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

Chapter 56 A Generous Bet (Seeking Monthly Tickets and Recommendations)
Given Colt's prominent position in Connecticut, their customer testimonials are highly persuasive.

With this thing, Larry felt he could at least travel freely in Connecticut, and even if he went to Massachusetts, having this certificate was much better than not having it.

After buying the gun, seeing that there was still some time, Matthew took Larry to the company's shooting range.

Larry hadn't fired a single shot since buying the handgun, so he was naturally very excited about this opportunity.

Larry took his new revolver and fired six shots at a 5-meter target, but missed the target completely...

Larry felt embarrassed, so Matthew smiled and taught him various shooting techniques. After learning for more than ten minutes, Larry reloaded and test-fired again. This time it was much better than before; at least one shot hit the target.

Larry still felt ashamed.

Matthew smiled and shook his head, saying to Larry, "It's not a matter of skill, it's your stamina. Because you're still too young, the muscles in your arms can't support the weight of the pistol. Even the slightest muscle tremor will cause a decrease in the accuracy of the pistol, so you need to train!"

Larry shuddered, realizing that Matthew had hit the nail on the head; his frail little body did indeed feel his hands trembling when he held a gun.

Matthew's expression turned serious as he continued, "Besides, for most people in the world, shooting is something that comes with practice; that is to say, you need to train repeatedly. There are shooting clubs in Boston, you should go and practice when you have time."

Larry was startled again. He had wanted to go to the shooting club since he moved to the apartment, but he hadn't had the time. He would definitely go and train regularly when he had the chance.

Larry thought for a moment, then suddenly turned to Matthew and asked, "You just said that most people can master shooting through training, so what about the remaining minority?"

Matthew smiled faintly, took the revolver from Larry, emptied the spent cartridges with a clatter, letting the brass casings clang on the ground, then took out bullets from the magazine and installed them one by one into the pistol's magazine.

After loading, Matthew's right hand jerked violently, and the magazine clicked into the pistol with a sound like church bells.

"Bang, bang, bang..."

Without warning, Matthew raised his gun and fired. Larry was startled and before he could even cover his ears, six bullets had already been fired from Matthew's Colt M1889 pistol. It really was just a moment; the six bullet explosions seemed to merge into one.

Larry looked surprised and turned to look at his target, only to see that the paper target still only had the hole from his own bullet...

This……

Larry thought to himself that Matthew looked really cool and his shooting speed was amazing, but the effect was just so-so!

As if guessing Larry's thoughts, Matthew smiled and handed him a pistol, then reached out and tilted Larry's head slightly to the right by 15 degrees.

Larry then realized that Matthew had been shooting at a much farther target, 25 meters away. The previously spotless target was now covered with six bullet holes, almost all of them rings 10 and 9!
Larry was so shocked his jaw almost dislocated.

Matthew explained casually, "A small number of people just go by instinct and draw their guns and shoot. My brother, go back and practice hard. When you can hit the target ten times out of ten, then try this kind of intuitive shooting."
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At 3 p.m. that day, Mr. Harper arrived on time, followed by the tall, thin executive, whose name seemed to be Andrew.

The tall, thin executive didn't bring back the suitcase full of documents. While his face remained expressionless, his words conveyed great satisfaction with Mr. Wallace's preparations. They would discuss this matter at the Colt Corporation board meeting next Thursday; the documents would remain there, and Mr. Wallace and Paine Weber Securities would be promptly informed of the results.

Larry thanked him politely and said he would wait for Colt's reply.

The tall, thin executive always had a cold expression. He said to Larry, "You can go now. Thank you for your service to Colt. God bless you."

Larry suddenly had an idea. Relying on his memories from his past life, he knew how to get close to this seemingly rigid but sentimental person. So, before the tall, thin executive could turn and leave, Larry raised his voice and said, "Sir! Please forgive my intrusion. May I have a pony badge from your company?"

The tall, thin executive frowned slightly. "Can you tell me why?"

Larry laughed and said, "My father and I have always been big fans of Colt. I never dreamed that I would be able to serve Colt. I'm so excited. I want to ask for a Colt pony logo as my medal. I want my father's approval, which is the ultimate dream for any Colt gun user."

The tall, thin executive nodded, a slight smile appearing on his face. He took off his pony badge and pinned it to Larry's shirt.

"Son, I am also a fan of Colt firearms. In that sense, we are the same."

As he spoke, the tall, thin executive patted Larry on the shoulder affectionately and turned to leave. After saying goodbye to Matthew, Larry rushed back to Hartford and immediately telegraphed Mr. Wallace with the good news.

Mr. Wallace seemed to be right in front of the telegraph machine; not long after Larry sent the telegram, his reply arrived.

He replied that he was very satisfied with Larry's work and allowed him to take the train back to Boston on Thursday or Friday, whichever he preferred.

The subtext is that you can do whatever you want this week, since the company will reimburse your travel expenses, and you just need to be back on Saturday.

Larry was very happy.

The next morning, Larry left the hotel, wondering whether he should visit the nearby attractions or go to the city center. But not long after leaving the hotel, he spotted a gambling den on the street.

Betting companies are actually quite easy to identify because legitimate securities firms will have large company logos and membership certificates from New York Wall Street brokers pinned to the wall.

But not for gambling dens; they usually call themselves "brokerage firms" or "brokerage companies," names that are meant to mislead.

Larry's heart suddenly pounded. He had been so focused on his work that he hadn't even considered that there were betting shops in Hartford...

If there were betting shops here, wouldn't that be a great opportunity for me to show off my skills?

Larry stood across the street and began to carefully observe the betting shop. The customers coming in and out were all dressed in high-end clothing, so it must be a very upscale betting shop in the area.

Larry slowly strolled into the betting shop.

At first, he didn't place any orders. Instead, he stood idly in front of the price quote board, looking at the latest market information with his hands in his pockets.

After watching for a while, Larry received quotes for the four stocks he held, and all four stocks were, without exception, continuing their slow but clear upward trend.

After being reassured, Larry walked to the counter and, pretending to be a child pretending to be an adult, asked...

"I heard that you can buy a lot of stocks here, but you need something called...margin, is that right?"

Two tellers stood behind the counter, and they immediately noticed the pony badge on Larry's expensive shirt. Their first thought was that the child of some Colt director or executive was out splurgeing on his dollars.

The two exchanged a glance, and a teller smiled and met Larry's eyes. "You're right, young man. We don't limit the number of shares a customer can buy, but do you have enough money? How many shares can you buy?"

Larry knew he looked young. Although he was already the height of an adult, his delicate features made him appear younger than his actual age, which often caused others to look down on him. However, Larry often took advantage of this disdain.

Larry deliberately feigned a huff, as if the teller's words had offended him, and asked defiantly, "How much is the deposit here?"

“One dollar per share!” the other party replied.

Larry's eyes widened in amazement. "Then I can buy so many shares! 100 shares! No, no, I can buy 200 shares!"

It felt like a big boy eager to prove himself.

The two tellers exchanged a glance, and the other teller leaned down and advised, "Why not try your luck? You might even make a fortune. That way, you can invite your friends on a weekend picnic and bring along a few pretty girls."

Larry nodded heavily, rubbing his chin as he kept glancing at the price list, as if trying to guess what it was.

After a few dozen seconds, Larry's eyes lit up, as if he had finally found something he liked. He carefully pulled out $200 from his pocket, handed it to the counter, and said excitedly,
"Buy me 200 shares of Omaha!"

He looked just like a little kid who was gambling for the first time.

(End of this chapter)