“Putin’s People” does include a denial from someone close to Abramovich, who said that he was not “acting under Kremlin direction” when he bought the Chelsea Football Club. Belton also uses a phrase that concedes the empirical limitations of her reporting: “whatever the truth of the matter.” But this was not enough for Abramovich, whose representatives argued that Sergei Pugachev was an unreliable source. “At no stage is the reader told that actually Abramovich is someone who is distant from Putin and doesn’t participate in the many and various corrupt schemes that are described,” his lawyers asserted. They later argued, “It would be ludicrous to suggest that our client has any responsibility or influence over the behavior of the Russian state.”
In December, the case was settled. Belton and HarperCollins agreed to some changes and clarifications in future editions; the book would be amended to contain a more strenuous denial on the Chelsea claim, and to emphasize that the allegations relating to the team could not be characterized as incontrovertible facts. They also agreed to cut the line about Abramovich being “Putin’s representative,” and to include additional comments from his spokesperson. Chelsea released a smug statement expressing satisfaction that Belton had “apologized to Mr. Abramovich.” HarperCollins committed to making a payment to the charity of his choosing. Belton greeted this settlement as a victory—she would not have to go to trial, or make major changes to her book. But she seemed exhausted and demoralized. “This last year has felt like a war of attrition,” she said. The Observer columnist Nick Cohen, reflecting on the case, ventured that “oligarchs can manipulate the truth here as surely as Putin can in Russia.”
In the days following Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, a slow-motion comedy began to unfold in the various exotic ports in which billionaires moor their yachts. Some of these mega-vessels started motoring out to international waters, presumably on instructions from anxious Kremlin-affiliated owners. Others were reportedly setting course for the Maldives, which has no extradition treaty with the United States. The Graceful, a hundred-million-dollar yacht that is widely believed to belong to Vladimir Putin, had made a hasty departure from a German port on the eve of the invasion, and relocated to Russian waters, in Kaliningrad. Officials in France seized a boat linked to Igor Sechin, the C.E.O. of Rosneft.
Boris Johnson, meanwhile, announced that “oligarchs in London” would find that there was “nowhere to hide,” and said that he would form a kleptocracy cell at the National Crime Agency, to target “corrupt Russian assets hidden in the U.K.” The real test, however, is not so much what legal authorities are created as how they are used. In 2018, Britain introduced a promising new ordinance concerning “unexplained wealth,” which meant that a potentate could be required to account for the source of the funds used to buy a particular asset or risk losing it altogether. Yet it has so far been used in only four cases, none of them targeting Russian oligarchs. In one proceeding, against the family of the former President of Kazakhstan, authorities froze three properties. After the move was challenged in court, though, the order was reversed. If a lack of political will was to blame for the paucity of cases, so was a lack of resources. The National Crime Agency is notoriously underfunded. Addressing the issue of why there hadn’t been more “unexplained wealth orders,” the agency’s director said, “We are, bluntly, concerned about the impact on our budget, because these are wealthy people with access to the best lawyers.”
But, given the bloodshed in Ukraine, and the international community’s surprising resolve to isolate the Kremlin economically, couldn’t things be different this time? One great irony of the story that Bullough relates in “Butler to the World” is that, after decades of obliging the global criminal élite, Britain now has a singular opportunity to turn the tables. Lured by “Tier 1” visas and luxury real estate and fabulous shopping and the comfortable prospect of lasting impunity, the oligarchs entrusted their fortunes to the butlers of Britain. If the British government were to have a genuine change of heart and start demanding transparency and freezing assets, a sanctuary could become a snare. After all, what does Putin own on paper? If he has left his many assets in the care of a coterie of front men who have built lives for themselves in London, then London has the upper hand. It could help isolate Putin—by pinching off his access to resources, and perhaps even by motivating the front men to pressure him to change his behavior, or to abandon him altogether.
Roman Abramovich, for one, seems to have grown worried about the long-term prospects of British hospitality. In late February, he reportedly flew to Belarus to help Russian and Ukrainian negotiators secure a “peaceful resolution” to the conflict. (The lawyers who had previously claimed that it would be “ludicrous” to think there was a relationship of influence between Abramovich and the Kremlin volunteered no explanation for why he might now have a seat at the table.) Abramovich also said that he was putting Chelsea up for sale. There should be no shortage of potential buyers; last year, Newcastle United was purchased by a consortium of investors representing the Saudi sovereign wealth fund, which is chaired by Mohammed bin Salman, who authorized the murder and dismemberment of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi. Net proceeds from any sale would be dedicated to a fund for “all victims of the war in Ukraine,” Abramovich pledged. Even so, it appeared as if he were seeking to unload assets while he still had the chance. There was talk that Abramovich was also looking to sell his home in Kensington. A Chinese buyer was said to be circling.