Debtor, Bankrupt and Business Partner of Peskov’s Daughter: Who Will Send a "Private Jet" for the Pseudo-Gauleiter of Kharkiv?

Recall that the Swedish newspaper Expressen reported on the high-profile detention of Dmytro Svyatash, a former Ukrainian MP, pro-Russian politician, and native of Kharkiv who fled to Russia after the full-scale invasion and obtained Russian citizenship.

Yet, the best part of this story is the official version of the defense. According to his lawyer, Mark Safaryan, the political fugitive arrived in Stockholm for one sole purpose—to attend a concert of the legendary American soul artist Stevie Wonder!

The irony of fate is that instead of funk rhythms and the live vocals of a music icon, Svyatash was met by harsh Swedish realities and handcuffs.

However, the lawyer does not lose optimism and calls upon Themis to be sober-minded: — He has a private jet, so he can fly back home to Russia on it if necessary, — Mark Safaryan gallantly assures, hinting that Swedish justice should probably work around concert tour schedules.

This is the first question that arises for anyone observing the charters, Stockholm lawyers, and multimillion-dollar fortunes of the ex-deputy. It would seem we have a true Kharkiv Croesus who earned his capital solely through his own exceptional intellect.

But if you peel away the glossy gilded layer of this story, you find a classic magic trick with elements of financial sorcery.

Dmytro Svyatash’s wealth is not so much about efficient business as it is about an exceptional talent for living in high style at someone else’s expense.

His famous corporation AIS, which for years claimed the status of an automotive giant, was built not only on car sales, but also on colossal loans. Banks—both state and private—generously flooded the handsome pediatrician’s business with millions of dollars.

When the time came to pay off debts, it turned out that the "successful businessman" possessed a unique talent: the debts remained on the paper of bankrupt firms, while personal chic, cozy living, and status went nowhere.

A Ukrainian-style paradox arises: debtor companies evaporate, creditors spend years beating on courthouse doors, while the ex-MP continues to travel exclusively along comfortable routes.

So is he truly rich? Rich—yes. But his main asset is not car dealerships or bank accounts, but boundless audacity and solvent "patrons" who today pay for Stockholm lawyers and await him with a private charter.

Yet, before flying anywhere, one must first take off. So where did his millions originate in the 1990s?

Parental Capital and the "Wet Seal" of the Sanitary and Epidemiological Station (SES) It all began very respectably: the son of a state physician, a medical institute graduate, decided at just 21 that healing people was a noble cause, but not nearly as profitable as car trading.

However, a powerful springboard for the young entrepreneur was his father’s administrative resource. In the 1990s, Volodymyr Svyatash headed the Kharkiv Regional Sanitary and Epidemiological Station (SES). Back then, the post of chief sanitary doctor was one of the most corrupt in the country.

Not a single business—from a small cafe to a massive car showroom—could open without the cherished signature and "wet seal" of the SES. Any import got stuck at customs until the "sanitarians" gave their green light.

This powerful administrative battering ram allowed the family to easily open doors to privatization, secure the best plots of land for future AIS showrooms, and seamlessly drive cars into Ukraine.

The AIS Corporation and the Era of Billion-Dollar Loans In 1992, Svyatash, alongside his partner Vasyl Polyakov, founded the AIS corporation. The formula for success turned out to be simple.

They bet on exclusive imports and assembly of Russian automobiles (GAZ, VAZ, UAZ, PAZ), later monopolizing dealerships for global brands. They racked up colossal credit lines in banks (including government and international ones like Ukrsibbank and Alfa-Bank). At its 2000s peak, business magazines estimated Svyatash's personal fortune in the tens of millions of dollars.

This author remembers Svyatash at a press conference in Kharkiv when he sat before journalists and exposed his bare ankles in expensive shoes.

In autumn, that looked ridiculous!

Yet, "careless chic" was coming into fashion among youth at the time (the effect of dressing in two minutes while looking flawless). Wearing expensive loafers, moccasins, or iconic boat shoes without socks signals to others: "I don't need to dress up for the office, I don't submit to corporate dress codes." It is a demonstration of freedom from formalities.

Yet when the 2008 crisis hit, the "successful businessman" demonstrated his main talent: he knew how to take loans brilliantly, but returning them—not so much.

