From legendary short seller to god of American capital

Chapter 373 The Real-World Conflict Is About to Erupt Over Short-Term Profits in Futures Trading

Larry raised questions, and his questions even caught the attention of customers waiting in line at the counter.

"No! No," the manager immediately waved his hand in denial, "This is Chicago, how could we dare—but we really don't have that much money to pay you. How about this, Monday!! Monday morning, I'll have all the money ready for you, I promise."

Larry thought for a moment, then nodded and said, "Okay! But you have to pay me all the money you have now first!"

"You need to let me deal with those retail investors first," the manager stammered. "I'll return your margin first, and then I'll give you whatever's left. Please wait a moment while I finish processing the other orders."

Larry nodded and stepped aside, letting the betting bank pay out the other winners first.

Larry knew his money was safe.

This is different from St. Louis; it's not Taylor's home turf, and business here is actually quite good. Taylor wouldn't stand them up here unless they wanted to get into legal trouble.

However, even if they wanted to go back on their word, Larry had no choice but to take all the money they had left.

Of course, Larry wanted more than just money; he wanted their attention.

The teller first returned Larry's $5000 deposit to Larry. After everyone else had been paid out, the teller found another $4200 and gave it all to Larry.

"This is all the money left in the branch!" the manager emphasized, then instructed the cashier to open the safe for Larry to see.

Larry rolled the $9200 into a ball again, stuffed it into his pants pocket, and then held it tightly in one hand.

"You must be there in person on Monday morning and give me the rest of the money!" Larry emphasized, tapping the table with his left hand.

"I swear to God! I'll have the money ready for you Monday morning," the manager said, extending his right hand in a vow.

Larry nodded, glanced around to make sure no one was looking suspicious, and then walked out of Taylor's company.

As the clock struck noon, the hustle and bustle of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange slowly receded like the tide, leaving behind a mess of discarded trading orders and exhausted people in the trading floor.

Some people slumped on a bench, staring blankly at the closing price of $1.23 on the now-fixed price chart, which seemed like a cruel mockery of them.

Shortly after the market opened, some people sold at a loss at the $1.08 gap-down low. Now, watching the price rise back to its original level, all they can do is bitterly mutter, "If only I had held on a little longer—"

Then came a long, heart-wrenching sigh.

"well!!!"

Of course, there were also people with rosy cheeks, patting each other on the shoulder in groups of three or five, discussing which pub to go to for a drink at noon.

They were either lucky short sellers who made a quick profit during the half-day drop, or they were audacious bottom-fishers like Matthew, now smugly boasting to their partners, "I knew it was just a feint by the big players! They were hiding their true intentions, trying to shake us off our horse!"

The air in the trading hall was thick with the smell of gunpowder as money changed hands rapidly, mixed with the scent of sweat and regret.

In just three hours on a typical trading day, the dopamine and adrenaline released by people in the trading hall could, if they could burn, burn Chicago down again.

Matthew leaned against the Stone Company counter, feeling a little weak in the knees. It wasn't from being tired, but from making so much money.

The trader from Stone Company who had corrected his order terminology walked up to him, holding a freshly settled order, his smile ten times more sincere and earnest than before. "Sir! Your luck today—no, your foresight! Yes, that's it. You were trading with godlike insight."

Your account with us has a floating profit of over $27,000. Would you like me to explain it to you in detail?

Matthew smiled gratefully, shook his head slightly, and took the settlement slip with one hand.

Those were several lines of handwritten cursive script, carefully copied down the transaction reports and current holdings, with the profit figures highlighted in bold.

Stone's initial capital was $27,500, and now it has over $54,000 in its account. It almost doubled in half a day.

Matthew closed half of his long positions at the close, as Larry had instructed. In fact, he had bought 100 lots in the whole process. But now there are still 50 long positions in the account, and those paper long positions have a floating profit of $27,000.

In Stone's account, the first opening position was at $1.0825, buying 50 lots of wheat futures; the second opening position was an additional 50 lots bought at $1.16.

The final purchase amount was 100 lots, with an average holding price of $1.12125.

I closed half of my position at the end of the trading day, making a profit of $27187.5. After closing the position, my account balance is $54687.5.

This includes both the profit from 50 lots and the original cost of the account.

The remaining position is 50 lots, with a floating profit of $27187.5.

Of course, unrealized profit does not equal final profit. Furthermore, because the remaining 50 long positions still have margin tied up, the original margin in the account cannot be withdrawn.

But this is also an amazing benefit!

Matthew couldn't help but recall the price surge at the close of trading. Every time he saw wheat prices rise by 1 cent, it felt like $5000 in cash was being dumped into his account—that adrenaline-pumping excitement was simply unparalleled!

