Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: Sammit-kniga / Саммiт-книга
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
This is a story of a talented young CEO of a large holding, a workaholic and an avid individualist. One day he got a curious offer to become part of a scientific study that may overturn the whole modern world. Where will this experience lead him after he uncovers the capacities of the human brain previously unknown? Is our world as real as we think it is? How will this adventure end when it challenges the very structure of modern economy and reality as we know it?
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 287
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
Igor Opadchiy
YOURS
This is a story of a talented young CEO of a large holding, a workaholic and an avid individualist. One day he got a curious offer to become part of a scientific study that may overturn the whole modern world. Where will this experience lead him after he uncovers the capacities of the human brain previously unknown? Is our world as real as we think it is? How will this adventure end when it challenges the very structure of modern economy and reality as we know it?
I would like to thank the JN Legal team who let me get carried away with my creativity at times, and all those who convinced me this manuscript was worth being published.
IN LIEU OF A PREFACE
The first Thomas Young’s[1] interference experiment was performed in 1803. The procedure was as follows: a source of light emitting photons was placed before a projection screen. A plate with two parallel slits was put between the light source and the screen. The specifics of those slits are that their width is approximately equal to the length of the emitted light wave. Supposedly, the photons should pass through the slits, producing two parallel trails of light on the screen, but that’s not what happens.
Scientists have repeatedly performed Young’s experiment ever since and noted that the image on the screen changed depending on whether anyone watched the process of photons passing through the slit. When they watched the experiment, the photons behaved like individual specks of matter, producing two trails of light on the screen. However, when nobody was watching, the equipment showed the photons behaved like waves, creating respective shapes on the screen. This is how wave-particle dualism and the effect of quantum uncertainty are manifested during the experiment. The academics have performed the experiment numerous times in different conditions but obtained the same results every time.
It turns out the very fact of observation affects the object under study, changing its properties. This phenomenon was called the Observer Effect.
Some scholars suggested a theory that the material world was an information realm that became detailed only when an observer focused on it. If there is no observer, the information realm becomes diffused and turns into a wave.
This theory is confirmed by yet another phenomenon – the quantum entanglement. Scientists have proved the existence of entangled atoms. The condition of one such atom depends on the condition of another one. If you change one of them, the other will also change immediately, faster than the speed of light, regardless of the distance between these two entangled particles.
These theories are quite controversial having both many advocates and opponents.
YOURS
There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.
Albert Einstein
CHAPTER 1
…On September 28, Napoleon marched his army out on Poklonnaya Hill. The sight spreading before the eyes of the French was phenomenal. Moscow lay at their feet, beckoning them over with its shiny domes.
“Magnifique!”[2] echoed across the troops.
Hearing gleeful groans, many soldiers left their orderly lines forgetting all about discipline, and tried to climb higher to admire the beauties of the city spreading before them.
Stepping out of the carriage, Napoleon quickly climbed up the hill and looked around. His feelings were far from those of his army. This was the only victory the joys of which he did not share with his soldiers. They knew nothing of their emperor’s plans. They knew the art of war, but the art of diplomacy escaped their understanding.
Yet again, Bonaparte was scared. It was the kind of fear he never experienced even on the battlefield stepping over the dead bodies of brutally killed soldiers and horses torn apart. He feared he had been sucked into an unpredictable game with fatal results. The war in Russia unfolded to a scenario incomprehensible for the warlord that he was. It was an offbeat battle – a war against space combined with communication failure. Endless spaces and people, mysterious creatures living the lives only they could understand, guided by the values only they could grasp.
Napoleon called a halt. He was waiting for something. Blood kept hammering in his temples, cold shiver running down his back. What if he doesn’t sign the peace treaty?.. How on earth can this Russian emperor be so daring?.. But I will make him sign! I will tear that peace treaty out of him! If Alexander swallows it, I’ll split him open and pull it out of his guts. I will let his bowels out – and tear that peace treaty out of him!
