Market Analysis (or Shane Has Spent His Life Being Financially Responsible and Has a Few Things to Teach Ilya)
I wrote a new thing!
Fandom: Heated Rivalry/The Long Game Characters: Ilya Rozanov/Shane Hollander Word Count: 10,500 (approx)
(There's no smut, just to save you the time if that's what you're here for, but I hope you stay anyway!)
Shane has married Ilya, a known chaos monster, with a penchant for fast cars and designer clothes. Shane has spent his life making sure he was financially responsible. Now it's time to merge these two different approaches to money management; It does not go the way Shane thinks it will.
They had been married for 32 days.
And now was the big conversation: estate planning, their assets, and what combining them would look like.
Shane had found a financial planner. Had set the appointment.
He was, after all, Shane Hollander; he had approached his financial future with all of the key characteristics of a Hollander. His mom had guided his career, negotiating sizable contracts for him, and his father worked for the Treasury. It was in his blood.
Ilya, meanwhile, had approached today's meeting with the same organizational energy he brought to most things in his life, except hockey: confident, yet chaotic, and generally not stressed out about whether things would work out in his favor.
Link to the new fic on AO3 HERE!
Or read it below the break!
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They had been married for 32 days.
Shane knew this because he had, in the first flush of post-wedding administrative efficiency, updated 16 accounts, 2 insurance policies, emergency contact information with the Ottawa Centaurs' medical staff, and next-of-kin designation with the league. Urgent, necessary matters which he handled with the same seriousness which he applied to all things in his life. He’d put the changes into motion a mere 72 hours of their small, private ceremony in their backyard that had involved a Rihanna song, very few people, no chairs, and Ilya crying during the vows in a way he had subsequently and strenuously denied, and the single best meal Shane could remember eating in his adult life.
And now was the big conversation: estate planning, their assets, and what combining them would look like.
The binder had twelve tabs. Shane had made a copy for Dr. Osei. He had also prepared a fifteen-point agenda, a document package, and a brief cover note flagging the sections he anticipated would require the most discussion and why. He had emailed all of it ten days in advance.
He had gone back and forth about whether the cover note was too much. He had decided it was not. He thought it was necessary.
He was Shane Hollander; he had approached his financial future with all of the key characteristics of a Hollander. Afterall, his mom had guided his career, negotiating sizable contracts for him, and his father worked for the Treasury. It was in his blood.
The idea of all of this wasn’t entirely practical; Ilya took care of him in so many ways. The idea that he could, in some way, take care of Ilya did things to him. Providing for Ilya, it was one thing he could do.
The core premise behind Shane's entire approach to today was simple: he was the more financially savvy of the two of them, which, practically speaking translated to being the wealthier one; he’d designed his life that way, to make his money work for him. Not that he was going to be that obnoxious about it, but he thought it was important in ways that would become apparent once they were sitting in front of a professional and all the numbers were on the table. Shane had been careful and deliberate with his finances since his first MLH contract. He had read the books. He had met with the advisors. He had made every unglamorous, patient, responsible decision that most twenty-two-year-olds didn't make. He had an index fund strategy, a bond ladder, a diversified real estate portfolio, and a commercial property partnership in Kanata.
Ilya, meanwhile, had approached today's meeting with the same organizational energy he brought to most things in his life, except hockey: confident, yet chaotic, and generally not stressed out about whether things would work out in his favor.
Shane had received a call from Dr. Osei last week. "I want to flag," she had said, carefully, "that I received Mr. Rozanov's documentation."
"Oh good," Shane had said.
"It arrived," she said, "as four voice memos, iPhone photos of what we believe are paper statements, two spreadsheet files that appear to be in different currencies, screenshots of multiple brokerage apps taken at, what the timestamp suggests was two-seventeen in the morning, a PDF that is entirely in Russian, and a note that said, " she paused, "more coming, sorry, very busy, Sofya had a thing."
Shane had been quiet for a moment. "Who is Sofya?"
"I don't know," Dr. Osei had said.
"Did he send the rest?"
"He sent three additional voice memos," she said. "One of which is eleven minutes long. The others are shorter, one of them appears to have been recorded while he was driving, we’re going through it all now."
Shane considered this in the context of how his husband approached these sorts of things, in his experience, and shook his head. "Right, I'll see you Thursday."
He was not surprised. He was not even particularly annoyed. This was, in fact, precisely why today was necessary. Because Ilya was gifted and charismatic and beautiful and brilliant on the ice, and he was also a man who sent voice memos and screenshots to his financial planner, at two in the morning, and thought this was suitable financial disclosure and that there was a delay in sending information because of someone named Sofya who occasionally had things. Shane was going to be the one who provided structure. He was going to bring the binder. He was going to be the responsible partner.
This was, in every meaningful sense, a role Shane had assigned himself and rightfully so.
The fact that he was walking into this meeting with the quiet but genuine confidence of the more financially competent husband was simply context.
Dr. Renata Osei, JD, CFP, CPA, PhD, had rearranged two appointments for this meeting, stocked the chocolate dish, briefed her paralegal, briefed her senior analyst, and taken a long walk around the block on Wednesday after finishing her review of Ilya Rozanov's financial documentation.
The walk had been necessary.
She had spoken with Shane on a preliminary call eight months ago. He had been referred to her by his manager, Farrah. Shane was anxiously overprepared, as he was about most things in life, and had asked forty-four questions over sixty-two minutes, like he’d get bonus points for knowing all the correct questions to ask.
Dr. Osei had asked about Shane’s partner, and outside of understanding that he too, was a high-earning athlete, and unlike Shane, he had a penchant for fast cars and 6-figure spending sprees. In other words, she had very little information about him.
Dr. Osei had since concluded that an in-person meeting when both parties were in the same room was a professional obligation verging on moral imperative.
She had received Shane's agenda, documents, and cover note. She had forwarded the email to her paralegal with the subject line: Please review. Extra time needed. Also extra chocolate. Also please cancel my four o'clock.
Her paralegal had responded: Is he a professional athlete or a financial management consultant?
Dr. Osei had responded: Both?
She had then spent four days working through Ilya Rozanov's documents with her senior analyst, who had emailed her on day three and said, I want to make sure I have this right, and she had replied, Check it again, and he had checked it again and emailed back and said, Yes. This is right, and she had said, All right then, and had sat very quietly at her desk and looked out the window at the Ottawa street below for quite some time before getting back to work.
They arrived together, four minutes early. Ilya was in a jacket, clearly expensive, that Dr. Osei assumed had been acquired during one of the shopping events Shane had highlighted in one of his many follow up emails. Shane had the binder. He was wearing a collared shirt and looked like a man who had prepared extensively, and was appropriately smug about it.
She greeted them and led them to the conference room.
"Dr. Osei." Shane shook her hand. "The supplementary documents are indexed to tabs seven and nine. New tab twelve was added Wednesday."
"Thank you."
"The document cover note flags tabs four and nine as the highest-priority discussion items."
"I reviewed both."
"Tab nine specifically. "
"I read tab nine, Shane."
Ilya shook her hand. His English was better than what she had heard in the voice notes and was deliberate in the way a man who had learned it as an adult knew to use it in environments like this: not hesitant, but assembled, each sentence placed with the care of someone who understood that precision and fluency were different virtues and had chosen precision. "Good morning. Chocolate?" He nodded towards the bowl of chocolates placed on the conference table.
