Historical
![Bill Browder - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B00O465O16.jpg)
Freezing Order: A True Story of Money Laundering, Murder, and Surviving Vladimir Putin's Wrath
Following his explosive New York Times bestseller Red Notice, Bill Browder returns with another gripping thriller chronicling how he became Vladimir Putin's number one enemy by exposing Putin's campaign to steal and launder hundreds of billions of dollars and kill anyone who stands in his way.
When Bill Browder's young Russian lawyer, Sergei Magnitsky, was beaten to death in a Moscow jail, Browder made it his life's mission to go after his killers and make sure they faced justice. The first step of that mission was to uncover who was behind the $230 million tax refund scheme that Magnitsky was killed over. As Browder and his team tracked the money as it flowed out of Russia through the Baltics and Cyprus and on to Western Europe and the Americas, they were shocked to discover that Vladimir Putin himself was a beneficiary of the crime.
As law enforcement agencies began freezing the money, Putin retaliated. He and his cronies set up honey traps, hired process servers to chase Browder through cities, murdered more of his Russian allies, and enlisted some of the top lawyers and politicians in America to bring him down. Putin will stop at nothing to protect his money. As Freezing Order reveals, it was Browder's campaign to expose Putin's corruption that prompted Russia's intervention in the 2016 US presidential election.
At once a financial caper, an international adventure, and a passionate plea for justice, Freezing Order is a stirring morality tale about how one man can take on one of the most ruthless villains in the world-and win.
When Bill Browder's young Russian lawyer, Sergei Magnitsky, was beaten to death in a Moscow jail, Browder made it his life's mission to go after his killers and make sure they faced justice. The first step of that mission was to uncover who was behind the $230 million tax refund scheme that Magnitsky was killed over. As Browder and his team tracked the money as it flowed out of Russia through the Baltics and Cyprus and on to Western Europe and the Americas, they were shocked to discover that Vladimir Putin himself was a beneficiary of the crime.
As law enforcement agencies began freezing the money, Putin retaliated. He and his cronies set up honey traps, hired process servers to chase Browder through cities, murdered more of his Russian allies, and enlisted some of the top lawyers and politicians in America to bring him down. Putin will stop at nothing to protect his money. As Freezing Order reveals, it was Browder's campaign to expose Putin's corruption that prompted Russia's intervention in the 2016 US presidential election.
At once a financial caper, an international adventure, and a passionate plea for justice, Freezing Order is a stirring morality tale about how one man can take on one of the most ruthless villains in the world-and win.
Editorial Reviews
"Reading Bill Browder's zesty new book about the theft, extortion, intimidation, lies and murder that are the Russian state's daily levers of power can feel like reading several books at once. One, a breakneck financial thriller compelling breathless attention; another, a true story, crisply told, of a country's looting on a gigantic scale; a third, a morality tale of how liars first have to carry on lying, then simply abolish the truth; and fourth, and not least, a stimulating essay on Vladimir Putin's motivation that sheds light on his monstrous war in Ukraine." - The Telegraph (UK)(5 out of 5 stars)
"Freezing Order could not have come at a better time. It is among a crop of excellent recent books about Russia…If its subject matter weren't so grave, the book could be said to have all the elements of a high-octane drama. Murder. Conspiracy. Piles of dirty money. Sexual intrigue. Freezing Order shudders with the constant threat of assassination, abduction or sudden, extreme violence. It is a tense and gripping read…Good stories cut through, and this is one of them. Bearing witness to wrongdoing is a necessary step in reversing it. A book can be a kind of justice in itself." - The Time (UK)
"Could not be more timely in illustrating why the support of Russia's super-rich and their funds have become crucial to Putin's powerbase." - The Independent(UK)
"Browder has made his story into a real page-turner. Amid the horros being reported every day from Ukraine, it also provides a highly readable insight into the true nature of the regime that is responsible for them." - The Sunday Times (UK)
"Bill Browder's new book on the Magnitsky affair follows the money all the way to the top of Russia's murderous kleptocracy. Freezing Order ought to be compulsory reading. Luckily it reads like a thriller." -Tom Stoppard
"More explosive, compulsive and gasp-inducingly, spine-tingingly, mouth-dryingly, heart-poundingly thrilling than any fiction I have read for years. FREEZING ORDER has a stunning plot - international consp...
