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

Chapter 82 This is New York (Bonus Chapter, Thank You Again)
The carriage traveled for fifteen minutes before stopping in front of a magnificent, six-story brick and stone building.

The coachman turned to Larry and said, "Sir, carriages not registered with the hotel can only go this far. You'll have to get off and walk the rest of the way."

Larry nodded, took a two-dollar bill from his pocket, and slapped it on the coachman's seat.

The coachman gave a familiar, slight smile and politely reminded him, "Evening carriages start at $3. Sorry, this is New York."

Larry smiled and pulled out another two dollars, slapping them on the seat before getting off the carriage with his luggage and small suitcase.

"Sir, you gave me an extra dollar."

"That's your tip!"

The coachman received a $1 tip, a smirk playing on his lips, before kindly offering a reminder.
"Thank you, sir. Just a reminder: be wary of anyone dressed as a hotel waiter, even inside the hotel. They could be thieves in disguise, specifically targeting your luggage. Also, be careful with your wallet when you go out; a bulging wallet is a prime target for skilled pickpockets."

Larry frowned, wondering if things in New York were really that complicated. He turned to the coachman and gave him a wry smile.

The coachman smirked and said playfully again, "Excuse me, this is New York!"

Larry was able to see the full view of the luxury hotel only after the carriage had driven away.

The Astor Hotel is located at the intersection of Broadway and Barclay Street in Lower Manhattan, adjacent to City Hall and Wall Street. This six-story building was one of the tallest hotels in New York at the time, with its brick and stone structure and towering neoclassical columns. All six floors are filled with large glass windows, and soft light shines through the sheer curtains, further emphasizing the hotel's magnificence.

Larry crossed the road and arrived at the garden square in front of the hotel lobby. When the waiters, dressed in European-style uniforms, saw Larry, they immediately straightened up and bowed with their hands on their chests, a gesture of etiquette currently popular in Europe.

In front of the hotel entrance, a bronze angel statue stands atop a large fountain with a diameter of ten meters. The angel's wings are outstretched, and its palm is extended towards the direction of the visitors.

Larry had barely stepped past the marble columns when a magnificent carriage pulled up in front of him by four white horses. A young nobleman, clearly dressed in European attire, alighted from the carriage, escorted by his entourage.

Larry stopped to let them pass first, then followed and pushed open the bronze revolving door to enter the Astor Hotel.

The Astor Hotel offers a different kind of glamour, with its old-fashioned European-style partitions dividing the lobby into four distinct yet harmonious functional areas. The café near the entrance serves as a private space for hotel guests and Wall Street elites to conduct business negotiations, while the adjacent area is a tea restaurant, a place for European aristocrats and wealthy individuals waiting to check in to relax.

On the right are two areas: one is the customer check-in area, and the other is the area with the earliest steam-powered elevators in the United States. VIPs use wooden elevators with glass partitions, while the goods and delivery waiters, as well as the VIPs' entourages, use iron-railed elevators.

There were four windows at the front desk for check-in, but Larry still had to queue to get in...

It truly deserves its reputation as one of the most iconic hotels in New York City.

When it was Larry's turn to check in, the receptionist, wearing a wig, smiled slightly at him and said apologetically,

"Sir, I'm sorry, the suites are all booked. If you're looking for a private room, I personally recommend you stay in a standard single room."

Larry raised an eyebrow and asked, "How much is a single room per night?"

"$8, sir!" the receptionist replied with a smile.

Larry thought to himself that it was also a single room, but this place was twice as expensive as the one in Hartford, and then he smiled and agreed.

After completing the check-in process, Larry left a $20 deposit, and a waiter was already standing respectfully beside him, helping him with his luggage.

Larry handed him the luggage, while he carried the small leather suitcase full of documents by himself.

Larry's main room was on the 3rd floor, which was converted from a section of the deluxe suite that was located on the shady side.

Because the Astor Hotel was built in 1836, its rooms are even older than those of the Tremont Hotel in Boston, but compared to Boston's top hotels, the furnishings are more luxurious. Larry pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the thick Persian carpet swallowed his footsteps. Even though no one had stayed in the room before, the fireplace was lit, making the room warm.

The waiter put down the luggage and lit the gas lamp. Larry immediately noticed a ticket for the opera at eight o'clock the next night on the dressing table in the corner of the room.

Larry held up the ticket, looked at it, frowned, and asked, "What's this?"

The waiter replied politely, “Railway tycoon Mr. Vanderbilt has a long-term penthouse suite on the 6th floor of the hotel. Whenever he encounters a singer he admires performing on Broadway, he always generously buys a third of the theater tickets and distributes them to the hotel’s neighbors for free.”

Larry was taken aback, thinking to himself that railroad tycoon Vanderbilt's fan was really something else. The cheapest ticket to a Broadway show costs at least $20, and he casually bought a third of the tickets for a show, which must have cost him several thousand dollars.

The money that one works so hard to earn from gambling is nothing more than daily expenses for supporting one's favorite artist in the eyes of the super-rich.

You really don't know what the super-rich are like until you come to New York.

Larry pulled out two dollars from his pocket as a tip for the waiter and casually asked, "How much is Mr. Vanderbilt's top suite on the 6th floor per night?"

The waiter pocketed the tip and said with a smile, "They don't charge by the day there, but by six months at a time. A six-month private room costs $1.2."

Larry nodded, once again experiencing the extravagance of top capitalists. Their hotel suites, used for relaxation and private meetings outside their homes and offices, cost $2.4 a year—equivalent to the annual gross profit of Paine Weber Securities' Boston branch.

No comparison!
In addition, laundry services at this hotel start at $5, and a glass of whiskey or a cigar at the basement bar starts at $10.

According to the waiter, there is also a horse racing betting agency on the first floor of the hotel. You can place an order for a horse racing ticket there, and they don't accept US dollars, only gold coins.

A typical 40-foot yacht moored at the New York Harbor cruise ship terminal costs $10, which is equivalent to 150 kilograms of gold.

Even the entourages and guards brought by European nobles spent more than $5 a day on a single room and meals at the Astor Hotel, and slept in the hotel’s large dormitory-style rooms.

No wonder Mr. Porter said before that Larry needed to scrape together at least $3 to make it on Wall Street in New York. At the time, Larry thought it was a bit of an exaggeration, but now he thinks that $3 wouldn't even make a sound if you threw it down the drain in New York.

There was a minor incident on the night Larry checked into the hotel: at 11 p.m., the hotel's fire alarm went off.

These days, the fire protection systems in large buildings are quite primitive. If you are slow to move when the fire alarm goes off, you could lose your life. So the guests ran out in their pajamas.

Larry was still awake, sitting at his desk engrossed in reading Mr. Morgan's biography, making final preparations for his meeting with Mr. Morgan the next day.

Upon hearing the fire alarm, Larry rushed out, only to find Mr. Coster and his elegant personal secretary, both naked and wrapped in bath towels, in the crowded throng…

Larry thought to himself, "I really misjudged him. The secretary really is Mr. Coster's mistress."

Later, when the fire alarm was deactivated, Larry rushed back to his room and watched through the crack in the door as Mr. Coster and his personal secretary returned to the suite across the hall.

Larry remembered the coachman's words, "Excuse me, this is New York!"

　I'm posting one more chapter as a thank you, regardless of whether it stays on the new book charts for a couple more days. However, I've been quite busy with family matters lately, so I've been squeezing in time to write these past few days. I probably won't be able to update as generously as I am now in the future; I need to accumulate some manuscripts first.

　　Thank you all again. Every recommendation vote and monthly pass you gave is a great support to me.

　　They're all in my heart.

　　They are all very important to me.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)