Dr. Osei nodded and smiled. She gestured for them to sit.
"Mmm," Ilya hummed, with genuine approval, and sat down, and immediately had a chocolate.
Shane sat as well and cleared his throat and opened the binder to the table of contents and looked at Ilya.
"Did you bring anything?" Shane asked. "Documents? Statements? Anything?"
"I sent documents," Ilya said.
"You sent voice memos."
"Voice memos are documents."
"They are recordings, Ilya. "
"Of my voice. Describing documents."
"That is not… " Shane looked at the ceiling briefly, then at Dr. Osei. "I’m sorry."
"No need," Dr. Osei said. "I was able to work with what I was provided."
"One of them was eleven minutes long." Ilya offered, helpfully.
"It was very thorough," she said, which was true in a way that defied easy explanation.
"He sent one while driving." Shane clarified.
"The acoustics were challenging," she allowed. "But the content was useful."
Ilya ate a second chocolate and looked out the window at the street, completely unbothered, and with the conviction that he had done everything that was asked of him and considered his contribution adequate.
Chapter 2: INCOMES ARE DISCUSSED AND SHANE BEGINS HIS DESCENT
"The foundation is income," Dr. Osei said. "Shane. Ottawa contract, three more seasons, seventeen point four million per year."
"Correct," Shane said.
"Ilya. also Ottawa, four more seasons, sixteen point eight million."
"Yes," Ilya said.
"The gap," Shane said, carefully, "is six hundred thousand annually? Before endorsements?" He wrote this down, gripping the pen like he was coming to terms with brand new information. He had known this was coming. He had prepared for this. But the salary gap was narrow, much narrower than he anticipated, but the accumulated wealth gap: that was the real metric. He was sure it would tell a different story. He was confident about this.
"I assumed you both knew each other's salaries," Dr. Osei said. "You play for the same team. You live in the same house."
"I knew approximately," Shane said.
"He thought he made thirty percent more," Ilya said pleasantly.
"I was working from your previous contract."
"Gap was never thirty percent."
"It was closer to thirty percent then… "
"Fourteen percent," Ilya said. "I looked it up."
Shane wrote something in the margin of tab one.
"Ok. Endorsements and royalties," Dr. Osei said, and redirected and went over the list.
Shane's brand partnership and endorsements: a major sporting equipment manufacturer, a Canadian bank partnership, a protein supplement line, a luxury watch campaign, a recently-signed athleisure deal that had required three rounds of contract review. Shane interrupted that he was rather proud he’d held out for the terms his team wanted. The Canadian Hockey video game that had licensed his likeness. The total was approximately nine point two million annually. This was, in her professional assessment, excellent.
She moved onto Ilya's brand partnership, endorsements and royalties: a global sportswear deal, a French luxury fashion house with a creative approval clause Ilya had apparently negotiated himself, according to voice note number 5, a premium vodka brand with international distribution, and a Swiss watchmaker that was a direct competitor to Shane's existing watch deal, his own video game deal with the MLH.
"The video game, his royalty percentage is higher." Shane said, slightly disappointed.
"Yes, three percent higher. Larger distribution." Dr. Osei said.
"I'm on the cover of the game," Ilya said, like that was going to clarify, make it better.
"The Swiss watchmaker," Shane said.
"Different price point," Ilya said confidently. "Different consumer. No conflict."
"You have a competing watch endorsement."
"The markets don't overlap."
"We live together. "
"Markets," Ilya said calmly, "don't overlap."
“The total endorsements for Ilya came to approximately eleven point four million annually,” Dr. Osei stated.
Shane looked at this number. He wrote it down. He noted that Ilya's endorsement income exceeded his by two point two million annually, which meant their combined income sat at approximately fifty-four point eight million pre-tax, pre-manager, pre-everything, which was a genuinely significant number, and also meant that Shane's salary advantage was being offset by an endorsement gap he had not fully accounted for, but again, the accumulated wealth picture was still what mattered. He was still confident about what that picture would show.
"The fashion house?" Shane asked, because he needed to understand the full landscape.
"Oui," Ilya said, with the precise quantity of smugness of a man who had been waiting for this.
"You do modelling?"
"Campaigns. Is different." Ilya thought for a second, "some modelling, yes."
"For four years?"
"Yes."
"And you have never mentioned this."
"I mentioned I had European commitments."
"You said commitment. I assumed charity. Or team obligations."
"Fashion house supports several charities," Ilya said helpfully.
"That is not what that means," Shane said.
"The vodka brand is also…"
"I know about the vodka." Shane looked at Dr. Osei. "The real estate. Let's do the real estate."
Ilya reached for a third chocolate. This was Shane’s meeting. He was just along for the ride, and that was a perfectly acceptable approach, he thought.
Chapter 3: THE PROPERTIES ARE ENUMERATED, INCLUDING THE YACHT, THE HORSE, AND THE HOTEL THAT HAS A DOCK (OBVIOUSLY)
"Combined, you hold interests in eleven properties across four countries," Dr. Osei said.
Shane had tab seven for this.
"Shane: Your Ottawa primary residence…"
"Purchased 2019, refinanced 2022, current estimated value four point one million. Tabs seven and seven-A have, they have the full documentation." Shane enjoyed reciting these facts.
"Montreal condo? "
"Investment property. Long-term tenant. Positive cash flow since 2021."
"And the commercial property in the Glebe?"
"Mixed-use. Ground floor retail, two residential units. Stable leases."
"And you also have a forty-percent stake in a Kanata office building?"
"Speculative partnership position. Moderate confidence. Risk assessment is in tab seven-B."
"Very thorough," Dr. Osei said, nodding.
"Thank you," Shane said, the corners of his mouth curling up in an almost smile.
Ilya was listening a little more closely now. "I did not know about the office building," he said.
"I told you about the office building."
"You told me about a partnership. I thought was hockey thing."
"It is a real estate thing, Ilya…"
"The way you described it, it sounded… " his voice trailed off.
"I described it in detail." Like he did everything. Thorough and complete.
"Yes," Ilya said. "This is sometimes problem."
Shane made the face. "Ilya's properties," he said to Dr. Osei.
"Boston primary residence…"
"Four point six million," Ilya said. "Good neighborhood."
Shane looked up from his binder. "You still own the Boston house?"
"Yes."
"You have played for Ottawa for two years!"
"Yes."
"You live with me. In Ottawa. In our house!" Shane could hear his voice raising.
"Yes..."
"Is anyone in the Boston house?"
"No."
"Is anyone renting it?"
"No."
"So it is…" He didn’t finish that thought.
"Is sitting," Ilya said.
"An empty four-million-dollar property with carrying costs and no income offset is not sitting, Ilya, it is bleeding money…" Shane sighed, of course he was going to have to explain this to Ilya.
"I keep meaning to deal with it," Ilya said. "Is nice house. I like knowing it's there."
"You like…" Shane stopped. He looked at Ilya for a moment. He made a decision to come back to Boston and wrote in all caps: BOSTON - IMMEDIATE ACTION - TAB 7C in the margin and underlined it. "Sorry, continue," he said to Dr. Osei.
"A penthouse apartment in Moscow."
"Investment only. Is managed. I don't go there." Ilya was quiet. The apartment he had given to Alexei when their father died. "Fine. Just managed."
"A villa in Cap Ferrat…"
Shane's pen stopped.
"Purchased 2021," Dr. Osei said.