“The city is abandoned, they all have left!” General Murray[3] reported, having just arrived with the scout squadron.
Napoleon was furious. Those Scythians[4]! How dare they treat him like that!
Bonaparte was used to the European traditions, which meant reception of the so-called délégation[5] from the defeated city. The local nobles, hat in hand, would present him with the key to the city, and he, the Emperor, would then ride ceremoniously through the main city gates, often to the sounds of wild cheers from the crowd welcoming Napoleon, the great warlord and conqueror!
What would Europe say? They’ll make me a laughingstock! Bonaparte was thinking. All of the French printed media was under his control, but not the British which never hesitated to laugh at any failure of the French, publishing lots and lots of caricatures of the self-involved and vain emperor cheat.
Napoleon decided to put his triumphant entry on hold and take his time to process the situation. He ordered Murray to explore Moscow and bring him a délégation – drag them on a rope around their necks, if need be.
Some time later, Murray’s soldiers did bring someone – an old merchant who was a bit tipsy, and a dozen Moscow tramps – by the look of them, they were preparing themselves to meet a martyr’s death at the enemy’s hands and thus end their infamous frail existence on this earth with such a heroic deed.
“Idiots!” Bonaparte kept ranting. “Why don’t you bring a donkey as well, for good measure!”
Napoleon had no choice so he entered Moscow. The city was abandoned without the cheering crowds he was used to.
The French army saw nothing but broken carts, dirt and litter left by the dwellers as they escaped the city. Lone passers-by who happened to stalk past the French emperor’s carriage looked more like living corpses rather than humans. Their faces displayed only fear and shock at the sight of Napoleon’s troops. The wind carried the smell of charred ruins for miles, spreading it around the city filling the atmosphere with destruction. Several hours had passed and it felt like a natural smell for Moscow.
Napoleon took up residence at the Kremlin. Having checked the lavish furnishings of the Russian czarist autocracy’s tenements, he made arrangements to send more letters to Alexander offering him peace and friendship. Bonaparte’s bad mood prevailed. He wandered around, taking out his handkerchief time after time, twitching it nervously and putting it from one pocket to another. He had to do something: he had to win the local population’s support, recuperate and march to Petersburg where his old friend emperor Alexander was reported to be now. But these Scythians…
Napoleon called his stall master[6], “Durosnel[7], bring me one of the locals. Find a true Russian and not those deadbeats we’ve seen on our way. I need to talk to one of them. Hurry, Durosnel, it’s important.”
A task not easy for the stall master; he had no idea what a true Russian was supposed to look like. The ones he met in fine company didn’t look much different from the French, especially if they had no Russian accent. All other Russians he had seen were either dead or getting there. But this was an order, an order from his emperor in one of his pitchy moods, so any procrastination would be a huge mistake and misfortune.
Sighing heavily, Durosnel called a dozen soldiers and marched out into the city. The burning smell lingered in the air like a curtain, and dusk was falling, so he needed to act fast.
His soldiers managed to find a “true” Russian in a small grocery shop. It was a man named Gleb – a former inmate, raged and rogue and ravenous, who had been quickly released from prison just before the French army’s arrival. He couldn’t run away with other citizens as he had been malnourished for a long time and was pretty weak to make that trip. Plundering the grocery shop and eating all he wanted, Gleb wished to stay unnoticed for as long as possible. Fate had other plans for him, though, so an hour after Napoleon’s order the true Russian Gleb Kukushkin was brought in to see Napoleon.
Entering the hall, Gleb saw a man whom he immediately recognized. The man was pacing around the room in long strides, as if trying to memorize a text. Assistants, translators and aide-de-camps were sitting close by, ready to take orders.
“My Emperor, un vrai russe Hleb![8] Announced the stall master count Durosnel.
“Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte welcomes you, my Russian friend Hleb!” Bonaparte exclaimed at the sight of the ex-inmate. Then again, the latter did not think of himself as a criminal at all – it was only by ill chance and personal dislike of landlord Kartashov that he had gotten up the river, when Kartashov had accused him of stealing landlady Kartashov’s jewelry.
