Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 299 Bonds That Can Manipulate People's Hearts
It was nearly midnight when Larry jumped out of the car, rubbed his sore legs, and slowly made his way to the hotel entrance, where he pounded on the door.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man with a full beard poked his head out. "Are you looking for a room? Why are you so late?"

“We need to rest for about five hours,” Larry said.

"Then you'll have to pay for the whole night," the other party said bluntly.

"Okay, we need three rooms."

"Two dollars, and I can provide you with drinks and some dinner," the shopkeeper said.

Larry nodded and took out two one-dollar coins from his pocket, handing them to the other man.

"Where are your horses? Please put them in the stable... I'll prepare hay for them later." The shopkeeper looked around for a long time but didn't see the carriage.

“That’s fine, hehe.” Larry chuckled and beckoned his two companions to enter the Old Oak Inn.

In the small inn's lobby, the oak bar was polished to a shine, and tin beer mugs hung upside down from the beams.

The fireplace glowed a faint red, and a drunken traveler dozed off at the table. The innkeeper didn't see the horse, but didn't mind, as customers often hitched a ride along the way. He went behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, opened it, and walked to the table with a glass.

At this moment, Henry Ford and Mr. K had already stomped their feet into the front hall. Mr. K hurriedly took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit one for himself.

"Do you have any cigars?" Larry asked.

“No! I fucking love the kick of rolling a cigarette right now!” Mr. K laughed and handed Larry a cigarette.

"Give me one too, I'm so tired after driving for so long." Ford didn't stand on ceremony and asked for one for himself.

After offering him the cigarette, Mr. K quickly handed Ford a glass of whiskey. "Mr. Ford, here, have a drink! To relax."

Ford didn't stand on ceremony. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and then downed half a glass of strong whiskey, a blissful smile spreading across his face. He remarked...

"My God, long drives are exhausting. Only strong liquor and cigarettes can give me a breather. I declare that from now on, whiskey will be my standard driving companion! Hahaha..."

As he spoke, he downed the whiskey in his glass in one gulp.

Larry watched him, drinking heavily, and thought about the encounter between cars and alcohol, his eyelids twitching incessantly.

The shop owner served hot tomato soup and hard bread. The three of them didn't care that the bread was as hard as a rock, and soaked it in the hot soup until it softened before eating it in bites.

Larry pulled a map from his pocket, a map he'd bought from the old bookstore owner. However, the map was very rough, and he could only get a rough idea of ​​the route.

“We’re a little over halfway there, but if we want to get to New York by 10 a.m. tomorrow, we need to get up early… If we’re prepared for any unforeseen circumstances, I think we should leave at 5 a.m.,” Larry said, pointing to the route planned on the map.

Mr. K took a sip of hot soup, a tired smile on his face. "The biggest surprise today is that it didn't rain... If it had rained, your trip to New York would have been ruined."

Larry tapped the wood heavily with his finger. “That makes sense! Ah, no, what makes sense? Don’t jinx it… Of course, Mr. Ford, you must remember, starting with the next generation of cars, we’re going to make cars with enclosed cabins.”

“Okay…” Ford said, rubbing his wrist.

Larry took out his gold-cased pocket watch and looked at it. It was five minutes to midnight.

At least Friday's trip was a great success!
At 5 a.m. the next day, the three of them set off again in the dark. When the shopkeeper saw them off, he noticed the strange machine, its eyes wide open like copper bells.

The acetylene lamp was lit again, and the road was slippery due to the morning fog and dew, so Ford shifted into a low gear.

The weather was still a bit cold, and the three of them huddled in their coats, shivering as they drove along in the convertible with the roar of the engine. Even so, the cold wind outside the convertible kept blowing into their necks.

By 6 a.m., it was already getting light. People could see the outlines of a dark mass of houses rising at the end of the road.

"Boss, we've arrived in New Haven!" Mr. K shouted to Larry.

"Want to have breakfast?" Larry asked.

No one responded. After a while, Ford said, "I'm not hungry right now. I just want to sleep a little longer."

"Then we won't stop! Once we get to New York and have finished our business, I'll treat you to dinner at the best restaurant in Manhattan."