"A villa?" Shane asked.
"Is modest," Ilya said.
"On the French Riviera."
"The Côte d'Azur. Very nice terrace. Good light in the evenings. You will like it."
"You told me you had a small place. In France."
"I simplified."
"By how much, Ilya? A villa on the Côte d'Azur is not a simplification of the words small place in France, those are vastly different categories of…dwelling…" It was the only word that came to mind.
"Is still walls and a roof," Ilya said philosophically.
"A ski chalet in Whistler," Dr. Osei continued.
"That one I know about," Shane said, because they had spent four days there in January and it had been extraordinary, which he was choosing not to admit right now.
"And a forty-nine percent stake in a boutique hotel in Dubrovnik, Croatia."
"Near the yacht," Ilya nodded.
Shane set his pen down. He set it down carefully, like he need both hands free so he could think.
"You own…" Shane said, "part of a hotel?"
"Forty-nine percent."
"In Croatia?"
"Dubrovnik, yes. Very beautiful city. You will like it."
"And you have a yacht?"
"In Split. Also Croatia."
"Why," Shane said, giving him that look, "do you own part of a hotel?"
Ilya looked at him as if this were a question with an obvious answer that Shane had simply not yet arrived at. "Hotel has a dock," he said.
The room was quiet.
"The hotel," Shane repeated the words, "has a dock?"
"Yes. So when I bring the yacht from Split, I have a place to put it." He said this like it was obvious. Simple. Logical. Self-evident. "Also forty-nine percent ownership means I get very good rate on rooms."
"You…" Shane pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You bought into a Croatian hotel for parking and a room discount?"
"Good investment also," Ilya said. "Dubrovnik tourism is very strong. The return on the hotel stake has been…" he glanced at Dr. Osei.
"Solid," she confirmed.
"Solid," Ilya agreed.
"That is not the point!" Shane stopped. He picked up his pen. He wrote CROATIAN HOTEL - YACHT DOCK - PARKING? in the margin with a small star because he didn't know what else to do with it. "The cars," he said, exhaling audibly. "Let's do the cars."
"Before the cars," Dr. Osei said, "I want to note one additional asset that came through in Ilya's documentation." She checked her notes. "A thoroughbred racehorse. Retired. Currently at a facility in Newmarket, England."
Shane looked up.
"Her name is Sofya," Dr. Osei said.
"You have a horse," Shane said.
"Retired horse," Ilya said. "She was very fast. She is less fast now. She is comfortable. Good field."
"You have a retired racehorse in England?"
"Yes."
"Named Sofya?"
"Yes."
"And when you sent Dr. Osei your documents and said Sofya had a thing…"
"She had a small issue with one of her hooves," Ilya said. "She is fine now. The handler sent photos."
"The handler?"
"Yes. She has a handler. And a farrier. And a veterinarian she likes." He paused. "She does not like the previous veterinarian. This has been addressed."
"The horse…" Shane said, "has a preferred veterinarian?"
"Everyone should have a preferred veterinarian," Ilya said.
"She is a horse, Ilya…"
"She worked very hard for many years," Ilya said, matter-of-factly. "She deserves a good field and a veterinarian she likes."
Shane looked at Dr. Osei. Dr. Osei looked at her notes.
"How often," Shane said, very carefully, "do you visit the horse?"
"Three or four times a year," Ilya said. "When I am in England."
"You go to England to visit your horse?"
"I have other things in England also. The farrier is very good. I send carrots."
"You send carrots to a horse in England?" Shane’s tone reflected the disbelief he was feeling.
"By messenger! Special delivery. She likes the ones from the specific farm in…" he noticed Shane's expression. "We can discuss later," he said.
Shane wrote HORSE - ENGLAND - CARROTS in the margin and starred it twice.
Chapter 4: THE CARS ARE AN ESCALATING PROBLEM AND SHANE RUNS OUT OF UNDERLINES
"The vehicle inventory," Dr. Osei said. "I'll read from the list."
"Please," Shane said.
Ilya had migrated a chocolate from Shane's dish to his own side without looking at him.
“Shane, we’ll start with you. A 2014 Land Rover.”
He nodded.
"Total vehicle value, fifty-four thousand dollars," Dr. Osei said.
“And, hm, that’s it. Ok. Ilya, we’ll move to you. A 2021 Ferrari SF90 Stradale."
"Yes," Ilya said.
"A 2019 Porsche 911 GT3 RS."
"Yes."
Shane wrote Ferrari in the tab eight margin.
"A 2022 Lamborghini Huracán STO."
"Orange one," Ilya said, with affection. "Not cheap orange. Proper orange. You know the difference when you see it."
"A 2020 McLaren 720S, modified…"
"Suspension and exhaust," Ilya said. "Better now."
"A 2023 Bugatti Chiron Sport."
Shane's pen had stopped.
"A 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback, fully restored."
Ilya's voice changed slightly on this one. "My first," he said. "Second year in league. Before I could really afford it. Someone left a magazine at the rink when I was twelve, right after my mom died. Steve McQueen's car, from a film. Most beautiful thing I had ever seen." He paused. "Drove it once around the parking lot after restoration finished. Is in climate storage in Boston." He added, perfectly evenly. "Near the house."
Shane looked at him. "Near the house you keep forgetting to do anything about."
"They are near each other," Ilya agreed. "Convenient."
"A 2024 Range Rover. A new purchase," Dr. Osei began.
"Daily driver," Ilya said.
"Top of the line," she confirmed. "Matte black."
"It is very practical," Ilya said. "Good in Ottawa winters. Good in the snow."
"My car is also good in the snow," Shane said, which was true and not the point.
"Your car," Ilya said, without looking at him, "is fine."
"That's…" Shane stopped. "What is wrong with my car? It’s a normal car!"
"Nothing is wrong with your car."
"You said fine. You said it like…"
"Your car is a very sensible choice," Ilya said.
"The Mercedes S63 AMG," Dr. Osei continued.
"Yes," Ilya said.
"Also a new purchase."
"Yes."
"That one," Shane said, "I want to talk about." He looked at Ilya. "You bought that car to be practical."
"Yes."
"You said, and I am quoting directly, I need something sensible, something good for driving around the city."
"Yes."
"And then the Range Rover arrived."
"The Range Rover is also good for driving around the city."
"So now there is a Mercedes S63 AMG in our driveway," Shane said, "that has not moved in six weeks, that said you bought specifically to be the practical car, that is now sitting next to a brand new Range Rover, which is the practical car you actually drive."
"The Mercedes is there if I need it," Ilya said.
"You don't need it. You have the Range Rover."
"I might need it."
"For what?"
Ilya considered this. "Different occasion," he said.
"What occasion requires a different hundred-and-ninety-thousand-dollar sedan?"
"I don't know yet," Ilya said. "That is why I keep it."
Shane wrote S63 - DRIVEWAY - 6 WEEKS - NO PURPOSE in the margin, underlined it, and drew a box around it.
"An Aston Martin DBS Superleggera," Dr. Osei continued.
"For longer drives," Ilya said.
"A 2018 Rolls-Royce Wraith."
"I drive it occasionally."
"A 2023 Porsche Taycan Turbo S."
"Electric," Ilya said. "Very responsible. Sus- sustainable."
"You have eleven cars and your understanding of responsibility is owning one with a charging cable?" Shane remarked.
"Twelve," Dr. Osei said.
