dial Patek Philippe World Time, a platinum-cased reminder of the kind of money my family used to have. It’s something that a watch aficionado would appreciate, a conversation piece, but it would sadly go unnoticed with watch-less folks for sure. I had to look like I had other options for my project besides this one.

      “I’m good,” I said, feeling relieved that the meeting was about to be over and looking forward to having a big cup of coffee. “I’d just like to thank you for this opportunity to meet in person.”

      I wasn’t really good, but things hadn’t been great recently and this deal was very important to me. I had a few friends with money, but they hadn’t shown any interest in my idea, so it had taken a bit of mingling with people I didn’t care for much. I had been leaving hints here and there that I was developing an idea of using some parts of my family estate for housing construction. Those were the people with good connections and that had led me to securing this meeting, a potential cornucopia of desirable investment, even though I had not expected to get acquainted with the man himself. My idea of building a few cottages for rich people had to seem quite minuscule to him. However, someone once said that everything important begins with something trivial and I surely hoped it would be true in this case. Besides, one must be flexible when it comes to making money these days, even if one with a noble title must turn some of their oldest parks into property slots. I had to roll the dice to restore my financial situation before I would be forced to sell things I would like to keep. Oh, there was this other thing, of course, that I had to remember – my father had told me that it would be my last chance to use the family’s funds which had seen better days. If this thing didn’t work, I would probably have to be forced to take some online courses and study accounting or something. Get an honest job, as it were. But I tried not to let that “little detail” cloud my judgment.

      “There’s one thing though.” He looked at me and smiled. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

      “Excuse me?”

      Jared slapped his knee and chortled. “Man, I was thinking all this time that you didn’t want to mix personal stuff and business, but I can see now that you have no idea who I am.”

      This was starting to feel a bit too strange for my taste. I’m not used to people I don’t really know well talking to me in such an informal way. Beggars can’t be choosers though. I’d have to play along for the moment.

      “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I know who you are.” I tried to sound as professional as I could. I even smiled through my teeth. “Have we met before?”

      “Yeah, we have.” He stopped laughing. “All right. We know each other from way back.” He looked at me and added: “And when I say, ‘way back,’ I mean all the way to when we were kids. Well, me at least.”

      That wasn’t helpful at all, and I ventured another guess. “Did we go to the same school? I think I would’ve remembered you.”

      “No, we didn’t.”

      Jared stood up and went to his desk. He picked up a photograph in an expensive-looking silver frame and brought it over.

      “This is my mother,” he said.

      I held the photograph. The woman looked vaguely familiar. She could have been anybody, but I felt that Jared expected me to recognize her.

      “I see.”

      “She used to work in Maple Grove House,” Jared said, waiting for some sort of a-ha reaction from me. “Susan Shannon?”

      “Oh, the cook?” I asked and looked at the photo again. “Of course, Susan. I remember her.”

      I remembered the name but had totally forgotten what she looked like.

      “So, you must be …” I tried to guess because I couldn’t remember how many children she had.

      “Little J,” Jared finished.

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