Ten minutes after they’d left their Palo Alto office the twins were sitting in a sidewalk café along University Avenue. The waiter poured a Pinot Gris for Ivan and Ilya had a glass of sparkling water as was his custom during the workday.
“Let’s take another look at the market.”
Ilya shrugged with indifference. He spread some warm Brie on a small chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth while his greedy brother fiddled with his smart phone.
“The NYSE gained back most of its losses; just as we said it would.”
“No, Ivan, as you said."
“Whatever. Here’s to us, Ilya.”
Ivan sneaked a peek at the performance of his trading program and realized he'd made another million dollars in the time they'd spent walking to the cafe. He was beginning to believe in the possibility of true independence.
Several tables away, Jack Button, Gabe Bowman, and their Chief Technology Officer sat riveted to their own smart phones as they waited for their lunch orders to be served. Jack and Gabe, co-founders of Digital Integrity, LP, were definitely not in the same business as Fluid Dynamics. They specialized in engineering some of the most sophisticated IT security software in the universe, but a lot of the people in Silicon Valley socialized and competed with each other and the Rusikovs were no exception.
“This can’t be right, must be a bug in the exchange’s system.” Gabe, true to form, was focused on the system and not the market.
“Must be a trade error.” Jack, the optimist, sat back and relaxed with his glass of Largesse Chardonnay.
“Maybe the brakes didn't work.”
Hearing laughter behind him, Gabe Bowman turned and saw the Rusikov brothers “high fiving”. Ivan appeared to be quite happy.
“Looks like you fellows shorted the market at a good time,” Gabe called out in a congenial tone.
“Yes. You could say that.” Ivan bowed a little and Ilya gave a casual salute as they raised their glasses in Gabe’s direction. Bowman smiled back, but remained preoccupied. Something about the unfolding events didn’t add up. In a selfish way he wondered how his own investment program performed though the puzzle forming in his mind intrigued him more.
Palo Alto is a small town and the Rusikov twins, at six-three with nearly white blond hair, were hard to miss. Ivan's lust to be noticed only enhanced their prominence. They dressed the same because Ilya couldn’t be bothered with clothes. Ivan shopped lavishly for himself and when he got tired of something he gave his cast offs to Ilya. In a place where young billionaires took pride in dressing inconspicuously Ivan’s taste for well-tailored slacks and jackets and fine Italian shoes didn’t lower their profile a bit.
The waiter began serving lunch at the DI table when Sally Ramsay, a pretty blond with sparkling blue eyes arrived. She wore designer jeans, a silk shirt and shoes with impossibly high heels: the much-coveted ones with the red soles.
“Sorry I’m late. Got room for one more?”
She was DI’s ”special projects officer” and a favorite of Gabe’s. He’d personally recruited her just two days after she became one of Stanford’s youngest PhD recipients.
“Sure. Pull up a chair.” Bart Zeigler, Dynamic’s scruffy but well-liked head of development, gestured toward a seat across from his. He was brilliant, good-looking and oblivious to style and, it seemed, indifferent to most women. His teammates were betting Sally would soon be the exception.
Before she took her seat Ilya called out a greeting accompanied by a boyish wave and a big smile.
“Hello, Ilya.” She smiled back, but ignored Ivan. Then she eased into a chair and picked up a menu.
“How can you tell those two dudes apart? Seriously.” Bart stared at the twins trying to distinguish one from the other.
“Watch,” Sally said without looking up.
“Watch what?”
“The noun, not the verb, Bart. Ivan wears one. Ilya doesn’t.” Sally motioned to let the waiter know she wanted to order.
“And a substantial one it is,” Bart remarked as he eyed Ivan’s huge Breitling. His gaze drifted to Sally’s Rolex Yachtmaster and then to his own wrist sporting only a yellow “Livestrong” bracelet. Perhaps he and Ilya did have something in common.
At the twins’ table Ilya remained smitten by Sally’s presence.