They both looked at her.
“There’s a 2016 Koenigsegg Agera RS," she said. "In storage. In Stockholm."
Silence.
"I forgot about Stockholm," Ilya said, with complete sincerity.
"You forgot," Shane said, very carefully, "that you own a Koenigsegg."
"I have not been to Stockholm recently."
"That is not... owning something and forgetting it exists are two separate… Ilya…"
"I have many things," Ilya said. "Some things are in different cities."
"A Koenigsegg Agera RS," Shane said. He said it quietly, like he was realizing in real time what this revelation meant. "There are fewer than thirty of those in existence. You own one. In Stockholm. And you forgot."
"Now I remember," Ilya offered.
Shane wrote KOENIGSEGG - STOCKHOLM - HE FORGOT!!! and underlined it so many times the pen went through the page.
"Total vehicle value," Dr. Osei said. "approximately nine point one million. The Koenigsegg represents around two point one of that."
"The one he forgot," Shane said dryly.
"Correct."
"The one in Stockholm."
"Yes."
"Fine," Shane said. He turned to a fresh page. He wrote at the top: TAB 9 - SPENDING GUARDRAILS - PROPOSED. "Before we do the investments," he said, "I’d like to address this."
Chapter 5: SHANE WANTS FEWER SURPRISE PURCHASES AND ILYA IS UNPHASED
Tab nine: Spending Guardrails - Proposed (Joint Household). Shane slid the open binder across to Ilya.
Ilya read the heading. He read it again. He looked at Shane with his head cocked.
"For large purchases," Shane said, keeping his voice measured and professional, "I'm proposing a seventy-two-hour review period. A conversation between us. Sign-off from both parties before commitment. This applies to vehicles, art, watches, real estate, animals…"
"Animals," Ilya repeated.
"If you were to acquire another animal…"
"I'm not going to acquire another animal." He said it in that way where the words agreed with Shane, but he most definitely did not agree with Shane. Anya might need a sibling.
"You have a horse in England that you had never mentioned until forty minutes ago," Shane said. "I am not ruling out animals."
Ilya looked at the tab. "You made monthly discretionary spending cap?"
"For unplanned purchases. Twenty-five thousand. I think that’s a good number."
A beat.
"Per month," Ilya said.
"Yes."
"Twenty-five thousand dollars? My AMEX bill is…"
"For impulse purchases. Anything above that we discuss first." Shane didn’t want to think about what Ilya’s AMEX bill was.
Ilya said nothing for a moment. He looked at tab nine with an expression that was difficult to read. "Last month," he said, "I bought a painting."
"I know."
"You saw the invoice?"
"It was on the kitchen island."
"I left it there…" Ilya said, like it just occurred to him where that important piece of paper was.
"I know where you left it. The number had enough zeroes that I had to count them."
"You count the zeroes?" Ilya asked.
"Everyone counts the zeroes when there are that many of them," Shane said. "And before that was the Neiman Marcus receipt. And before that was the Bergdorf Goodman bags, which appeared in our entryway one morning with no explanation. And before that was the Geneva watch dealer invoice for the…"
"Patek Philippe," Ilya interrupted.
"The Patek Philippe. Yes." Shane looked at his notes. "The 1518 stainless…which is one of fewer than five known to exist, according to the research I did after I found the invoice, which I did because I was trying to determine whether this was a normal thing to spend that amount of money on."
"Is it a normal thing?" Ilya asked, with genuine curiosity.
"No," Shane said. "But it is… I looked it up and I will acknowledge that a 1518 stainless is genuinely a rare asset and not purely a watch and I understand that it has value beyond…" He stopped himself. "The point is the process. The point is that these purchases happen and I find out about them when the receipts appear on the kitchen island or I open a closet and find six garment bags I have never seen before."
"The Saks trip," Ilya said, nodding.
"The hundred-and-twenty-two-thousand-dollar Saks trip," Shane confirmed. "In November. When Christmas was two months away."
"I like to be prepared."
"You spent a hundred and twenty-two thousand dollars at a single store in a single afternoon and called it Christmas shopping."
"The gifts were very good," Ilya said. "You liked yours."
"I… whether I liked my gifts is not…" Shane stopped. He had, in fact, immediately put on one of his gifts and worn it for three days in a row. "The guardrails proposal stands," he said. "This is about partnership. Mutual visibility. Long-term planning."
Ilya looked at tab nine for a long moment. "We can discuss," he said, which was not an agreement and both of them knew it, but which was also not a refusal so Shane chose to accept it.
"Good," he said. "Investments. Let's do the investments."
Shane said it confidently; he had been looking forward to this section. The investments were where the real picture would emerge. The real picture would vindicate his broader thesis. That he wasn’t wrong about this. And Ilya would see it.
Chapter 6: SHANE IS FINANCIALLY ENLIGHTENED IN SEVERAL CONSECUTIVE STAGES AND EMBARRASSED IN ONE
"Shane," Dr. Osei said. "Your portfolio is excellent. I want to say that clearly before we proceed."
Shane sat forward slightly, he smiled.
"Well-diversified equity holdings. Index funds across six sectors…"
"Tab four-A has the breakdown," Shane interrupted proudly.
"I've reviewed it. REITs, appropriately weighted. A fifteen-year bond ladder, well-constructed. Conservative where appropriate, opportunistic where appropriate. A good selection of blue chips. A small percentage of aggressive foreign equity assets. Your Ottawa financial planner has done excellent work and so have you."
"Thank you," Shane said. He allowed himself a brief, composed moment of satisfaction. This was what eleven years of discipline and attention to detail looked like. He glanced at Ilya, briefly, with an expression that he would later describe as confident. Ilya would call it smug.
That interpretation would not have been entirely wrong. It was smug.
"Now," Dr. Osei said, picking up her pen, and tapping it, like she was about to navigate something. "Ilya's portfolio. I want to go through it carefully because…" she paused, "there's quite a lot to cover and I think it's important Shane has the full picture."
Shane braced himself. He’d imagined what Ilya’s money management might look like. He remembered the brokerage account screenshots.Maybe, maybe, a block of index funds, Vanguard or SPYDER, and a small retirement account managed by Schwab or RBC. Definitely a chunk of money lost in a retired friend’s insane new business venture, probably more than one.
"Of course," Ilya said, eating a chocolate. He chewed, completely unfazed.
"Your documentation came as voice memos and some attachments," she began.
"And screenshots," Ilya offered, helpfully. "I sent screenshots also."
"You did. From three separate brokerage platforms."
"I use different accounts for different strategies," Ilya said, nodding. "Is easier to keep organized."
"You have," Shane said, "a strategy?"
"I have several," Ilya said. "Is how investing works."
Shane looked at Dr. Osei. She looked back at him, her expression most accurately described as measured; the expression of a woman who had information and was choosing her order of delivery deliberately.
"The commodities positions," she said. "Ilya, you hold physical gold and silver."
"Yes. Currently four point three million approximately, depending on spot price."
Shane's pen moved. Stopped.
"An industrial metals position: copper primarily, some palladium."
"I moved out of energy futures eighteen months ago," Ilya said. "Volatility no longer justified by yield profile. Copper has better long-term thesis. Energy transition, EV infrastructure, grid build-out, demand is structural. Is not going away. Palladium supply is geographically constrained. Is durable positions."
Shane set down his pen.
"You said…yield profile," he said, very carefully.