At that very moment, Gleb did not really grasp what was going on. He had suffered a lot and had enough escapades in the last six months, so he made the sign of the cross over himself, just in case, begging the Lord to keep him safe.
Trying to be polite, he straightened up and said loudly, “Good day to you, most gracious Napoleon Bonaparte!” and then added after a moment’s thought, “The Emperor of France!”
There was a pause, and then Napoleon spoke again. “Do you know, my Russian friend, what brought me to your country? Although I can pretty much say my country by right, but I still say your country, mind you! No, it’s not the land I want – the whole Europe is already mine. No, not the gold either, I already have the riches of all the kings of the world. I have come here not to nurse my vanity. I am not bloodthirsty to find pleasure in spilling the blood of French and my allies’ soldiers. So what has brought me to Moscow, say you?”
Napoleon stopped pacing and looked at Gleb. The poor dude stood very still, staring fixedly at the emperor. He didn’t even dare blink, nearly turning into a statue to join those already decorating the room.
“Three words brought me here: Liberté, Égalité, Fraternite!” Napoleon paused meaningfully and repeated, “Freedom, equality, and brotherhood! And no, Gleb, not my freedom and equality, but yours! I have come to make you free, to abolish your law of servitude, just like we have abolished servitude in Europe. I have come to make sure you Russians could freely exercise your rights given to you by God. To make your Tsar understand at last that all people are equal before each other, and all of them are equal before God. God brings us into this world naked, and naked we depart from it. And there is no difference between people except the one forced upon you by your kings and barons. I have come to say that we French and you Russians are brothers as we are made of the same flesh to imitate our Savior. We all have the same thoughts and desires, no matter what nation we belong to. Brothers have to live together, in one Europe, in one world without boundaries and limitations. And everybody has to abide by a uniform law, and build the world together where each of us will have a life, not torture! Just think, Gleb, a world without countries and boundaries, without inequality and coercion, a world of free people living by the same law, one for all. Isn’t it something worth fighting for? Isn't it something worthy of me, Bonaparte, giving my life for this cause and sacrificing it to be written in the history books? Isn't it something worthy of you, Gleb, and the whole Russian nation coming together and making a joint effort with me, to build the kind of world so many generations of philosophers and thinkers dreamt about? A world that many people dreamt about, giving their lives to make it happen!”
As soon as the interpreter finished translating the last word, silence fell. Napoleon looked at Gleb questioningly. He felt his destiny and this whole war somehow depended on Gleb’s answer. The destiny of his ideas, thoughts, and perhaps the course of history depended on this un vrai russe.
Gleb swallowed and crossed himself again. As Napoleon was silently and expectantly watching him, he straightened up again and got himself together. Then he crossed himself yet again and spoke softly, “Please let me bow and leave, Your Emperor’s Grace, the Great Napoleon Bonaparte,” and then added after a pause, “Bonaparte the French!”
He bowed low before Bonaparte.
“Is that it?!” Napoleon screamed, blood hammering in his temples.
Taken aback, Gleb was desperately trying to recall the words that he believed befitted the occasion.
“Bon appetit, Your Highness! May you be healthy, Emperor! Please do come visit us, we will welcome you in our lands!”
“Get out!” Napoleon growled, taking a seat burying his head in his hands.
Gleb left the great hall and crossed himself once more. A remarkable man, this Napoleon. Talking to a mere mortal like me just like that, like we’re equals. He even called me a friend, if I remember right. Now my whole life may change. The emperor thinks we’re friends!
Thoughts were buzzing in Gleb’s head while he was escorted out of the Kremlin’s labyrinths. Now landlord Kartashov’s going to sing another tune. Oh, he won’t have a moment’s peace, no more good life in Russia for him! The face he’ll have when he hears Napoleon Bonaparte of France himself is friends with Gleb! I’ll come to Kartashov and tell him to his face the French emperor made me a chief man in this parish. And now everyone here will bend to Gleb Kukushkin’s will!
