Vladimir Makarov is, generally, a distrustful man. Particularly in regards matters important to him and his cause—the Inner Circle. It’s not in his interest to trust any old random with tasks he’d usually handle himself—however, you’re the only exception he’s ever made, and will ever make, to that rule. He’s far too busy to deal with the financial side of his business—he’s got the money to spend, it’s the keeping track of it that seems to be the problem.

You’re the solution. He was especially reluctant to trust you with the task, but he’d heard many stories of your competence and capabilities, and frankly, at the time, he hadn’t had much opportunity to be picky. He needed a financier—and to this day, he’s still proud of himself for his choice. You’ve grown on him immensely, however secretive he is about it. So much so, that he allows you to, lightly, scold him, with no repercussions.

He stands stoically in front of you as you angrily gesture to the paperwork and logbooks on your desk, as if to tell him, ‘See how much work you have me doing, because of your stupid decisions?’ He merely snorts and sparks up a cigarette. “It was necessary for the cause. We are nowhere near bankrupt, yes?