"Yes."
"And durable positions."
"The demand is structural, mathematic. This is accurate description of thesis."
"When…" Shane stopped. Thought for a second, "you told me you got bored. On road trips. Second year. Is this…" He trailed off.
"Yes. I started reading. Annual reports, prospectuses, books on market history." Then Ilya shrugged: the one that meant I worked at this seriously but will not perform that for you. "I had a lot of money. A lot of time on planes to read. Bought stocks. Made some money. Then made some mistakes. I learned from them."
"The S&P 500 core position," Dr. Osei said.
"You don't argue with the index," Ilya said. "Index is foundation. Active positions are for when I have a specific view."
"Your allocation between NYSE and NASDAQ holdings…"
"Sixty-forty currently. Was more NASDAQ-weighted before. I trimmed after rate environment shifted. Duration risk in high-multiple growth tech was not justified through the tightening cycle. I moved toward value and infrastructure."
Shane had not moved.
"You know," he said, in a voice that was doing significant work to remain level, "the difference between the NYSE and the NASDAQ?"
Ilya looked at him. He had the expression of a man who understood exactly what was being asked and found it a reasonable question. "Of course," he said.
"Tell me."
"Shane…"
"Please."
Ilya set down his chocolate. "NYSE is New York Stock Exchange," he said. "Founded 1792. Large-cap industrials, financials, consumer staples. Auction-based market-making. Physical trading floor…" he paused, " which I find pleasing. NASDAQ, founded 1971, electronic market. Technology-heavy. Higher growth multiples, higher average volatility. Different listing requirements, different fee structure. NASDAQ trades higher volume by share count. NYSE is larger by total market capitalization."
He said all of this in his deliberate, assembled English. English that he had studied to use in this particular instance. Every word chosen. Nothing imprecise.
"You," Shane said.
"Yes," Ilya said.
"You know that."
"Why would I not?"
"Because…" Shane stopped. Because the honest completion of that sentence was something like because I have been explaining stock market basics to you across our kitchen table for two years with the patient energy of a man teaching a golden retriever to sit, and if he said that out loud, he would have to live with having said it. "The Koenigsegg," he said instead. "You forgot about the Koenigsegg."
"That is different category of information," Ilya said, with tremendous dignity.
Dr. Osei stepped in. "The SPAC investments."
"How many," Shane said flatly, because he had stopped pretending.
"Eleven positions over six years. Three major exits. Current holdings approximately eighteen point four million."
“Yes. SPAC is very good market. Risk is low pre-merger. Warrants hedge risk. Very good,” Ilya explained.
Shane wrote it down. WARRANTS??? Underlined it three times.
"The exits. First: an early position in Diamond Eagle Acquisition Corp. The DraftKings SPAC. Pre-merger announcement."
"Yes," Ilya said. "I had been watching DraftKings for over a year. American sports betting market was opening state by state. Legalization trajectory was clear. DraftKings had best consumer product and best team. The SPAC gave me access at best entry point." He paused. "I exited at sixty-one per share. Wanted to hold longer but valuation multiple relative to growth trajectory was becoming difficult to justify, and regulatory uncertainty in certain states was not fully priced in."
Shane was writing numbers in the margin. He was writing them and adding them and writing more.
"Second exit: GS Acquisition Holdings: the Goldman vehicle that took Vertiv public. February 2020."
"That one I am proud of," Ilya said. "Everyone was talking about chips. The AI compute. The processing power. Nobody was talking about the heat the chips produce. You put enough processors in a building, building needs serious cooling. Vertiv makes the cooling. The thesis was simple: AI infrastructure build-out was not slowing and the companies enabling it at the physical layer were undervalued relative to the software names." He shrugged. "I held through initial period and exited when broader institutional attention arrived and the multiple reflected it."
Dr. Osei gave Shane the return figure on the Vertiv position.
Shane added it to the column in his margin.
"The Bombas investment," Dr. Osei said. "Private round, not a SPAC."
"Early private round," Ilya said. "Before national distribution really scaled." He looked at Shane. "You know Bombas."
"Those are my favorite socks," Shane said.
Silence.
"I know," Ilya said.
"You knew," Shane said. "When I showed you the socks…"
"You were very enthusiastic about the socks," Ilya said. "This confirmed my thesis about product."
"You had a thesis about my socks."
"I had a thesis about the company. The socks were supporting evidence." He was entirely composed. "Buy-one-give-one model was brand infrastructure, not charity. Customers who buy on values don't churn. The unit economics supported margin expansion. Private equity acquired a significant stake two years ago. I exited most of my position in that transaction."
Dr. Osei gave Shane the number.
Shane looked at his feet, lifted his pant leg. His socks. Bombas.
"The Poppi investment," Dr. Osei added.
"Private round. Early. 2019." Ilya settled back. "I was at a trade show in… I don't remember… I tasted it. Every flavor." He considered. "Strawberry lemon was not my favorite. But product was genuinely different. Functional, interesting, real. The founders understood their consumer. It was where beverage market was heading and they were three years ahead of it. I made some calls. I got in."
"Poppi," Shane said slowly, "was acquired by PepsiCo."
"Yes. Earlier this year. One point nine five billion dollars."
The all sat there, silently.
"One point nine five," Shane said. "Billion."
"Yes."
"You tasted a prebiotic soda at a trade show in 2019 in a city you cannot remember going to…"
"The rose flavor was good also," Ilya said.
"And six years later PepsiCo paid almost two billion dollars for the company."
"Beverage market was very good," Ilya said. "This was not difficult to see. Did very well with exit."
Shane put down his pen.
He looked at the column of numbers he had been building in the tab four margin. The commodity positions. The index holdings. The SPAC exits: DraftKings, Vertiv. The private investments: Bombas, Poppi. The current SPAC portfolio at eighteen point four million. The blank space for angel positions, which Dr. Osei had not yet reached. The numbers accumulating like a tide, each one individually significant and collectively something that was rewriting every assumption Shane had arrived with.
"Dr. Osei," he said. He said it quietly. "The total. Investment assets only. Not the real estate, not the vehicles. Just the portfolio."
She gave him the number.
Shane wrote it down. He looked at it.
"That is…" he said, "more than your career earnings. Total. Since your first contract."
"Investment income compounds," Ilya said. "This is how it works."
"I know how it…" Shane stopped. He looked at the number again. "These returns," he said. "These aren't… Dr. Osei. These returns. Relative to benchmark."
"Relative to benchmark," she said, "the overall portfolio performance over the six-year period, accounting for the private positions, the commodity allocation, and the SPAC exits at their realized values… is… " she checked her figures, "in the range of some of the stronger hedge fund performers over the same period. Certain multi-strategy funds. Some of the better commodity-focused managers."
Shane looked at Ilya.
"You," he said.
"Yes," Ilya said.
"Your returns are in the range of some of the world's best-performing hedge funds."
"Some of them," Ilya said, exercising modesty, he knew this assessment was accurate.
"You sent Dr. Osei a voice memo recorded while driving," Shane said.
"The acoustics were not ideal," Ilya agreed.
"You forgot you owned a Koenigsegg."
"Yeah…"
"You have a horse in England that receives carrots by messenger…"
"Sofya is very well…"
"And you," Shane said, "have been running returns that would make a quant at Citadel nervous."
Ilya was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I don't know if Citadel specifically uses…Ken is…"
"It's an example..."
