"Am I really going to tease you, Catherine. Of course I mean it. You would be doing me a great favor."

"What are you! Of course I agree! How can you refuse him!" – It seemed to her already that this was the happiest day of her life.

"Thank you, Catherine. I wouldn't have time for him at all right now. Too much work while I'm away."

Gustav offered to drive her home, and she agreed. Even though she would have to go separately to get her car, which was parked across the street from the café. It was important to her that she didn't come home alone that day.

During the ride, he told her about his time in Africa, in Zanzibar, about the local customs, and what the island was now, and that if the opportunity arose, it would be possible to go there.

Gustav was actually there in 1896. He managed to persuade Bargash, the local ruler, to come into conflict with the British Empire. He himself had long wanted something more, but his remaining intelligence had kept him from doing so until his weakness had been found.

"Look at what you're leaving behind. – "Gustav kept telling him. – You need power. Seize it, then expand it, and we'll help you with that… You know the whole point of an inheritance. What will you leave to your children?"

Bargash was only the Sultan's brother and had no right to the throne, and that suited him fine, but he had a favorite son, who was only two years old, but was worthy of much more than doing someone's bidding.

Realizing that Bargash would wait for his brother's natural death, Gustav poisoned him himself, and on the appointed day a coup took place, supposedly supported by the German Empire.

The British squadron stood in the roadstead off the coast, knowing full well what to do – Gustavus told them that if they had to fight, let them fire on the palace on the north-east side, the new heir would be there, killing him would avoid many casualties, as he was the only thing important to the new Sultan. The second volley buried the imaginary reason for war – the little boy was dead, and Bargash, having lost the most precious thing in the world, never recovered. Everything he had dreamed of was gone in 387 minutes of the shortest war in human history.

Gustav had several new estates in England and a disproportionately greater pleasure in his own importance and significance in life. He would not remember it now and would not tell Catherine about the beauty of the island of Zanzibar and its sultan's palace, but he wanted to enjoy inwardly again the abilities of the poison, which he poisoned the real sultan – no color, no smell, no symptoms after taking it; the man died simply in sleep, ceasing to breathe, and the time was easy to set the number of drops according to the weight of the victim. "A gift to the Sultan" was the name he gave to the substance.

***

Gustav wasn't in a hurry to get this meeting over with for nothing. Then he had another.

Semi-officially, he was advising the owner of a real estate company, Mienkom, and today he had to oversee one very important policy change for that company. The fact is that this organization, despite its popularity in the capital, practically did not pay taxes – most of the income was derived from the hidden margin (the seller gave his object for the amount of N, and the buyer took it for N + Y, being absolutely sure that it is just N, and Y simply kept Mienkom), and most of the employees were not even officially employed in the organization.

Gustav, who introduced himself as the chief analyst of the American real estate broker BlackStone, had the task of increasing Mienkom's market share and solving the tax issue at the same time. The plan was already in place; all that was left was to give out some advice.

"Greetings," Vladimir Arkadyevich, Mienkom's "chief of chiefs," shook hands with the newly contracted new development consultant. Obese, massive, with rich experience, he was far from delighted that this handsome man had to pay 15 thousand dollars a week for 2-3 appearances in the office, but the few recommendations he had managed to give had already had an effect, and this on the one hand, of course, pleased, but on the other hand very alarming. He had seen enough in his life and he wouldn't say it had ever been easy: once he was a shop manager at a regional woodworking plant, then he became deputy director, then he got a place as head of the city executive committee of one of the cities of this region, and after 1991 he got a controlling stake in the plant, where he used to be a shop manager, then, persistently developing in business in the 90s, he became a member of the board of directors of Mienkom, and having come such a long way, he saw in Gustav, who looked 30 years younger than him, a man whose insight and foresight seemed much greater than his own. It was dangerous. He remembered well how he had dealt with those who were less farsighted than he. How he had ruined those people's fates, framed them and sent them to prison or to feed the fish. His entire road of success, strewn with corpses and other people's grief, strangely enough not only gave him complete peace at night, but most importantly, kept him sane in the light of day. He realized well that he could be deceived in words, but never in calculations. Numbers will always tell the truth, you just have to know how to calculate correctly. And check your own calculations. "If you relax, you'll be eaten up by strangers. If you trust your own people, you won't even notice that you've been eaten" – that's what he thought long ago, when he took the owner's place. All these rules applied to people like him. He didn't know what to do with the stronger and smarter ones – for the time being he negotiated in such cases. But all these cases concerned people who had already lived their lives and had long ago lost their irrepressible thirst for profit. He had never done business with a strong, intelligent and yet young man. That was what frightened him about Gustav.

"There is one, some one good reason why this man is engaged only in counseling – thought Vladimir Arkadyevich. – And it's obviously not money. He didn't feel directly threatened by him, but something told him to be extremely careful.

"Good afternoon, Vladimir Arkadyevich," said Gustav affably. He had long ago grown tired of gaining trust here and padding his price with penny-pinching advice. At first he wanted to just take them to jail, but then he decided that would be too predictable for this kind of activity, and he wanted to be original. Mienkom had several projects of which the whole company was very proud: two elite cottage villages in the region and one residential complex in the Golden Mile area. They were to be developed, promoted, famous people were to live there, and then everything was to be ruined. Gustav had already made several recommendations for changes in design and materials, and had brought his connections to the PR of these objects among the "stars". The only thing left to do was to wait for occupancy, and then we could begin.

"I have one central proposal," Gustav knew he was still expected to do something new and unexpected and yet successful.

"Yes. And what is that?"

"All 3 of our main 3 properties should be occupied in the same week."

"But it's…?! Gustav, you know how it is."

"Of course."

"They have deadlines. State Commission, handover, keys, repairs. It's all been coordinated for a long time. It would be good just to be on time there, not to move anything…"

"Yes. But I'm talking about the future… Today, Mienkom is a serious big company. That's good. But not great… Or maybe it is great… One week. On Monday one unit moves in, Wednesday the second, Friday the third. Everyone will be talking about it. The company will rise to the top, become a monopoly. In a year's time, Mienkom will already determine the price of real estate in the capital, not some market".