Arguably, he got cold feet at this thought as he didn’t really know what instructions he had to give and to whom so that things in the parish would run smoothly, the way they were now. Not wishing his parish any harm, Gleb thought it would be way better to just stand before Kartashov and tell him of his acquaintance, and how he was personally introduced to His Illustrious Highness, the Emperor of all countries Napoleon Bonaparte. And tell this Kartashov adamantly that now and forever he, Gleb, would be watching over the parish, as the Emperor ordered so, and over Kartashov’s business specifically, because even the French emperor heard the common talk of what unimaginable stinkers Kartashov and all of his family were. And that all of them, being so unreliable and backstabbing, need constant oversight of a man acting on behalf of the Emperor – Gleb, that is.
He grinned, and even felt sorry for a moment he hadn’t told the Emperor of Kartashov the stinker and all of his evil deeds. But he promised himself that he’d certainly do so when he met Bonaparte again. However, when he walked out into the street and saw Moscow, taken, plundered, burning and ruined, Gleb was not so sure anymore.
Perhaps the priest was right when he said that Napoleon was a beast, no less. And his thoughts were not those of God but damned and devoid of the Orthodoxy and our Russian beliefs. Oh goodness, but what would people say? Gleb sold himself to the devil! Sold his soul and now cooperating with the soultaker – the French Emperor. You never know, his own people could easily slit his throat at night, slaughter him like a pig, just like that. The Kartashovs will only rejoice saying, “Oh, we knew Gleb Kukushkin was a disgrace, how we wish someone had thrashed that dog sooner!”
Meanwhile, Napoleon was trying to recover from his conversation with the un vrai russe. More specifically, from another failure he clearly recognized.
“Durosnel, where are the soldiers?”
“They’re here, sir!”
“Call them!”
The soldiers entered the hall in unison.
“Execute him at once! Shoot him!”
“Oh, mercy!” Durosnel cried.
“Not you, idiot, that Russian! Hleb! He’s obviously one of those firestarters! Move it!”
Durosnel and the soldiers rushed to the door.
Napoleon was beside himself. This Scythian will think he’s too big for his boots. People will start talking that the French emperor has lost his mind negotiating with scoundrels. Talking to peasants as though we’re equals. No, I won’t be laughed at, I must be intimidating. Fear and only fear is the main human motivator that I have always used skillfully.”
Gleb was still anxious, and the smell of fire in the air was getting stronger by the minute. Gleb managed to get pretty far from the Kremlin when he heard the stomping of the soldiers’ feet and their screams in French, so uncommon and unusual for a Muscovite’s ear. Gleb hid under an overturned cart just in case. Who knows those French marauders. Go ahead and try explaining to each of them that Gleb Kukushkin is none other than the emperor’s friend! The soldiers ran past him. Gleb lay very quiet, crossing himself.
Peering through a crack, he saw a familiar figure. Oh Lord, that’s the emperor’s stall master. Maybe they need me again!..
“Wait! Wait!”
Gleb was up and running out to meet the soldiers when they raised their guns.
After a few steps he realized something was wrong. The soldiers. Their faces. The clubs and barrels of their guns were pointed at him.
The sounds of the first shots filled the air while Gleb was still screaming, “The emperor is my friend! The emperor!” Blood gushed down his throat. Choking, Gleb tried to explain that this was a terrible mistake, that he was friends with the emperor. They’ll build a new world together. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternite!..
…or not? Max raised his hand pensively to cross out the last few lines. Somehow I feel sorry for this guy Kukushkin, I can’t do this to him.
Would his Gleb run towards the French? Would he so desperately trust someone he barely knows? Would he be so naive and even… childish to a point? Can people be like that anyway? Max looked at the cold empty window thoughtfully. The desk lamp cast a warm yellow shadow on the slightly crumpled and coffee-stained sheets of paper where he was writing his book.