As the sun rose over the sea, Boston Mail Road was brightly lit on one side and shrouded in darkness on the other.

The three of them unconsciously looked towards the sea and saw the bright red sun leaping from the golden sea, instantly opening up a vast expanse of sky and sea.

After walking a little further, it was already broad daylight. At the fork in the road, the carriage slowly drove onto the road and began today's journey.

However, as the carriages on the road became increasingly crowded, traffic jams appeared ahead.

The Ford stopped behind a horse-drawn carriage, and Larry got out and looked ahead.

Traffic jams at this time were not as severe as they are in later years. Road construction was underway ahead, and carriages traveling in opposite directions had to pass one by one.

Larry looked around again. The terrain was very flat, with wet, hard dirt roads alongside the roadbed and dirt road surface.

Larry sat back in the passenger seat, pointed to the roadside, and said, "Henry, show off your car's off-road capabilities!"

"Why do you call me Ford one minute and Henry the next?" Ford looked at him.

“When I’m encouraging you, I usually call you by your name, hahaha.” Larry laughed and pointed to the roadside.

Ford had no choice but to shift into a low gear and press the accelerator.

The eight-horsepower engine roared low, and the chain-driven rear wheel chugged through the dust, wobbling off the roadbed. It completed the overtaking maneuver from the hardened ground on the side.

Mr. K was very nervous as the car overtook him. He leaned out and looked at the car tires, which were only slightly thicker than bicycle tires, and kept muttering, "Damn it, such thin tires, Mr. Ford, have you ever considered changing them to thicker ones?"

“Make a note of that! The customer likes thicker tires,” Larry shouted to Henry Ford.

Ford officially crossed the New York State border at 8:18 a.m. on Saturday and entered the Manhattan Peninsula of New York City.

There are less than 30 miles to go to the finish line.

By this time, the sun had risen high in the sky, and more and more pedestrians and carriages along the roadside noticed the strange, laughing machine with three people sitting on it.

“My God, what is this thing? It’s like someone drove a train onto the road…” someone shouted.

"What drives this thing? Is it a demon?" The other person was equally surprised.

"You lunatic! Who made this thing? It looks like a coffin that has come to life!" the third person shouted.

The car did not stop, completely ignoring the criticisms from the roadside.

Larry turned and gave Ford a deep look before saying, "Mr. Ford, do you know why I insisted you drive here?"

Ford nodded and said solemnly, "I know, this is different from when I asked you to raise funds on Wall Street before... I actually thought two horses could pull the car to Wall Street! Hey, that was incredibly stupid..."

He chuckled self-deprecatingly and said, "But this time it's different. I drove from Boston to Manhattan in less than 20 hours, which will cause a sensation."

Mr. K chuckled from the back seat, "You'll have to get there first to cause a sensation... just in case..."

That's just how weird things are!
Before Mr. K could finish speaking, a clicking noise came from the front of the car's engine compartment.

Ford frowned, glanced down at the dashboard, and saw that the water temperature gauge was already close to the red line!
Larry peered over and saw steam rising from the gaps in the hood. "The radiator can't hold up anymore. If this keeps up, the cylinder block will crack," Ford said, slamming on the brakes and pulling the car to the side of the road.

The car stopped in front of an abandoned farmhouse, and all three of them jumped out.

Mr. K patted his own mouth, looking guilty, and took out a semi-circular bucket from behind him to find water near the farm.

The reservoir here had long since dried up, but there was a dry well next to the ruins. Mr. K ran to the well, but the well rope had long since rotted.

He used a hook to hold the half-cylinder and swam around in the water for a long time before finally managing to scoop up half a bucket of muddy water.

Mr. K ran back carrying a bucket of water. Henry Ford frowned, looked at the water, and said resignedly, "Fine, that's settled then."

Larry knew that the next step was to fill the radiator with water. Mr. Ford was adjusting the machine, and Mr. K didn't know anything about it, so he decided to do it himself.

Larry carried the bucket and poured water into the radiator as instructed by Henry Ford.