"Yes. Okay." He nodded. "Then yes. Approximately."
“Wait…Ken… Griffin? You know Ken Griffin is?”
“Yes, Shane. Is CEO of Citadel. Big hockey fan. Met him at investor conference last year.”
Shane groaned and sat back. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at his binder, at the index funds he had explained to Ilya across the kitchen table, the bond ladder he had diagrammed on a napkin over dinner in February, the sector allocation charts he had shown him on his laptop with the patient energy of a man who believed he was providing useful education.
He had been providing useful education. To a man who was running hedge-fund-tier returns from three brokerage platforms and a series of voice memos sent at two in the morning.
"The bond ladder," Shane said.
"Very good structure," Ilya said. "The 2022 duration argument was useful. I adjusted three positions based on things you said."
Shane looked at him.
"Three," Ilya said. "Not one."
"You adjusted your portfolio," Shane said. "Based on my explanations."
"The copper thesis also. You described it differently than I had framed it. The framing was useful." He paused. "And cannabis. I had considered that sector and rejected it. When you described the operations I realized I had been thinking about the wrong part of the market. Is something I am looking into."
"I was going to say something about the cannabis facility," Dr. Osei said, checking her notes. "Shane, you hold a twenty-two percent stake in a licensed cannabis cultivation facility in British Columbia."
Ilya became very still, he was stifling a reaction, and Shane could feel it.
"Yes," Shane said. "It's… fully licensed. Federally and provincially compliant. I had it reviewed before I committed. Tab six has everything: the regulatory filings, the agricultural consultant's report, the financial statements…"
"Cannabis," Ilya said slowly.
"Cannabis cultivation facility," Shane said. "The terminology matters for regulatory…"
"You invested in marijuana farm." Ilya clarified again.
"It's an agricultural… yes."
"How long?"
"Two and a half years."
Ilya looked at Shane for a long moment. Something was happening in his face that was working through several stages. "Two and a half years?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You told me," Ilya said, slowly, "about every single index fund. Every sector. Every rebalancing decision." He paused. "I have heard about bond ladder more times than I have talked about my own brother."
"Diversification is important."
"You did not mention weed farm." Ilya grinned.
"It doesn't come up naturally in…" Shane blushed, the pink tipping his ears, moving up his neck.
"We live together," Ilya said. "We eat breakfast together. I have watched you make color-coded binder. I have listened to you explain, with diagram, difference between REIT and direct property holding." The expression was fully formed now: not quite laughter, not quite disbelief, something that was both of those things and something warmer underneath. "And you said nothing about the marijuana farm."
"I was going to… it felt strange after a while that I hadn't mentioned it, and then the longer it went…"
"How profitable?" Ilya asked.
Shane told him.
Ilya looked at him. He leaned over, looked at tab six. He reached over and pulled the binder across the desk, opened to tab six, and then flipped to tab six-A, and then tab six-B, which was the agricultural consultant's report. He read the first page. The second. He looked at the yield projections. He looked at the sustainable growing practices section.
A smile had started in the corner of his mouth and was not being managed.
"The margins are very strong," Ilya said, his tone more serious now.
"Yes," Shane said, slightly warily.
"Well-run operation. Good positioning in market."
"That's what the consultant said."
"And you," Ilya said, looking up, the smile had returned, had taken over his face, "kept this in tab six. Cannabis Agricultural Investment (Regulatory and Financial). Subtab A. Subtab B." He turned back to the table of contents and read it. He set the binder down. He looked at Shane with an expression that was delight, unmistakably, the real kind. "You absolute hypocrite."
"I'm not a hypocrite!"
"You made a tab," Ilya said. "For marijuana farm. You put it between tab five and tab seven. You lettered subtabs." He was fully laughing now, the real laugh, the one that took over his whole face. "You explained my index funds to me and you had weed farm in British Columbia."
"It's a legitimate…"
"I know it's legitimate. It's a very good investment. I want to see it."
"You want to…"
"I want to visit. An agricultural operation. I find these interesting." He raised his eyebrows, but was still smiling. "After Whistler."
"You're not going to let this go," Shane said.
"Shane Hollander. Owns weed farm," Ilya said, "This is the best thing I have learned today. And I have learned many things today."
Dr. Osei was reviewing her notes with focused composure and absolutely not smiling.
Chapter 7: THE NET WORTH IS TOTALED AND SHANE REASSESSES EVERYTHING
"The angel investing," Dr. Osei said, continuing the conversation.
"How many companies," Shane said, exasperated, but accepting.
"Fourteen active positions. Several exits, Poppi and Bombas already covered. Additional early-stage investments across sports technology, health and wellness, food and beverage, and one agricultural technology company."
"I thought you would find agricultural one interesting," Ilya said to Shane, "given… cannabis farm."
"Please do not use my cannabis facility to make points right now."
"I was making no…"
"The total angel portfolio," Dr. Osei said. "Current estimated value of active positions plus realized returns."
She gave the number.
Shane added it to the column.
He looked at the column. He looked at it for a while, he scratched his head with the end of the pen.
"Ok. Dr. Osei," he said. "Total net worth. Everything. Both of us together. What are we looking at?"
She gave him the combined figure. And then, because Shane's expression indicated he was doing math and needed it broken down, she separated it: Shane's net worth; substantial, the product of eleven years of careful and excellent financial management. And Ilya's.
Shane wrote down Ilya's net worth.
It had nine figures.
He looked at it. He blinked hard.
"You," he said.
"Yes," Ilya said.
"Nine figures. You have a net worth of nine figures."
"Yes."
"You," Shane said again, because repetition seemed necessary, "who sends voice memos at two in the morning to your financial planner. Who forgot about a Koenigsegg in Stockholm. Who has an unused Mercedes in the driveway because you like knowing it's there. Who keeps forgetting to do anything about the Boston house you haven't lived in for two years. Who has a racing horse who doesn’t race in England receiving messengered carrots." He paused. "You?"
"Yes," Ilya said, patient and steady.
"The Saks receipt," Shane said. "A hundred and twenty-two thousand dollars."
"Yes."
"The Bergdorf Goodman bags that appear in our entryway."
"Yes."
"The painting on the living room wall."
"Yes. Rothko. Very good artist."
"The Patek Philippe."
"Long term capital allocation," Ilya said.
"You called it that and I told you that wasn't what a watch was," Shane said. "And then I went home and looked it up and it is a capital allocation decision and I didn't tell you I looked it up."
"I know you looked it up," Ilya said.
“You know I looked it up?”
"Yes. You stopped arguing about watch."
Shane looked at his binder. At tab nine. At the twenty-five-thousand-dollar monthly discretionary cap he had prepared. He looked at it for a long moment.
"Tab nine," he said.
"Yes," Ilya said, gently.
"The guardrails."
"Yes."
"I made a tab called Spending Guardrails," Shane said, "and brought it to a man with a nine-figure net worth."
"You prepared it very thoroughly," Ilya said.
"That's not…" Shane stopped. He looked at tab nine. He thought about the tone he had intended to use when presenting it. The responsible-partner energy. The I just want to make sure we're both set up for the future framing. He felt something that he would, if pressed, describe as a significant amount of retrospective embarrassment.
"Some of it," Ilya said, quietly, "is reasonable."