Over 250 million dollars in debt simply "evaporated" into thin air through a network of fictitious firms and artificial bankruptcies. Creditors were left empty-handed, while the owner remained on a white horse (and in expensive shoes worn sockless).

Whenever a bank attempted to seize collateral property for non-payment of loans, schemes swung into action: firms were "buried," property was re-registered into new legal shells, and the mother-pensioner de jure controlled imports and multimillion-dollar flows. Even foreign assets (for instance, in Paris or Crimea) were hidden behind this scheme for years.

The People's Deputy Mandate (NDP, Party of Regions, and Revival) Worked Like a Swiss Watch. Alfa-Bank, Fridman, and the Secret Memorandum The history of Dmytro Svyatash’s relations with 

Alfa-Bank and his subsequent immunity in Russia is a classic example of how massive CIS debts turned into political instruments, while banks' financial losses were offset by the debtor's geopolitical "utility."

The Russian Alfa-Bank (through its Ukrainian daughter entity) actively financed AIS structures in the 2000s. Moreover, in 2012, the bank officially united with other creditors (specifically France's Ukrsibbank) and publicly accused Svyatash of evading the repayment of hundreds of millions of dollars.

Yet Svyatash never faced criminal prosecution in Russia. There are several interconnected reasons for this:

The Artificial Conflict Scheme and "Quiet Write-Off." As representatives of DCH company (which bought part of the AIS debts) stated, Svyatash and his partner Polyakov employed a cunning legal scheme. They artificially provoked a conflict of interest between Ukrsibbank and Alfa-Bank over collateralized property (such as the Kremenchuk Auto Assembly Plant). While European bankers tried to litigate transparently, in 2013 a secret memorandum stamped "strictly confidential" was signed between Alfa-Bank and Svyatash's structures. Experts noted that decisions on actual debt forgiveness or restructuring were not made in Kyiv, but coordinated directly with the beneficiaries of the Alfa-Group consortium (Mikhail Fridman and others) in Moscow. Alfa-Bank's debt ceased to be an instrument of debt collection and became an instrument of leverage over a Ukrainian politician.

Political "Weight" and the Status of Gauleiter. For the Kremlin, Svyatash held value not as a debtor businessman, but as a systemic pro-Russian politician who commanded a stable electoral base in Kharkiv. When Svyatash fled to Russia from Ukrainian justice in late 2019 / early 2020, he was instantly granted Russian citizenship under the simplified "Compatriots" program. According to Ukrainian intelligence, Kremlin curators viewed Svyatash as a potential "governor" or "mayor" of Kharkiv in the event of a successful city occupation by Russian troops in 2022. Political loyalty and readiness to head an occupation administration completely canceled out old financial grievances.

The claim that he was entirely untouched in Russia is not entirely accurate, but the finale confirms political cover. Only in August 2026 was Svyatash officially declared bankrupt by a Russian court. This was done purely in the legal plane for the final cleansing of his assets, without any criminal prosecution or actual asset stripping.

Thus, the connection was obvious: past financial sins before structures essentially Russian were "forgiven" (or frozen) in exchange for full political integration into Russia's interests and performance as a collaborator following the full-scale invasion.

What About Today? "Pomp" Costs More Than Money Today, the ex-deputy's financial reality looks entirely different from his "lush" 2000s:

In Ukraine, he was sentenced in absentia to 12 years in prison for fraud amounting to 2.2 billion hryvnias and high treason (because after 2019 he not only fled to Russia and obtained a passport there, but even coordinated enemy reconnaissance in Kharkiv and Kremenchuk).

His Ukrainian assets worth hundreds of millions of hryvnias were confiscated and transferred to ARMA.

In Russia itself, his business collapsed: in August 2026, a Russian court officially declared Dmytro Svyatash bankrupt.

Therefore, the story about a "private jet" voiced by his Stockholm lawyer Mark Safaryan is classic bravado. Svyatash does not own a new plane. This is likely a rental at someone else's expense or the services of generous Russian patrons who fund both his European lawyers and the business jet.

It seems he has little left: the habit of displaying expensive shoes without socks (as if to say, "I am above any dress code") and the belief that another expensive lawyer will help him escape reality as deftly as he once escaped bank loans.