He enjoyed diving into the world he created. He liked the smells, shuddered from screams and got genuinely surprised when he “overheard” conversations between his characters. He loved the world where he could walk around ancient streets and be an invisible observer of someone else’s lives. Max felt a special and inexplicable pleasure from writing this novel.
Yet, today he was too exhausted to choose a different path for his characters. Maxim’s head was growing heavier, his arms felt soft, and his legs felt unfamiliar, as if belonging to a stranger. He tried to pull himself together, get up and reach the bed. The clock showed half past two at night, and tomorrow would be a busy and eventful day.
Max hugged his pillow and tried to put away everything that worried him at least till the morning. But his thoughts protested, refusing to be sorted out and drown into nonexistence.
Why am I thinking about this, and why am I even writing this? These had been Max's last thoughts before Morpheus[9] claimed him.
CHAPTER 2
This is how our Universe was probably born. A thought appeared out of nowhere. It crossed the empty space. Then it passed stillness. Then it went through silence. Whiteness. Blackness. Then it blended in with rich colors, learned what nothingness was, and then it was born.
If one wanted to describe this thought in a human language, it would sound like “I am! I exist!” It was immediately followed by feelings, memories and understanding. Terabytes of information were uploaded into consciousness and filled their places on the shelves of memory. Light was breaking through closed eyelids.
Maxim opened his eyes and narrowed them at once against the bright morning sun. He could hear birds singing outside the open window. Fresh air carried the smell of spring into the room – and Max smiled.
Max had an old habit – starting every morning with a smile. He read somewhere that even a forced smile provoked release of happiness hormones. And every time he smiled he felt he really became a tiny bit happier.
He stretched and padded to the kitchen where he drank a glass of water in large gulps. Maxim felt wonderful. Yesterday’s thoughts of the course of world history seemed irrelevant in the morning. Clearly, living in this world was worth while. To feel smells, tastes, and moods – this is what a miracle is.
The phone rang. This ringing, just like thousand others, meant only one thing – the working day has begun. Maxim no longer belonged to himself – he’s become a part of the system, a gigantic working organism. And the organism demanded his involvement in the operation – the phone ringing is just a call signal. Then again, this organism can exist without one person. On the whole, who needs who is a good question. Away with these thoughts, Maxim thought.
“Hello!”
“Max, where are you?! Everyone’s here! They’ve brought papers! Everybody’s waiting for you!”
A cold shiver ran down his body. Stupid me, Maxim thought. The past week rushed through his memory in a second. Friday night he had scheduled this meeting and negotiations with the contractors for today. He built a plan for the conversation. Signing a deal on joint construction of a new plant was no easy task. Joint business was not in the company’s rules, but it was about time to change these rules. Then came the sleepless weekend, thoughts of life, history and Kukushkin eating his brain, and attempts to find something life-asserting. They’re already there. He’ll need ten minutes to get ready, and a twenty-minute drive to get there.
“Andrey, find something to occupy them for half an hour. Show them the drafts for the project. Tell them about the results and dynamics of our work. Geez, just ride it out somehow. I’m on my way!”
Max hurriedly put on a fresh shirt, a pair of pants and a closely-woven dark linen jacket. Deep inside, he strongly believed anything could be business clothes as long as it looked decent. Besides, he could always say his favorite casual style followed certain new fashion trends.
Almost running out of the door, he suddenly froze. He’d forgotten cologne.
Max returned to the apartment and took out a new cologne box still sealed in transparent film. He desperately tried to break it open, but the film wouldn’t budge. For a moment Max felt his competitors were behind this package sabotage, trying to knock him off-balance. But as he thought about it, the film broke, and Max pulled it off the silver box. Taking out the cologne bottle, he lavishly sprayed himself and then, patting his cheeks with his palms for no specific reason, he rushed to the exit.