"Don't…"
"The Boston property. You are right." He said it simply. "I should have dealt with it two years ago. I like knowing it's there, but this is not… this is not financial reason. This is me being…” He paused, searching for the word, “...sentimental about house." He paused again. "And the review process. Large purchases. We should discuss them. Not because I cannot afford them. Because we are married and this is what partnership means." He met Shane's eyes. "Tab nine is not wrong. Tab nine is just.."
"Calibrated for a completely different person than you are," Shane sighed.
"A little," Ilya said.
"The monthly cap was twenty-five thousand," Shane said. "You have nine figures in investment assets."
"The cap was… ambitious," Ilya said.
"Aggressively conservative," Dr. Osei offered.
"Thank you," Ilya said.
"I was not helping you," she said.
"I know. Still."
Shane sat back. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at his husband, who had been carrying a nine-figure net worth around their shared Ottawa house, eating cereal at the kitchen island, arguing about cabinet management, leaving his skates in the entryway, occasionally appearing in the living room at midnight having apparently just remembered something he'd forgotten to send Dr. Osei and who had spent two years, apparently with genuine attention and occasional strategic application, listening to Shane explain things.
"You let me explain the index funds to you," Shane said. "For two years."
"Yes," Ilya said.
"You were already doing this."
"Yes."
"All of it. The commodities. The SPACs. The private rounds. You were already doing all of it. And you sat there while I explained the difference between growth and value investing.."
"Was useful sometimes," Ilya said. "I told you. Three times."
"You adjusted your positions based on my kitchen table explanations."
"Yes."
"While privately returning performance in the range of top-quartile hedge funds."
"Some of them," Ilya said. "Not all."
"Some of them," Shane said. "Of the world's best hedge funds."
"Yes."
Shane looked at him for a long moment. "Why," he said. "Why didn't you say anything? Not just the net worth, all of it. Why did you let me, why did you sit there and…"
"Because," Ilya said, and his voice was quieter now, more careful, the way it got when he was being thoughtful about something that mattered, especially when it came to Shane, "you explaining things to me, this is not nothing. When you explain something, you are very… serious about it. Very focused. You care about it very much. And I like watching you care about things." He paused. "And sometimes you are right. And I always learn something, even when I already know the thing. I learn something about how you think." He looked at Shane directly. "I find this interesting."
Shane said nothing for a moment.
"I was patronizing you," Shane said.
"A little," Ilya said, a smile pulled at his lips. "But good intentions."
"I walked in here thinking I was the financially responsible one who was going to help you understand things."
"You are financially responsible," Ilya said. "The cannabis farm is very responsible. Bond ladder very responsible. You are… you are very good at this, Shane. The number being smaller than mine doesn't change that."
Shane looked at the binder.
Then he did something he had not planned to do. He closed tab nine. He opened to a fresh page at the back. He wrote, in his neat careful handwriting: REVISED SPENDING FRAMEWORK - MUTUAL REVIEW (BOTH PARTIES, ALL PURCHASES OVER $50K).
"This stands," he said. "Not because you can't afford it. Because we are married."
"Yes," Ilya said. "Agreed."
"Including the art."
"Yes."
"Including the watches."
"Yes."
"And if you somehow acquire another horse…"
"I am not going to acquire another horse."
"But if…"
"Shane," Ilya said. "Yes. If I acquire a horse, we will discuss it."
"Good." Shane wrote ADDENDUM: ANIMALS at the bottom of the page and starred it. He added the page to the binder. "Tab thirteen," he said.
"You had twelve tabs," Ilya said.
"Now I have thirteen."
Ilya looked at the binder, at Shane, at the room. He reached over and took another chocolate, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. “Thirteen,” he said with a full mouth.
Chapter 8: CONFECTIONARY EQUITIES AND UNUSED MERCEDES
They wrapped up twenty-six minutes past the hour. Dr. Osei scheduled the estate planning follow-up: wills, trusts, powers of attorney, healthcare directives, for three weeks out. She noted this would require a separate block of time and suggested they each review and update their existing documents beforehand.
"I will send mine," Ilya said.
"Please send them as files," Dr. Osei said. "Attached. To an email. Not as voice memos."
"The voice memos were detailed."
"They were," she said. "They were also eleven minutes long and one of them was recorded in a moving vehicle."
"The traffic was not bad," Ilya said.
Dr. Osei wrote something in her notes.
At the door, Shane confirmed he would send the follow-up document package by Friday, organized by section, with a cover note indexing everything to the relevant agenda items.
Ilya asked about the chocolates, the brand, specifically. He said was thinking about gift baskets for a teammate expecting a baby.
"Lindt," Dr. Osei said. "The dark sea salt."
Ilya nodded slowly, in the way he nodded when he was seriously considering what was being said. "Good product," he said. "Consistent quality. Strong brand recognition across markets." He paused. "Publicly traded. Lindt and Sprüngli. Swiss exchange. Very stable. Good dividend history."
Dr. Osei looked at him. Shane looked at him.
"Ticker is… LISP," Ilya said. He paused for a second. "Also trade as LISN, registered shares. Different price point, same underlying." He continued. "I have small position. Have held for three years. Not exciting but very reliable. Like the chocolate."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"Are you," Shane said, "pitching our financial planner on a stock at the door on the way out?"
"I am sharing information," Ilya said with a wink.
"He's right about the dividend history," Dr. Osei said, which was not something she had planned to say, but he was right.
Shane looked at her. He looked at Ilya. He picked up his binder. "I'll have the documents to you by Friday," he said to Dr. Osei, and walked out.
Ilya shook her hand. "The dark sea salt," he said. "For the gift basket. Very good choice. The raspberry ones are also good but more divisive."
"Thank you, Ilya," she said.
"LISP," he said again, helpfully, and followed Shane out.
The Ottawa afternoon was bright and sunny, people doing what they did on a day like this. They walked out of the building, toward the parking deck.
They fell into step the way they always did, arms brushing, Ilya’s gait matching Shane's, both of them calibrated to each other in the way that just happened without discussion over years of walking beside the same person. They made their way to the parking deck where the Range Rover was parked.
"You pitched her on Lindt," Shane said.
"I shared a relevant observation."
"On the way out the door."
"The moment was appropriate."
"The moment was… we had been in there for almost three hours, Ilya, she was trying to end the meeting…"
"She agreed about the dividend history."
"She…" Shane stopped. "That's not the point."
"What is point?"
"The point is you have amassed a net worth of nine figures and you're standing at a financial planner's door recommending Swiss chocolate stocks."
"Lindt is a very solid holding," Ilya said. "She should know this."
"She has a PhD."
"In financial planning. Not specifically confectionary equities."
Shane made a sound that was not quite a word. "Confectionaries…” Shane considered the word choice. “You know… I think you're my sugar daddy," he said with a smirk.
"Shane..."
"You absolutely are! You have a yacht, a villa, a hotel you bought for the dock…" Shane tucked the binder under his arm and started counting on his fingers.
"The hotel is a good investment…"
"A horse in England…"
"Sofya is retired…"
"A Koenigsegg in Stockholm that you forgot…"
"I remember it now."
"You pitched our financial planner on Lindt stock on the way out," Shane said. "You are definitely my sugar daddy."
"I am your husband," Ilya said. "This is correct term."
"My husband," Shane said agreeably. "Who is also my sugar daddy. These things are not mutually exclusive."
Ilya looked at him. Something shifted in his expression, a shift that meant he had decided to be a problem about something. Shane recognized it immediately and slightly too late.