While Dmytro Svyatash plays the role of a "persecuted politician" and collects in absentia verdicts in Ukraine, his second wife, Anzhelika Svyatash (Pogosyan), took on the mission of fully integrating the family into the Kremlin establishment.

The story of their relocation to Russia is a tragicomic plot in its own right. Initially, in state resettlement program applications, Anzhelika—a former private notary from Kharkiv—modestly stated the family planned to settle in Lipetsk, where she would work as a lawyer or notary assistant.

However, the "Lipetsk modesty" quickly evaporated: instead of the provinces, the family instantly found themselves in a luxury apartment in the very center of Moscow, right under the Kremlin's nose.

Yet the true apotheosis of "integration" was joint business. In 2020, a loud scandal broke out: it turned out the wife of the fugitive Ukrainian ex-regionaire had become a direct business partner of Elizaveta Peskova—daughter of official Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov.

Together they owned LLC "Set stolichnykh bistro" (a chain of Moscow burger joints). The company operated in the restaurant sphere under the Restada Group brand and planned to develop a chain of venues (including eKere, Da Giovani Italian restaurants, and Dastarhan Uzbek cuisine). However, something went wrong: the company submitted its last non-zero financial report for 2021.

And though the firm was officially liquidated in 2025, the fact speaks louder than any declarations.

This is not just a restaurant startup. In Moscow, such joint projects with the Kremlin's "golden youth" are a classic instrument for entering a closed club and legalizing capital looted from plundered Ukrainian banks. Ordinary refugees do not receive elite apartments near the Kremlin and do not open businesses with the family of a man who daily voices the position of war criminal Putin.

Simultaneously, Anzhelika Svyatash positions herself as a socialite and designer of the premium womenswear brand Maison d'AngelAnn (alongside a partner).

This author curiously visited the Maison d'AngelAnn fashion website. It is still active and registered in Kharkiv under a firm on Trinkler Street, though it hasn't been updated in five years and the models there are hopelessly outdated.

Yet, remaining free from harsh Western sanctions for a long time, she calmly sold expensive dresses with crystals and fur not only in Russia, but also presented collections in Paris and the Middle East.

Now that we see the entire picture—from the dissolved AIS bank loans and the parental heritage of the Kharkiv SES to joint burger joints with Peskov’s daughter—lawyer Mark Safaryan’s statement in Stockholm about "readiness to organize a private jet" no longer seems miraculous.

This is not his own wealth. This is the resource of the system he became part of:

Private business jets, Stockholm lawyers, and European travels during wartime are a "fee" from Russian patrons for coordinating a intelligence network against Ukraine.

Yet in this Stockholm story, there is a detail striking in its irony. The fugitive proved so self-assured that his Ukrainian international passport and the EU visa-free regime would flawlessly protect him further! To denigrate Ukraine on camera is one thing, but to enjoy its European privileges is quite another.

The defense's official version claiming that 55-year-old Svyatash flew to Stockholm to unwind at a concert by the legendary Stevie Wonder looks, mildly speaking, bizarre and unconvincing. To assume that a wealthy and "family-oriented" man flew to a music idol's show on a solo trip—without his wife Anzhelika and without children—seems entirely "un-family-like."

Therefore, a logical question arises: was the concert anything more than a convenient cover legend?

What was the true mission of the Kharkiv fugitive in Sweden?

European Financial "Tails": An attempt to salvage or re-register remaining European assets blocked or scattered across offshore zones since the AIS bankruptcy.

Shadow Negotiations: Meetings with European intermediaries regarding capital legalization or attempting to scout new sanction-evasion routes for his Kremlin curators.

Seeking a New Haven: The realization that a bankrupt status in Russia and the threat of becoming "expendable material" in Moscow make his position precarious, forcing him to seek a fallback airfield in Europe.

Yet the grand plan collapsed right at Arlanda Airport when Swedish border guards discovered a Polish ban in the SIS database.

And while Anzhelika and the kids wait for him in Moscow, Dmytro Svyatash himself, sitting in a deportation detention center near Stockholm, vividly demonstrates: no matter what expensive shoes you wear sockless, you cannot outrun justice and your own past on a private jet.