Bill Browder - Freezing Order : A True Story of Money Laundering, Murder, and Surviving Vladimir Putins Wrath

Freezing Order

A True Story of Russian Money Laundering, State-Sponsored Murder, and Surviving Vladimir Putins Wrath

Bill Browder

Author of #1 New York Times Bestseller Red Notice

Simon & Schuster

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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2022

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Interior design by Paul Dippolito

Jacket design by Michael Nagin

Jacket art from Getty Images: Buildings by Yongyuan Dai; Ice by Tuomas A. Lehtinen; Man by Howard Kingsnorth

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

ISBN 978-1-9821-5328-1

ISBN 978-1-9821-5333-5 (ebook)

To my wife and children, who have stood by me, supported me, and loved me as the events in this story unfolded. I know it hasnt been easy, but Im eternally grateful to each of you.

This is a true story that will surely offend some very powerful and dangerous people. In order to protect the innocent, some names, locations, and details have been changed.

Freezing Order: A legal procedure that prevents a defendant from moving their assets beyond the reach of a court.

Madrid was uncharacteristically cool for the end of spring. Id flown in for a meeting with Jos Grinda, Spains top anti-corruption prosecutor. I was there to share evidence about how dirty money connected to the murder of my Russian lawyer, Sergei Magnitsky, had been used to purchase luxury properties along Spains Costa del Sol. The meeting was scheduled for 11:00 a.m. the following morning, which in Spain counts as an early meeting.

When I arrived at my hotel that evening, the manager scurried over to the check-in desk and ushered the clerk aside. Mr. Browder? he asked. I nodded. Welcome to the Gran Hotel Ingls. We have a very special surprise for you!

I stay at a lot of hotels. Managers dont typically have surprises for me. Whats that? I asked.

You will see. I will accompany you to your room. He spoke in careful English. Could you please give me your passport and credit card? I handed them over. He scanned my passport and fed the credit carda Black American Express Card to which Id recently been upgradedinto a chip reader. He handed me a room key with both hands cupped in a vaguely Japanese manner and stepped from behind the counter. Holding out his arm, he said, Please. After you.

I walked to the elevator, the manager following directly behind. We rode to the top floor.

He stepped aside when the doors opened, making room for me to exit first, but once we were in the hall he shuffled past me, stopping in front of a white door. He fumbled briefly with his master key, and then opened the room. I peered inside. Id been upgraded to the presidential suite. I was pretty sure this wasnt because of who I was, but because of this new American Express card. Id always wondered what the fuss was with these things. Now I knew.

Wow, I said.

I walked through the foyer and into a white living room decorated with tasteful modern furniture. On a low table was a spread of Spanish cheeses, Ibrico ham, and fruit. The manager talked about what an honor it was to have me as a guest, even though I doubted he knew anything about me beyond which credit card I carried.

He followed me around the suite, seeking my approval. There was a dining room, its table laid out with pastries, chocolates, and champagne on ice; then came the reading room, with a small private library; then a lounge with a glass-topped bar; then a little office with subdued lighting; and finally, the bedroom, which had a freestanding bathtub tucked under a high window.

I had to suppress laughter. Of course, I loved the roomwho wouldnt?but I was in Madrid on a one-night business trip. It would have taken half a dozen people to eat all the food they had laid out. Moreover, if the manager had known the nature of my visittalking to law enforcement officials about the sort of Russian gangsters who often booked suites like thishe probably wouldnt have been so enthusiastic. Still, I wasnt going to be rude. When we circled back to the foyer, I nodded appreciatively. Its very nice, I said. Thank you.

As soon as he was gone, I called Elena, my wife, who was at home in London with our four children. I told her all about the room, how extravagant and ridiculous it was, and how I wished she were with me.

After our call, I changed into jeans and a light sweater before heading out for an evening walk through the streets of Madrid, mentally preparing for my meeting with Jos Grinda the next day. Eventually, though, I got lost in the maze-like streets and squares, and had to hail a cab to take me back to the hotel.

The following morning was bright and sunny. Unlike the previous day, it was going to be hot.

At around 8:15 a.m. I checked my papers and business cards and opened the door to go downstairs for breakfast.

I stopped short.

The manager stood on the landing, hand raised in mid-knock.

On each side of him was a uniformed police officer. The patches on their crisp, navy shirts read, POLICIA NACIONAL .

Apologies, Mr. Browder, the manager said, glancing at the floor. But these men need to see your identification.

I handed my British passport to the larger of the two stone-faced officers. He studied it, comparing it to a piece of paper in his other hand. He then spoke to the manager in Spanish, which I dont understand.

The manager translated. Im sorry, Mr. Browder, but you must go with these men.

What for? I asked, looking past the manager.

He turned to the larger officer and rattled off something in Spanish.

The officer, staring directly at me, stated, Interpol. Russia.

Fuck.

The Russians had been trying have me arrested for years, and now it was finally happening.

You notice odd things when adrenaline hits you. I noticed there was a light out at the far end of the hall, and that there was a small stain on the managers lapel. I also noticed that the manager didnt look so much contrite as concerned. I could tell this wasnt for me. What concerned him was that his presidential suite would be unavailable so long as it contained my belongings. He wanted my things out as soon as possible.

He spoke quickly to the officers, and then said, These gentlemen will give you a few moments to pack.

I hurried through the series of rooms to the bedroom, leaving the officers waiting in the entryway. I suddenly realized I was alone and had an opportunity. If Id thought the room upgrade was frivolous before, now it was a godsend.