When muddy water was poured into the radiator, the scalding metal hissed and white steam rose up.

Ford squatted down by the car door adjusting the valves. After he finished, he stood up, touched the hood, and whispered, "Brother, hang in there a little longer, we'll be there soon!"

Five minutes later, the water temperature finally dropped. The three jumped into the car and continued their journey.

Because the water tank almost boiled over, Henry Ford could no longer increase the speed, so he kept the car in a low gear and drove slowly.

“I think this car is pretty good. It’s gone such a long way this time… How come Mr. Kennedy said that this car is often returned?” Larry turned to Ford and said casually.

Ford paused for a few seconds before saying, "The new batch of products will definitely... have all sorts of problems. That's unavoidable."

Larry noticed his evasive gaze but didn't say much. Instead, he sighed, "I think that's actually the right thing to do! Industrial products are constantly iterating and upgrading, becoming more and more perfect."

"He doesn't know anything about cars..." Ford suddenly raised his voice, but then fell silent, perhaps realizing he had misspoke.

Mr. K, sitting in the back seat, interjected, “Boss! I forgot whether I told you or not, my friend found out who was investigating us… It’s another senator from Massachusetts, Adams.”

"Really? Isn't that the guy who went against Kennedy back then? Are you sure it's him? Why is he targeting us?" Larry turned to look at Mr. K.

“I don’t know, but you should know…” Mr. K leaned closer, winking as he said, “He probably doesn’t even think much of you or me. He probably thinks we’re just nobody to your name, Senator…”

"Understood!" Larry nodded, thinking that since that was the case, he might as well go with the flow and divert their attention to Kennedy; he would be much safer that way. He then gave the order.

"Then let's direct all our firepower at the senator and create all sorts of misunderstandings so that he thinks we're still Kennedy's white gloves."

Mr. K had already thought about this question, and then smiled knowingly.

However, after a while, he casually commented, "Adams' term is almost over. I've seen underground betting odds betting on him not being re-elected this year. It's said that people close to him are involved in setting up these bets. I guess the old guy himself is also considering resigning. The downfall of the Rostan Gang was actually a big blow to him!"

What was said in jest may have been unintentional, but what was heard was taken seriously.

Larry immediately noticed the underground betting platform mentioned by Mr. K.

"What's the deal with this betting platform? How do you play it? How do you bet on who wins and who loses?"

Mr. K glanced at Larry, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "To be honest... boss, I'm starting to wonder if you're even an ordinary person who grew up in Boston. How come you don't know about the Tammany Association or the underground betting operations for political games? Isn't that common sense for ordinary people navigating society?"

Larry's heart skipped a beat. He had been reborn into this era of America. Although he had some memories of the original owner, he couldn't compare to the one who had grown up from childhood.

Just like in a previous life, every circle and every country has its own "cultural code." If you are not someone who has grown up immersed in that era, you can easily be asked about it by others using cultural customs and common sense.

The coded messages often found in online novels, such as "Imperial Jade Liquor, odd changes, even remains unchanged," convey this meaning. Similarly, native-born Americans have their own similar "secret codes."

During World War II, a German tried to impersonate an American soldier, but he was exposed as soon as people asked him a few movie titles or band names.

Mr. K had long felt that his boss was indeed very lacking in common sense in some aspects, and didn't seem like someone who had worked his way up from the slums...

Larry hesitated, just about to make up an excuse, when fortunately, Henry Ford stepped in to help him out.

“Oh, Mr. K. This is actually quite normal. Before I went to Edison’s light bulb company, my mind was full of literature and mathematics. I had never been to a bar or a pool hall before… You can’t always assume that others are like you, who made their way up on the streets with their fists.”

Larry was greatly relieved and nodded in a mocking manner, saying, "My father and mother were devout Puritans. When I was a child, the church was the place I was most familiar with because I went there three times a week!"

Mr. K then nodded, letting go of the matter, and turned to Larry, saying...
"Boss, you have no idea. This betting operation is incredibly profitable. A friend of mine runs one of these operations in a billiards hall in downtown New York. For example, during the last presidential election, the Italian faction in downtown alone could offer three sets of odds: bets on Benjamin winning could be traded like futures. You could bet a dollar today and it could go up to two dollars tomorrow. The bookmaker takes a 3% cut... but all of this is what's on the surface."

