He shrugs. “He claims he’s expanding his business and looking for local partnerships and heard we run efficient operations. He wants to explore opportunities.”
“Convenient.” I close the file and check my watch. “I’ll meet with him but I’m keeping it short. If he’s legitimate, we’ll know quickly. If he’s not, I don’t want to give him more information than necessary.”
Valentin nods, and after we finish our coffee, we head outside to a waiting SUV. He gets in the passenger side, and Luco, the driver, takes us to the meeting spot. The Harbor Club is a neutralvenue I use for meetings with unknowns. It’s public enough to discourage violence but private enough for serious conversation. Luco ensures we arrive ten minutes early, and Valentin takes up a sentry position at the back of the room on the other side, while I claim a corner table that gives me a clear view of the entrance and exits.
The location also gives me time to review what I know about Sokolov one more time. His company registration shows recent incorporation, which could mean legitimate expansion or could indicate a shell operation designed to provide cover for other activities. The address listed is a business center that rents temporary office space, which is another red flag that suggests he’s not as established as he claims to be.
Roman Sokolov walks in precisely on time, moving with the confidence of a man who’s accustomed to making strong first impressions. He’s taller than his photo suggested, well-dressed, and carrying himself like someone who’s never been told no. When he spots me, his smile is perfectly calibrated to suggest both respect and equality.
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes though, and he scans the room, gaze pausing on Valentin, before approaching my table. I can’t tell if he’s exercising professional caution or looking for weaker prey.
“Mr. Barinov.” He extends his hand as he approaches the table. “Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
I shake his hand briefly, noting the firm grip and expensive watch. “Mr. Sokolov, please, sit down.”
He drops into the chair across from me, immediately signaling the waitress for coffee with a single finger. “I hope you don’tmind me saying, but your reputation precedes you. Everyone in the transportation business knows the Barinov name means quality and reliability.”
The flattery is smooth but generic, an opening gambit that works with men who have larger egos than sense. I wonder if he’s done his homework on me personally or if he’s relying on assumptions about what motivates people in my position.
“Flattery isn’t necessary. Tell me what you want.”
He laughs, a sound that’s meant to seem genuine but feels rehearsed. “Direct. I appreciate that. Too many people waste time with pleasantries when they could be discussing real business.”
I note the way he leans forward slightly when he speaks, revealing he’s used to using physical presence as a negotiating tool as he invades my personal space. The gesture would work on someone insecure about their position, but it only makes me more suspicious of his motives. “What business would that be?”
“I represent a growing network of transportation and logistics companies throughout the Northeast. We’re looking to establish more efficient shipping routes, particularly for high-value cargo that requires...discretionary handling.”
The euphemism hangs in the air between us. He’s talking about smuggling, or at least skirting customs regulations, but doing it carefully enough to maintain plausible deniability. “Why come to me? There are plenty of established operations that handle discretionary cargo.”
“Most of them are either too small to handle our volume or too well-known to law enforcement.” He leans forward slightly, his tone becoming more confidential. “We need partners who canmove significant quantities without attracting attention. Your organization has that reputation.”
I frown at him. “What makes you think my organization handles that kind of business?”
His smile sharpens. “Mr. Barinov, we both know there are legitimate shipping operations and then there are...comprehensive logistics solutions. I’m not interested in legitimate shipping.”
The admission is bold enough to be either honest or a risk. I study his face, looking for tells that might indicate whether he’s legitimate or fishing for information. His pupils are slightly dilated despite the restaurant’s moderate lighting, and there’s a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead, betraying he’s more nervous than his casual demeanor indicates.
“I see.” I study him for a moment longer. “Assuming I were interested in such an arrangement, what kind of volume are we discussing?”
He barely hesitates before rattling off a response. “Initially, maybe six shipments per month of high-value items with moderate bulk, originating from various European ports.” He pulls out his phone and shows me what appears to be a shipping manifest. “Eventually, we’d want to scale up significantly.”
I glance at the manifest without touching the phone, noting the types of cargo and estimated values. The numbers are substantial enough to be attractive, which makes me more suspicious rather than less. The document looks professionally prepared, but something about the formatting seems off, as if it was created specifically for this meeting rather than pulledfrom actual business records. “Where would these shipments be going?”
Again, there’s no hesitation in his answer, as though he practiced all this beforehand. “Various destinations throughout New England and the mid-Atlantic. We have distribution networks in place, so you’d only need to handle the initial import and regional transport.”
That sounds attractive and too good to be true. “What about the financial arrangements?”
He gives me a smile. “Twenty percent of cargo value, paid upon successful delivery. For the volume we’re discussing, that would represent significant ongoing revenue.”
The offer is generous enough to be tempting, which raises additional red flags. Legitimate operators don’t typically offer such favorable terms to unknown partners. The percentage he’s suggesting would represent a significant premium over standard shipping rates, which means either his cargo is extremely high-risk, or he’s not planning to honor the agreement long-term.
I lean back in my chair, letting silence stretch between us while I consider his proposal. He waits patiently, occasionally sipping his coffee, but I see tension building in his posture despite his casual demeanor. His left hand keeps moving to adjust his watch, a nervous tic that betrays his anxiety about my response. He seems disappointed that I’m not bowled over by his presentation.
After another tick, I speak firmly. “Mr. Sokolov, I appreciate you thinking of my organization for this opportunity, but I’m not interested.”
His expression doesn’t change, but a flash of irritation, quickly suppressed, flickers behind his eyes and confirms my suspicion he’s not used to being refused. “May I ask why? The terms are quite generous.”
“Too generous.” I give him a thin smile with no warmth. “In my experience, when someone offers deals that seem too good to be true, there’s usually a reason.”
