As VChK-OGPU and Rucriminal.info have learned, whispers are circulating once again in Kremlin corridors about the possible departure of Anton Vaino, the Chief of the Russian Presidential Administration, following the elections. Some speculate he might replace Sergey Lavrov as Foreign Minister (a rumor that has surfaced before), while others "assign" him to different roles. There are, of course, reasons for this speculation. Sources highlight two specific cases. The first involves Wildberries: Vaino was the beneficiary of the deal to transfer the marketplace to himself and his partners, having personally petitioned Putin for it with promises that WB would become a global megacorporation with its own payment system. Now, however, WB has become a massive headache; given the identities of the owners, the questions are being directed straight at the Kremlin. The second case involves RUSNANO: it was the Presidential Administration Chief who lobbied for Sergey Kulikov to head the state-owned company—a move that ultimately ended in a colossal failure. According to our source, Vaino is now actively pushing the idea of privatizing RUSNANO just to put the whole entity behind him like a bad dream. However, the prospective buyer backed out, fearing sanctions. And one shouldn't forget the incident where the Presidential Administration Chief went for a joyride in an Aston Martin through central Moscow, escorted by a fleet of FSO (Federal Protective Service) vehicles. It turned out Vaino owns an entire "stable" of elite sports cars. Our source reflects on these various problems facing the Presidential Administration Chief:
"Ukrainian drone strikes on Wildberries' infrastructure have not only cast doubt on the marketplace's operational stability but have also derailed a number of related financial and political plans." It has now become definitively clear that the plan to sell the state corporation Rusnano to a private investor—a proposal Vaino has been lobbying for since the autumn of 2025—is unlikely to go ahead.
This saga began long before the events of August. Back in September 2025, a drama unfolded behind the closed doors of Vladimir Putin’s office—though the public only learned of it on October 29, and even then, only through a carefully choreographed television broadcast. Rusnano chief Sergey Kulikov reported to the president that the financial turnaround was complete: debts had been settled, the liquidity crisis overcome, the corporation was returning to profitability, and new projects were underway. Putin listened, nodded, and ultimately acknowledged that the financial recovery was virtually complete.
Yet, as often happens, the most interesting details remained off-camera. Once the cameras were turned off, Kulikov reported to the president that the final blow had been dealt to Chubais. The legal battle against the former leadership was nearing its conclusion: lawsuits seeking 3.9 billion rubles, $20.45 million, and an additional 11.9 billion rubles remained active. The former corporation head’s accounts had been frozen, and his pension slashed to the minimum. "Chubais is now personally held accountable for all of Rusnano’s failures"—that is roughly how Kulikov described the situation. The president, by all accounts, listened with visible satisfaction.
Only after this "victory report" did Kulikov turn to the main issue: the fate of the corporation itself. He requested approval to sell Rusnano as a single asset complex to a private investor. Putin gave his approval in principle to the plan, which had been preliminarily coordinated with Anton Vaino, the Head of the Presidential Administration. In reality, at least two parties stood to benefit from the planned privatization of Rusnano—and both were interested in covering their tracks rather than advancing high-tech development.
For Sergey Kulikov, it was a matter of personal survival. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his image as an effective turnaround manager. During his six-year tenure, Rusnano had produced virtually nothing: not a single significant market product, not a single technological success story. Instead of innovation, there were endless lawsuits, debt refinancing, debt assignments, and the mere appearance of frenetic activity. The company’s actual performance metrics existed only on paper; its only real achievement was the illusion of a "recovery," diligently broadcast in television reports. Selling to a private buyer offered a way to close the book on this chapter before the Kremlin and the public became completely disillusioned with his management. It meant avoiding bankruptcy, audits, and uncomfortable questions about where billions had vanished over six years and why the company had never managed to generate any innovations.
However, Anton Vaino and the security-service factions linked to him had an equal—and far more pragmatic—interest in the matter. The deal required approval through Vaino’s office, and he was the first to report to the president on the feasibility of transferring the state corporation into private hands.