“Let’s go sit with them for awhile. I haven’t seen Sally in a long time.”
“Sorry, brother, but I have one more surprise for you. I expected that today would be a big success. I booked us on a flight to Paris as a celebration.”
“Paris? When do we leave?”
“We’re flying out of San Francisco in about three hours. I already packed, so we can go straight to the airport from here.”
“I need a passport.”
“In your bag,” Ivan said getting out of his chair.
“Fine, but let me finish my sandwich before we go.”
“Alright.” Ivan sat back down and accommodated his less mature brother who munched contentedly without taking his eyes off Sally Ramsay. When he finished, Ivan took him by the arm as if leading a grade schooler out of the café. On their way to the exit they walked past the table where the DI crew sat, and paused for a moment as Gabe raised a glass in their direction.
“Gentlemen.”
Ilya gave Sally a friendly wave and Ivan smirked as he and his brother walked down the sidewalk to their office where they boarded his Ferrari and drove away. They would not be coming back.
“Is it just me or are they a really peculiar pair of dudes? I mean, I’m an MIT dropout, and I think I know what 'odd' looks like.”
“Yes, Bart, I’m sure you do.” Sally eyed Bart’s unshaven though handsome face, torn jeans and black hoodie, and had to chuckle to herself. She continued, “Ivan is pompous and self absorbed, but Ilya is the definition of eccentric. I’ve often wonder what he’d be like if Ivan weren’t around.”
“How so?” Gabe asked.
“Clothes, for one thing. Ivan buys things he likes for himself and Ilya wears Ivan’s hand me downs.”
“Wow. Those “hand me downs” look better than my Sunday best,” Bart said without a trace of embarrassment.
“I’m surprised you’d admit it.” Sally's blue eyes said “gotcha”, but the waiter arrived with her lunch before he could react.
“I didn’t know the three of you were such good friends.” A trace of sarcasm drifted into voice.
Sally ignored the tone answering, “Back at Stanford I dated Ivan a couple of times.”
“Must have been fun.” A twinge of jealousy took Bart by surprise.
“Not so much. He has his good points, but everything’s about him. Ilya took one of my classes when I was a teaching fellow. We worked on a gaming program together just for fun. I think he’s smarter than Ivan and he's able to focus at an extraordinary level, but he can be immature. He loves those video games he creates.”
Sally, unlike most geeks, was a self-assured east coast debutante from a rich family. In Bart’s opinion she must have grown up without ever hearing the word “no”. She favored Gucci and Prada, and sometimes didn’t play well with others. Bart was no exception though it was clear to everyone else she liked him in something more than a collegial way.
“Regardless, I can assure you we're far superior.” She looked at Bart and raised her glass.
“Well said, I think,” Bart said quixotically as he returned the toast.
Gabe smiled knowing his two star players were “the best”. There was friction between them, but that could be a good thing.
“A friend of mine ran into the Rusikovs a few weeks ago. Ivan was drinking a lot and raving on and on about a project of his that would make some huge amount of money.” Sally finished her wine.
“Good to know.” Gabe somehow he had the feeling the Rusikov brothers might be on their collective radar screens sooner than anyone might imagine.
“A friend?” Bart took the wine bottle and refilled Sall
y’s glass.
“Just a Stanford alum,” Sally said evasively taking another sip of wine.
Bart nodded, leaned back in his chair and casually appraised his colleague. Definitely attractive, he thought. Blond and athletic, she might be five-four but it was hard to tell because she usually wore those ridiculous high heels. Even after working together for two years he still didn’t know what to make of her. To him, Sally Ramsay remained a conundrum. On one hand she always dressed as though she were on her way to a party, just as Ivan did. On the other, he’d seen her work like a daemon for two or three days, and achieve some pretty amazing things. Not what he imagined to be the MO of a spoiled heiress. One day, perhaps, he might figure it out.
4.
The Big Game Club
Grand Bahama Island