The car carried Max across the richly fragrant spring city, gliding smoothly on the shiny wet flagstone road. He drove past parks, already green but not yet burned by the scorching sun, past gigantic cathedrals reminding of the times and grandness bygone. And past small, secluded houses squeezed between monstrous impressive skyscrapers and seemingly unnoticed by most people.
Then he rushed along wide avenues, watching people fussing about, already tired on this freshly started Monday morning. This is what his city was like. Rich in contrast, exciting and sometimes a bit strange.
Driving gave Max some time for a spot of thinking. He was prepped for the talk – what else did he need for successful negotiations? Maxim smiled once more. As a top manager – and Max believed he was one, rightly so – he knew the formula for success of any business meetings. The main point was not so much about the essence of the deal but the way you presented it to the decision-maker. Only a fool believes the economy is all about figures, calculations and analytics. The great economy is about people, their feelings and relations. Naturally, you have to be in the know, to “own the data” and know the whole process. But the person you are is even more important – it’s all about your confidence, ambition and credibility. People have to want to work with you and trust you. People want to cooperate with those they feel nice about cooperating with. This is the difference between big business and kiosk trade. Thinking that, Maxim felt absolutely calm.
A moment later the car was parked, and he found himself in a room full of people quite successful by someone’s standards. Max was overtaken by the feeling that everything would be just right. He could never ever be hoodwinked in such delicate business moments. His attention to detail was incredible. This was just another important key to success of any business taken up by Maxim. An important one, but not the chief one.
Max believed his main talent was the skill of “movie watching”. He possessed an almost unique ability of “seeing the process”. This is how his major shareholder Kaluzhny described the pictures Maxim saw in his head when he analyzed a new or an ongoing business. He observed any project like a cinematographic work of art at high speed – from the moment of decision-making till the last implementation point. He only had to close his eyes for a minute – and then he could run that film back and forth. The movie in his head was so realistic that sometimes he felt he could foresee the future! The future of certain economic projects, at the very least.
He could see every document needed to build a plant, every man working at the construction site, people protesting against the construction works, he could even see their families and their everyday lives.
He could see a drunken installation fitter who’d fall from the second floor’s height and impale himself on a steel bar protruding from the ground. He could see his wife pounding every office door with demands of compensation to treat her loser of a husband. He could even hear her screams, “Help! I have kids! Show some sympathy!” Max could also vividly see some big shot from the department of architecture who’d sigh, frustrated, and leaf through the construction project papers, and then talk fervently of the history of the city architecture, urban planning specifics, and the importance of preserving the authenticity of ancient buildings. And then stressing why specifically this project would deface everything that’s been created through the ages and is now called “cultural heritage”. Then Max would see how this very same bureaucrat, after a sizeable money transfer for doubtful services performed by some company owned by an official’s relative, would suddenly realize, still sitting in that very office, that the project didn’t damage the “cultural heritage” that much. Quite the contrary! It greatly complements the landscape, and the site is far from what they believe to be the city grounds, and perhaps it was destined for that specific plant. In fact, who needs it anyway? His new mistress, for instance, doesn’t care for any of that.
And if you change the color of the facade just a tiny bit, the project will transform totally and fit in the suburban architectural ensemble perfectly.
Light-fingered bureaucrats and their prototype mistresses aside, Max just as vividly saw the company shares starting to climb rapidly after the news that Nikolay Kaluzhny’s holding would soon build a new plant to complete the whole production circuit. And now all he needed was to finally put the lid on the matter.
Andrey was diligently and animatedly holding forth on the project before the potential partners. The atmosphere in the conference hall reminded Max of a warm-up before a very popular rock band hit the stage. Viewers were getting more and more curious, glancing in the direction of "the backstage" now and then. With Max’s each movement they felt like this “guitar player” Andrey was clearly not the most interesting guy around, and they waited for him to get off, and for the “frontman” to come up and start “singing”, securing the most beneficial conditions in the agreement between the two companies.