Vaino understood better than anyone that Rusnano was not merely a loss-making portfolio but a massive reputational time bomb that could explode at any moment. Selling the company to a private investor meant that the results of Kulikov’s six-year tenure—the constant turnover of managers, the billions in losses, and the lack of tangible products—would never come to light. They would be quietly buried within the private entity that took over the corporation. Wildberries, for instance, has no su... ...the kind of rigorous oversight from the Prosecutor’s Office and the Audit Chamber that a state-owned company faces. This means there would be no awkward questions about where the money went, why projects failed, or who is to blame. It operates under its own protocols, with its own auditors and its own rules of the game.
Claims against Anatoly Chubais—technically held by Rusnano—would not simply vanish; instead, they would pass to the new owners. This would allow them to keep the political émigré under constant pressure—no longer on behalf of the state, but on behalf of private entities with close ties to the *siloviki* (security elites). There is also a third reason, discussed far more candidly in private circles than in official reports. Vaino had long since grown weary of shielding Kulikov; he seemed to regret the day he agreed to go to bat for him and Rusnano. Back then—years ago—things looked different: it seemed Kulikov would simply be helped to sort out Chubais’s legacy, develop nanotechnology, and secure funding for megaprojects. Yet years passed with no real progress; no megaprojects materialized, and the company merely churned through existing assets. All the while, Vaino had to personally quell discontent in the Kremlin, placate overseers, and explain why the corporation was posting losses again—and why it shouldn't be subjected to a comprehensive audit by VEB. This dragged on for years, draining his political capital and his patience.
The connection to Wildberries was particularly telling in this regard. That project also fell within Vaino’s sphere of influence; when blows to the marketplace’s infrastructure threatened its stability, the impact automatically hit Rusnano—and Vaino himself, as the guarantor of their resilience. Two problematic assets, two constant sources of headaches. Now, following the Wildberries debacle and the collapse of the privatization deal, bureaucratic circles are scrambling for alternatives—anything to offload this toxic asset and put the whole nightmare behind them. Too many resources had been squandered maintaining the illusion. Too many officials within the Presidential Administration knew Kulikov was an ineffective manager yet stayed silent, deferring to Vaino’s will. Now that the game is up, the Chief of Staff reportedly wants just one thing: for Rusnano to vanish from his agenda forever. At any cost. And the sooner, the better.
The lawsuits, account freezes, and cuts to Chubais’s pension—measures Kulikov had so proudly reported to the President in September 2025—were merely the tip of the iceberg. Once the company was sold to a private owner, all these levers of pressure against the former corporate chief would automatically pass to the new proprietor. And the new owner, unlike a state-run entity, would operate as a private enterprise fully entitled to employ a wide array of tactics—ranging from bankruptcy proceedings and international litigation to extrajudicial pressure via controlled media outlets and financial institutions.
In essence, Chubais would remain on the hook for endless legal battles—no longer facing the state, but a private investor. This would allow for the settling of old scores and keep the political émigré in a state of constant anxiety, all while burnishing the current administration’s reputation: the narrative being that they had parted ways with Chubais, and his fate was now in the hands of the market.
That is precisely why the collapse of this plan—derailed by external circumstances—left both sides the losers. They ran out of time to execute their scheme. The deal was scuttled by an escalation involving strikes on Wildberries’ logistics networks and fresh waves of sanctions triggered by Ukrainian actions. The private investor was forced to withdraw from negotiations, citing the impossibility of processing international payments and the risk of asset freezes.
Kulikov and Vaino find themselves stuck at the helm of a sinking corporation. Kulikov is compelled to keep issuing public reports on the company’s "turnaround" despite a complete lack of tangible results—and without the position with the new owners he had been promised. Meanwhile, Vaino has lost the chance to quietly bury all traces within a private structure, leaving the matter in limbo; there is now a risk that, sooner or later, an uncontrolled audit by VEB will unearth everything—from Chubais’s projects and Kulikov’s blunders to the administration’s role in covering them up.
The transfer of Rusnano to VEB is not currently on the agenda. Yet, behind the scenes, it is considered only a matter of time. And time, by all appearances, is working against everyone involved in this saga—especially those who spent too long pretending everything was going according to plan, and those weary of shielding this endless charade.