Shortly after, Dunbar returned. He brought with him the transaction results for the remaining two smaller accounts.

Dunbar kept the trade results from the other two accounts, each with an initial margin of $11,500.

Dollar.

As Larry instructed, both accounts bought half their positions at $1.0825, totaling 21 lots. However, since Dunbar was holding the position, neither account made any additional purchases later, so the total position for this rebound was 21 lots.

最终在1.23美元两个帐户都平仓了10手，留下了11手。平仓盈利是7375美元，平仓后帐户余额是1万8875美元。

The remaining 11 long positions have a floating profit of $8112.5.

Dunbar was also somewhat dazed. He looked at Matthew and after a long pause said, "—The balances of both accounts are approaching $19,000. My God, is futures trading really this exciting? Doubling your principal in just three hours, and more!"

Matthew gave a bitter laugh, casually pointing to the trading floor where the losers lay lifeless. He whispered to Dunbar, "Look! The money we made is what they lost. Futures trading is a roulette market; what one side loses is what the other wins. Larry just said we didn't make money from the luck of buying at the bottom, but from the blood shed by those who were forced to liquidate their positions."

Dunbar turned to look at the zombies in the trading hall, their faces blank. After a while, he turned back to Matthew and said seriously, "Seriously, this reminds me of the Civil War, with both sides lining up and firing muskets at each other—it was so bloody! I never imagined the financial market could be even more hysterical than a real battlefield."

"Yes!" Matthew exclaimed, "Here—there's no easing of tensions. Once there's a drastic change, it's a fight to the death!"

'

Dunbar shook his head, then suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Then I'd better not be jealous of Larry. I couldn't do the job he's doing!"

Matthew chuckled along. "Yeah! I swear to God, if I had to do this every day, I'd die 20 years earlier—my heart just couldn't take it."

The two smiled at each other.

After a while, Matthew held up the three forms and muttered again, "My God!"

A dizzying excitement still lingered in his mind. Matthew quickly did the calculations. The combined cash profits from the three accounts exceeded $41,000, and the remaining positions might continue to appreciate!

More than $4, which is equivalent to more than 200 weeks of his salary, is the amount of money he could save by not eating or drinking for almost four years!

All of this was due to Larry's calm, almost ruthless, judgment before he left, and his precise, almost mechanical instructions.

"Larry wasn't gambling at all—" Matthew told Dunbar with a wry smile what had just happened. At the end of the story, Matthew lamented, "He was collecting taxes—a 'panic tax' on the panicked and desperate!"

Dunbar paused for a moment, then smiled. "Alright, make sure you put the receipts away carefully! Let's go back to the hotel."

Matthew nodded, carefully folded all the receipts, and put them into his inner pocket, feeling that these few sheets of paper were heavier than gold.

The trader, smiling behind him, added, "Please tell your partner that Stone & Co. always welcomes discerning clients like you. Also—if you need to adjust your positions when the market opens on Monday, we'll give you priority."

Matthew nodded, said nothing more, put his arm around Dunbar's shoulder, and turned to squeeze out of the gradually dispersing crowd.

The two walked out of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, where the sunlight was somewhat dazzling.

At 1 p.m., a negotiation was underway in a hotel suite at the Palmerhouse Hotel.

"—So you can rest assured, Mr. Director." Taylor sank into the soft leather sofa, the cigar in his hand tracing an arc in the air as he waved his arm.

Taylor gave the Northern Pacific Railroad director a confident smile. "In St. Louis, and indeed throughout the American Midwest, if I, Taylor, say there's no problem, then not a single grain of sand will cloud your judgment!"

The director opposite nodded politely.

His words were interrupted by a rapid knocking on the door. Taylor frowned slightly, a hint of displeasure flashing across his face, but he quickly regained his composure. "Come in!"

His trusted manager even forgot basic etiquette, practically rushing in as soon as the door opened. His face was pale, and he didn't care that there were other important guests present. He leaned close to Taylor's ear and hurriedly whispered a few words to him.

In an instant, Taylor's smile froze. The cigar slipped from her fingers, leaving a charred mark on the expensive Persian carpet.

"You—what did you say?" he forced out through clenched teeth. "Someone's sabotaging the Chicago betting companies? How much? 13,000 dollars?"

The manager almost collapsed, and could only nod frantically.

Just moments ago he was boasting about his confidence in controlling everything, but now it's all gone. Taylor slammed his fist on the mahogany coffee table in front of him, making the cups and saucers rattle.

"Useless, a bunch of useless trash!" he roared, his voice distorted with extreme rage. "My money! My reputation!"

