maksim orlov

Night was slowly creeping along the banks of St. Petersburg. As fog drifted over the Neva River, armored vehicles lined up in front of the mansion, resembling the city's largest palace. Snipers were on the rooftops, guards in black suits at the gates… This wasn't just a house, it was a small state. The owner of this empire: Maxim Orlov.
Many people in the world were as rich as him. But few were as feared. Energy companies, mines, ports, private security armies, media organizations… He had a stake wherever money flowed. People called him "the owner of everything." Because when he entered a sector, he either bought it or shut it down.
Maxim stood in his high-ceilinged office. Behind him was a giant map of Russia, and in front of him was a live stream of world stock markets. He tapped his fingers slowly on the table. "You can't breathe in this city without permission," he said in a calm but threatening tone.
His most dangerous quality wasn't his anger. It was his composure. When he was angry at someone, he didn't yell. Only the doors in that person's life would close one by one. Banks refused loans, partners withdrew, friends distanced themselves. A fate touched by Maxim would never be the same again.
His network stretched from Zurich to Dubai, from New York City to Tokyo. His private jets were constantly in the air. His yachts sailed the oceans. But he was rarely seen.
That night, when the iron gates of the mansion closed, a rumor spread through the city:
The country's largest company was about to be sold.
By morning, that company belonged to Maxim Orlov. And the world realized once again:
Some men are not just rich.
They write the rules.