"Freezing Order could not have come at a better time. It is among a crop of excellent recent books about Russia…If its subject matter weren't so grave, the book could be said to have all the elements of a high-octane drama. Murder. Conspiracy. Piles of dirty money. Sexual intrigue. Freezing Order shudders with the constant threat of assassination, abduction or sudden, extreme violence. It is a tense and gripping read…Good stories cut through, and this is one of them. Bearing witness to wrongdoing is a necessary step in reversing it. A book can be a kind of justice in itself." - The Time (UK)
"Could not be more timely in illustrating why the support of Russia's super-rich and their funds have become crucial to Putin's powerbase." - The Independent(UK)
"Browder has made his story into a real page-turner. Amid the horros being reported every day from Ukraine, it also provides a highly readable insight into the true nature of the regime that is responsible for them." - The Sunday Times (UK)
"Bill Browder's new book on the Magnitsky affair follows the money all the way to the top of Russia's murderous kleptocracy. Freezing Order ought to be compulsory reading. Luckily it reads like a thriller." -Tom Stoppard
"More explosive, compulsive and gasp-inducingly, spine-tingingly, mouth-dryingly, heart-poundingly thrilling than any fiction I have read for years. FREEZING ORDER has a stunning plot - international consp...
Readers Top Reviews
V. Jacobsen
This story fills in the "holes" as to just what was going on with recent "Trump" politics. Trouble is, Russia knows no boundaries. Entitlement is their game. Couldn't put the book down. Wonderful read!! Thank you.
Siggy
Browder is a brave patriot for the free world. He is hunted by Putin. He should be speaking before Congress today....In a time of great fear, listen to the brave....
Lee Rutter
The book looks fascinating and as long as the book is factual and not opinionated, I would most certainly want to read it. What is keeping me from buying at this moment is that in an interview he talks about where when reporters asked Putin if he would hand over 12 military intelligence officers to the U.S. and Putin said "Yeah, I think so if Trump will hand over Bill Browder. Trump responded that he could possibly do that. Over a four day period, Congress took a vote on doing so and 98% voted against it and Trump abided by Congress decision. Browder goes on to say that if Trump was re-elected, he would have been afraid to come to the U.S. Browder - there are a lot of these options that most administrations do behind closed doors that resemble this. The fact is that Trump didn't do it and you also had the backing of U.S. Congress. Sorry of your fear of Trump. Many Americans would've supported your stay here in the U.S. and would've have helped in the cause. Trump is not your enemy. Just because you are on MSNBC in an interview, doesn't mean you need to placate to them. I put five star rating for possibly the content - and didn't take off stars for the crazy talk.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1: The Madrid Arrest – 1 – The Madrid Arrest SPRING 2018
Madrid was uncharacteristically cool for the end of spring. I'd flown in for a meeting with José Grinda, Spain's 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 Spain's 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 Inglés. We have a very special surprise for you!"
I stay at a lot of hotels. Managers don't typically have surprises for me. "What's 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 card-a Black American Express Card to which I'd recently been upgraded-into 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. I'd been upgraded to the presidential suite. I was pretty sure this wasn't because of who I was, but because of this new American Express card. I'd 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, Ibérico 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 room-who wouldn't?-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 visit-talking to law enforcement officials about the sort of Russian gangsters who often booked suites like this-he probably wouldn't have been so enthusiastic. Still, I wasn't going to be rude. When we circled back to the foyer, I nodded appreciatively. "It's 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 José 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 don't understand.
The manager translated. "I'm 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 ...
Madrid was uncharacteristically cool for the end of spring. I'd flown in for a meeting with José Grinda, Spain's 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 Spain's 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 Inglés. We have a very special surprise for you!"
I stay at a lot of hotels. Managers don't typically have surprises for me. "What's 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 card-a Black American Express Card to which I'd recently been upgraded-into 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. I'd been upgraded to the presidential suite. I was pretty sure this wasn't because of who I was, but because of this new American Express card. I'd 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, Ibérico 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 room-who wouldn't?-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 visit-talking to law enforcement officials about the sort of Russian gangsters who often booked suites like this-he probably wouldn't have been so enthusiastic. Still, I wasn't going to be rude. When we circled back to the foyer, I nodded appreciatively. "It's 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 José 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 don't understand.
The manager translated. "I'm 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 ...