Taylor turned sharply to the director, who was stunned by the sudden turn of events. The latter was awkwardly trying to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

Taylor, no longer caring about appearances, had bloodshot eyes that looked like they were spitting fire. "Mr. Director, I'm sorry! I have some family matters to attend to!"

Taylor emphasized the word "family matter" with a tone that conveyed his overwhelming anger and embarrassment.

The director of North Pacific stood up, his face hesitant. "—But we agreed that the operation would take place tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night definitely won't work—" Taylor said absentmindedly. "Hmm—I need to call in a few more brothers. And I need to find out quickly—you know, the workers are on strike anyway. We can deal with them next Monday night as well."

The director remained silent for a moment, then took his leave.

After rudely waving the manager and his men away, Taylor paced back and forth in the room like a caged beast.

"We have to find him out—damn it, who is he? If he's a rival, he wouldn't just target one of my betting companies—wait!"

Taylor abruptly stopped, his mind suddenly recalling the strange daily loss report that had come from St. Louis a few days ago.

Could it be that the enemy has already made their move in St. Louis? And those idiots just didn't notice?!

It's absolutely possible!

Taylor's face turned ashen again. He flung open the door, sending shivers down the spines of his men outside.

Taylor took out his pocket watch, glanced at the time, and a ruthless glint flashed in his eyes. "Pass down my message: I want to know who this person who is targeting me in Chicago is, and where he is."

I'll make him cough up everything he's taken, with interest! I'll show him what happens when you anger me, Taylor!

The men nodded quickly, trembling like quails in the cold wind.

"Wait!" Taylor added, "Get Dawson all the way from St. Louis to Chicago. I need to see him by 8 a.m. tomorrow!"

"Yes, Mr. Taylor!" the subordinate quickly replied.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the same floor of the hotel.

In Larry's suite, he was listening to intelligence reports from three different intelligence teams.

However, at that moment, indistinct shouts echoed down the corridor. Larry frowned, and only after the angry roars in the hallway subsided did he begin to give his orders.

"Mr. Cole and Matthew, your task has now been transferred to Cargill. I need you to be at the South Wharf by 3 PM today to meet with them. They should have already prepared the wheat that meets the delivery standards for inventory."

Also, Uncle Dunbar, you and Mr. Brady, besides continuing to keep a close eye on Cargill, also keep an eye on Taylor—his full name is Henry Silas Taylor. See how many people they brought to Chicago this time.”

After speaking, Larry turned to Luca and Marco, "You two are still tasked with gathering intelligence. Pay particular attention to intelligence from the higher-ups at North Pacific Corporation, and see when they're going to make their move against the workers."

After giving his instructions, Larry said to everyone, "Thank you all for your hard work. Once this matter in Chicago is resolved, I will reward you accordingly."

Everyone knows Larry is generous, especially to those who have helped him. The fact that Matthew and Mr. K both received a luxury apartment from Larry as a reward has already spread among the public.

Even the two bodyguards, Tiger and Snake, who hadn't been with Larry for long, could sense that he was impeccable in his work.

At this point, which capitalist or politician would allow their bodyguards to enjoy the same treatment as those in top-tier hotels?

Everyone knows that following Larry is a promising career path, and they are very motivated.

After everyone had left, Larry lit a cigar, intending to enjoy some private time. Matthew had already returned with a telegram.

"Your telegram, Larry! The hotel says it was retrieved from Cincinnati."

Larry jumped to his feet, taking the telegram as he spoke, "—It should be Kennedy. I sent a telegram to his Boston residence this morning. He should be on a national campaign tour right now; his people at his residence know where he is."

Larry took the telegram from Matthew, read a few lines, and smiled.

"Oh my goodness! The senator really did help—he actually entrusted such a person! Matthew, go to Cargill again tomorrow. We'll go to the department store later to buy some gifts and pay a visit to this Democrat in Chicago—"

Matthew frowned and asked, "Who is it? Someone more important than visiting Cargill?"

Larry smiled and handed over the telegram, pointing to a name on it.

"Altegild? Who's that? The name sounds like a German!" Matthew was a little confused.

"Take a look at this next line of text—" Larry said with a smile.

Matthew lowered his head and continued reading the telegram. After quickly finishing it, his face immediately turned bright red.

"This is—my God! He is actually—" Matthew looked at Larry, too excited to speak.

Larry just smiled and casually said, "—In my eyes! He's just a local partner at the Chicago Democratic Party's bubble tea and barbecue restaurant."

Matthew looked at Larry, clicked his tongue silently, and after a while said, "So what kind of gift are you planning to prepare for him? It's our first meeting, and given his status, he probably won't accept anything too expensive!"

"Just prepare some simple gifts for our visit; the real big gift is the news of this strike! We can also help those poor workers out of the way," Larry said with a smile.