"Sugar daddy, hmm" Ilya said, trying the phrase out with the air of a man examining an object for its full range of applications. "This implies certain… dynamics."
"Don't," Shane said.
"I am simply…"
"I know what you're doing."
"If I am the sugar daddy," Ilya said, with great academic calm, "then there are expectations. Arrangements. You would be…"
"Finish that sentence and I will sell the Koenigsegg."
"You cannot sell my Koenigsegg."
"I can absolutely… we just agreed on a joint spending review framework, I am fairly certain I can flag the Koenigsegg as an underperforming asset requiring disposition…"
"The Koenigsegg is not underperforming, it is appreciating…"
"In Stockholm, where you forgot about it…"
"Shane." Ilya stopped walking, a couple dozen steps from the car. Shane stopped because Shane always stopped when Ilya stopped, which was something Ilya had noticed some time ago and found privately very satisfying. "If I am the sugar daddy," he said, very reasonably, "then you are getting a very good deal. You should be nicer to me."
Shane stared at him.
"My sugar daddy," Shane said slowly, as if testing the weight of each word, "has a yacht. And a villa on the French Riviera. And a hotel in Croatia that he bought specifically so the yacht had somewhere to park." He paused. "And nine figures in investment assets, returns in the range of the world's top hedge funds, and an early position in a prebiotic soda company he found at a trade show in a city he cannot remember visiting."
"Austin," Ilya said. He started walking again, Shane at his side.
"You just remembered."
"I have been thinking about it." He stopped next to the car, both of them wedged between the Range and another SUV.
"My sugar daddy," Shane continued, undeterred, "forgot he owned a supercar. Has a horse with a preferred veterinarian. And just recommended a Swiss chocolate equity to our financial planner on the way out of a three-hour meeting." He looked Ilya up and down "Assets," he said, his tone inferring something that definitely wasn’t referring to actual assets. "I married assets."
Ilya looked at him for a long moment. The smile had arrived in the corner of his mouth and was not being managed. “And dick. You also married my dick.” Ilya said, his hand coming up to grip Shane’s jaw, "You are very smug for someone who had a monthly discretionary cap of twenty-five thousand dollars prepared."
"I am aware of the tab nine situation, Ilya, I do not need it…" He grinned into Ilya’s grip.
"I am just saying. For context. You prepared spending guardrails. For me. Who has…"
"Nine figures net worth, yes, I know, you don't have to…"
"Assets," Ilya said, with great innocence, while placing Shane’s hand over his crotch.
Shane squeezed. "Do not."
"I said nothing."
"You were about to."
"I was going to say," Ilya said, moving his hand from Shane’s jaw to his ass, "that you also have assets. The cannabis farm. The bond ladder. The binder, which is…” He searched for the words. “Genuinely very good binder." He paused. "And you adjusted three of my positions. This is not nothing."
"You adjusted your hedge-fund-beating portfolio based on my kitchen table explanations," Shane said.
"The information was useful."
"You are the most…" Shane stopped. Looked at him. Started again in a different direction. "The estate planning meeting. Three weeks."
"Yes."
"You are sending your documents as attachments. Actual files. Not voice memos."
"I will try."
"Ilya."
"I will send files," Ilya said. "Some files. Possibly also one voice memo, if the information is easier to explain…"
"Files," Shane said.
"Files," Ilya agreed, in the tone of a man who was going to send at least one voice memo. Probably more. Definitely more.
He opened the door for Shane. He got in. Ilya walked around the other side of the car and got into the passenger seat.
"The yacht," Ilya said, as he pulled the door shut.
"What about it?"
"We should go. This summer."
"I told you, I know nothing about sailing."
"I will hire crew. You will sit on the deck. You will read." He glanced over. "You can bring a binder if you need to."
"I don't bring binders on vacation."
"This would be a research binder," Ilya said. "For the yacht. Different category."
Shane opened his mouth. Closed it.
"The villa," Ilya added. "Also this summer. After the yacht. Good light in the evenings. You will like it."
"You told our financial planner it was a place. A small place," Shane said. "For two years."
"I simplified."
"It has a terrace."
"A small one."
"On the French Riviera."
"The Côte d'Azur, yes." Ilya was calm. The type of calm when he knew he’d been sneaky and caught. "Very modest."
Shane looked at him. At the man who was worth nine figures and a Koenigsegg he forgot about and a horse with opinions about veterinarians and an apparently genuine conviction that buying into a Croatian hotel was a reasonable response to needing somewhere to park a yacht. The man who had spent two years listening to Shane explain index funds and had adjusted his positions three times and never said a word about it. The man who had, eleven days ago, cried in a borrowed barn in Vermont and then denied it strenuously and was still denying it and would probably continue to deny it indefinitely.
"Sugar daddy," Shane said.
"I will not respond to this," Ilya said.
"My sugar daddy has a yacht and a villa and a hotel in Croatia with a very convenient dock." Shane grinned. "Assets."
Ilya looked at him with the expression of a man who had several responses available and was choosing between them based on which would be most effective and least appropriate for a public parking deck.
"You," Ilya said, "are going to be very annoying about this."
"Indefinitely," Shane confirmed.
"Every time I buy something."
"Every receipt. Every AMEX bill. Every garment bag in the entryway. Every invoice on the kitchen island." Shane nodded. "Sugar daddy."
"I will put you on an allowance, unless you… you know..." Ilya said with a sly smile.
"I'm sorry," Shane said. "You'll what?"
"If I am the sugar daddy," Ilya said, with magnificent composure, "there should be an allowance. This is how arrangement works."
"You made a tab," Ilya continued, "with a twenty-five-thousand-dollar monthly allowance. For me. I am simply proposing the same structure in the other direction."
Shane stared at him.
"This is revenge," Shane said.
"This is a framework," Ilya said, using the word Shane used when he was making an argument and Ilya pushed back. "For household financial management. You said: is about partnership. ‘Mutual visibility.’"
"I will revoke tab thirteen."
"The animal addendum?"
“No more animals. No discussion. Shane said. "Unilaterally. No more dogs. No more horses."
"You would not."
"No more dogs, Ilya," Shane knew Ilya’s dog, Anya, was the light of his life.
"Shane…"
“NO. MORE. DOGS.”
Ilya pressed his mouth together. "This is," Ilya said carefully, "a credible threat."
"I know," Shane said.
They looked at each other across the console, in an Ottawa parking deck in the bright afternoon, thirty-two days married, each of them trying not to be the first one to give in.
Ilya gave in first. He pulled Shane in for a bruising kiss that ended with each of them laughing into each other’s mouths.
Ilya would definitely put Shane on an allowance. And Shane would absolutely do favors to earn it. That was just how arrangements worked.
Chapter 9: INVOICE AND EXPANDING SECURITIES POSITIONS
Dr. Renata Osei sent her invoice the following morning. It was not, for all intents and purposes, enough. She raised her rates. She updated her professional biography. She emailed Shane's binder template to four colleagues. She filed the Rozanov portfolio documentation under: REFERENCE — ALTERNATIVE ASSET STRATEGY (PERSONAL INTEREST, DO NOT DISCUSS AT CONFERENCES). She also, after some reflection, looked up where LISP was trading on the Swiss exchange. The dividend history was, in fact, very good, she should know, she already owned some. She thought about expanding her position. She did not. She thought about it for several more days. She did not buy more. Three days later, she bought more.