Larry's eyes lit up as he listened. "Go on! This is very interesting."

Mr. K nodded, squinting as he said, "The real trick is to build up the market—first, spread rumors that a certain senator is withdrawing from the race, and the retail investors dump their votes. After the bookmakers have pocketed all the votes, they deny the rumors, and the price of the votes doubles—that's just a small trick."

The most outrageous case I've ever seen is the Irish. They controlled the polling station officials in a swing county in New Jersey, using low-priced ballots to entice voters while simultaneously sending thugs to intimidate voters on the opposing side. Sure enough, on Election Day, the county's results were reversed. The bookmakers won all the bets… So, boss, is this a bet on money or on people's hearts?

Larry's eyes widened. "You can do this? You can even manipulate elections?"

"Of course! The underground gambling market is very active around major political events such as presidential elections and Senate elections."

The government certainly wouldn't endorse such a market, but among the general public, whether capitalists, ordinary people, or even political elites, who doesn't use betting odds to assess a candidate's chances of winning?

After Mr. K finished speaking, Henry Ford nodded in agreement and added,

"Mr. Livingston, you don't usually come into contact with this kind of betting... but it's all real. These betting operations take place in billiard halls, bars, and clubs. Initially, it was just people betting on their favorite politicians to be elected, purely for entertainment. But now, these underground betting networks have gone to extreme lengths..."

Speaking of this, Mr. K got even more excited and said, "Take Monk Rostan, for example, who was shot dead by the detective. Their main activity in New York was horse racing betting. For this, they could threaten jockeys with guns to prevent them from winning... Every presidential election is also a good opportunity for them to make money."

Speaking of this, Mr. K gave Larry a meaningful look.

Larry wasn't thinking about the dead New York mob boss; he instantly understood the essence of the matter.

This kind of betting—betting on who will be elected, which horse will win the championship, or which football team will win—is gambling. The elements that we have in later generations, such as odds, bookmakers, payouts, and premiums, were already very sophisticated in the 19th century.

What amazed Larry was that this kind of gambling even had a betting ticket—wasn't that just a kind of election bond?
and many more!
Bonds, redemption? Manipulation!
An idea suddenly popped into Larry's head. He turned to Mr. K and said, "These tickets aren't really gambling instruments, they're harpoons... One end of the harpoon is in the hands of the house, and the other end is connected to thousands of people who think they're speculating. If you can control the odds, the information, and the fear all at once..."

Mr. K raised his eyebrows and nodded, saying, "You could influence the election... Of course, that's just an ideal scenario. After all, no one can manipulate a national event like the presidential election. These betting odds only bet on seemingly uncontrollable events. Nobody's a fool..."

Larry immediately recalled a saying someone had said in his past life: "Even the consensus of fools is still a consensus!"

He suddenly remembered that online prediction platform from later generations, called Poly Market. It was basically the same thing…

Prediction and gambling are inherently related, including stock market trading...

As long as there is a transaction, there are winners and losers, and there is room for manipulation and manipulation of people's minds...

As Larry thought about it, a smile involuntarily appeared on his face.

Seeing his strange expression, Mr. K couldn't help but pat his elbow. "Hey, boss, what are you thinking about? Planning to participate in this year's presidential election betting?"

Larry, all smiles, stared at Mr. K and said, word by word, “I’m not participating… but I’m going to issue a set of ‘Justice Bonds.’ I’m not betting on the election results, but on a court ruling.”

Mr. K had been frowning, but his mind was incredibly sharp. Looking at Larry's smile and thinking for a few seconds, he instantly understood!
"My God! Boss, you mean, the betting scheme on that Chinese manslaughter case..."

Larry raised his hand to stop him from continuing, and said solemnly,
"No, I'm not trying to interfere with the court's trial. I just want to use the language of money to awaken the sense of justice in the hearts of the silent majority... to let the jury and the judge see what it means to have the will of the people!"

(End of this chapter)