Another movie started playing in Max’s head. The hour zero hadn’t occurred in this storyline yet, so he was waiting patiently. Maxim wanted Andrey to torture the audience a bit more with diagrams and presentations. And when their guests finally get fed up with the success story of Kaluzhny’s holding, he will come to the rescue and save them from the Monday morning monotony, become their good friend and, most importantly, a pleasant dialog partner. All in all, the purpose of this business meeting – just like many others – was to win these people’s favor.
Max “hit the stage”. He used simple words to explain the advantages of a joint sponsorship of plant construction.
There was no need for lengthy and complicated talk, the potential partners understood that Kaluzhny’s holding needed not so much their money but their knowledge and experience in how to operate such an enterprise. They saw Max’s company as a reliable partner, a new sales market. To complement the impeccable reputation of the holding, Maxim himself was a reputable and successful manager with a number of successfully implemented projects. Recognizing that as a fact, he felt quite relaxed. Moreover, he understood clearly that their company’s success mostly depended on his activity – in essence, his personal victories, his planning skills, and his ability to forecast and bargain.
These considerations were also confirmed by the fact that for the last seven years the consulting meetings with the shareholders were mostly a monologue by a single person – himself. Anyway, the shareholders still couldn’t get rid of the habit to interrupt him with stupid questions. Every so often, they wanted to remind Maxim who the boss was. Naturally, just to feel wanted.
It was clear for Max: listening to his reports, Kaluzhny, Kolobov, Vasiliev and Katko made a mental note of how lucky they were. For the modest five percent interest (if you could call a figure with several zeros modest), Maxim practically managed the company on his own and still showed pretty good dynamics. And, most importantly, he could be trusted. Money wasn’t an ultimate goal for him, so it wasn’t necessary to constantly suspect him or check whether he was part of any schemes. He loved watching a unique and exciting movie in his head. And he could be creative when he had access to unlimited sources of Kaluzhny and Co. This provided enough motivation. Besides, he knew what to do if this kind of incentive stopped being sufficient.
If Maxim asked for a larger interest, each of the shareholders would certainly agree to give it to him. Perhaps they’d even feel relieved at that. These guys had an inner feeling of injustice when profits were distributed, and their fear of losing such an employee like Max fueled their desire to find additional motivation mechanisms. Yet, being venturous and businesslike, they were never the first to share.
With this well-orchestrated algorithm suitable for everyone that Monday, Max continued to play his film while the company made money.
“Maxim, we do understand that the holding’s figures are impressive, and your affairs with the tax office are mostly okay, which is a rare occasion these days… But do you have specialists who understand the processes of running a company that deals with concrete products?” one of the potential partners inquired sternly but more for a show. Max could see that the man had already made a decision to cooperate before asking the question.
“The company’s team has been time-tested. I know who I can rely on and to what extent, who can perform a certain task, who will nail it and who better do something more mundane. Sergei Grigorievich, we’ve been in construction for over twenty years. We’ve been at all concrete plants in Europe and Asia. We know all the pros and cons, all the bottlenecks and caveats. I believe if we take all these details into account, we’ll build our own plant better than all of the others combined. Yes, there are some necessary materials we’re not familiar with, so we will be sincere about it: we do hope to lean on you for some insights.”
Max sounded confident. His sincerity also appealed to big business. Coupled with finesse, it guaranteed great results and a relatively clear conscience at the end of the day.
Potential partners were listening, dispelling their remaining doubts one by one, while Andrey watched Maxim with admiration. He, too, wanted to be like him.
Andrey often imagined how he would confidently answer provocative questions… and every time he felt lost. He spoke clearly, of course, and was always down to business if he knew what he was talking about and there was no need to wriggle and persuade. But if he came across some gray area that required fast reaction, he blushed, blanked out and froze. Max, however, was ready to forgive him for that.
Andrey was a complete contrast to Maxim yet complemented him quite seamlessly. Max never did boring but sometimes very necessary presentations of the obvious – this role traditionally belonged to Andrey. In return, Maxim was always ready to counter any attack with consummate skill.
The meeting was running to an end. The film in his head played the Happy End
