World on Fire - Brownstein, Michael [47]
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Probably the most notorious of Russia’s oligarchs is Boris Berezovsky, whom one Russian general has described as “the apotheosis of sleaziness.” “Slight and balding, with lovingly manicured hands and a fondness for larding his conversation with Latin phrases,” Berezovsky, who is older than most of the other oligarchs, holds a Ph.D. in applied mathematics and spent twenty-five years at the Russian Academy of Sciences.
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With the introduction of markets, Berezovsky abandoned science for car sales. Starting in 1989, Berezovsky parlayed his Logovaz car dealership into an immensely lucrative and sophisticated international financial structure, complete with reputable Swiss partners, shell companies in Panama and Dublin, and tax havens in Cyprus and the Cayman Islands.
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At the same time, without technically violating the law, Berezovsky preyed mercilessly on a naïve Russian public, which almost overnight had become an easy target for pyramid schemes. In the convulsive first stages of Russian capitalism, when wealth was suddenly permissible and a few of their compatriots became very visible millionaires, ordinary Russians were in a panic not to miss out on the rags-to-riches moment. Riches seemed to be there for the taking, if one only had the courage to make investments. In this atmosphere, Ponzi schemes of all sorts reached dizzying heights.
In 1993 the Russian public poured $50 million into Berezovsky’s Avva Fund, which, according to a massive advertising campaign, would be used to develop a fabulous new Russian “people’s car” through a joint venture with General Motors (GM). Unfortunately for Avva’s investors, GM, alarmed by Russia’s rampant gangsterism and corruption, backed out, rendering Avva securities almost instantly worthless. For Berezovsky, however, the Avva scheme meant $50 million interest-free, to do with as he pleased.
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Berezovsky quickly became Russia’s iconic nouveau-riche capitalist. Ostentatiously roaring around Moscow in a dark blue bulletproof Mercedes, flanked by bodyguards in Mitsubishi jeeps on either side, Berezovsky sent his two eldest daughters to Cambridge University and married a glamorous young second wife. In 1993, Berezovsky went for the real kill. Brazenly setting out to penetrate Yeltsin’s inner circle, he befriended the ghostwriter of the president’s memoirs, who in turn recommended to Yeltsin that Berezovsky publish the book. Berezovsky did—and (with the help of some Finnish companies) “did the Kremlin proud. The book was rolling off the presses within a few weeks and the color was brighter and the pages were thicker than the washed-out onionskin text that Russian publishers produced.” Moreover, Berezovsky published the book not as a business transaction, but as a “free” favor to the president. In return, Yeltsin gave Berezovsky a membership to the President’s Club, whose only members were close friends and family of Yeltsin. Berezovsky, an accomplished networker, used his membership to full advantage and within a matter of months had key connections throughout the Kremlin.
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In 1994, using Gusinsky’s NTV network (which often criticized Yeltsin) as a foil, Berezovsky convinced the Kremlin to privatize ORT, the state-owned television network, and to give Berezovsky control of it. Shortly afterward, he acquired control of the state oil company Sibneft and Russia’s national airline Aeroflot. (Swiss authorities later alleged that Berezovsky skimmed $200 million from Aeroflot’s earnings for himself and the Yeltsin family. Berezovsky denies these allegations.) In 1997, Forbes named Berezovsky Russia’s wealthiest tycoon.
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But that was during the Yeltsin era. Under President Vladimir Putin, it was Berezovsky’s (also Jewish) protégé and former partner Roman Abramovich who, as the Washington Post put it in 2001, became “the man to see in Russia.” An orphan before the age of four, Abramovich has in the last several years orchestrated a takeover of the world’s richest aluminum industry