From legendary short seller to god of American capital

Chapter 423 Who is the Fool? Wall Street was in complete chaos over the weekend!

Larry Livingston and Bernard Baruch had barely left the sales office when a young man in a smart uniform rushed in.

"Hello!" the young clerk said politely, then hurriedly asked the receptionist at Reading, "Is Mr. Livingston here? He should be here!"

"Who are you?" the front desk manager asked warily.

"I'm sent by Mr. Porter. Oh, let me introduce myself," the clerk quickly produced his business card, "I'm from the New York branch of Paine Weber Securities, and I'm here on behalf of Mr. Porter, the branch manager, to see Mr. Livingston!"

"I've never heard of Livingston—" the front desk manager said slowly, his eyelids drooping.

He didn't know if this person was really related to Mr. Livingston, but Mr. Livingston was a guest of honor of the sales department general manager. How could he let his colleagues know his whereabouts?

"This is urgent!" the young waiter exclaimed, clearly flustered. "Mr. Potter needs to speak with him urgently, it's extremely important!"

"I don't know it—I've never heard of it. Why don't you go ask somewhere else?" The front desk manager kept making excuses.

"—His instructions came from here, there's no mistake! It's really urgent," the waiter was almost crying with anxiety. After thinking for a few seconds, he suddenly shouted to the front desk manager, "Our general manager, Mr. Potter, couldn't get through to his private room, so he sent me here personally—"

"Alright, let me see Mr. Baruch! Yes, the general manager of your sales department. He'll know that what I'm saying is true."

At this point, the front desk manager of Reading Company also sensed that things were not simple. However, he had already dealt with him this way, and denying it now would seem a bit embarrassing. After thinking for a moment, he said, "Listen to me, buddy! Our sales department's acting manager, Mr. Baruch, really went out to dinner. It's the weekend, so how about this? If he comes back, I'll let him know immediately!"

The young man's face was still flushed with anxiety. He thought for a moment, "I need to borrow your phone for a moment—"

The front desk manager directed him to the telephone in the branch office, where the clerk called Mr. Potter and explained the situation.

Mr. Potter paused for a moment on the other end of the phone. "You stay there! No matter what time he gets back, have him call me immediately when he sees Livingston. It's urgent!"

Mr. Potter's words sounded somewhat anxious.

Meanwhile, Larry and Baruch were having lunch at a decent-looking steakhouse on the street.

The two men ate their steaks while discussing the day's transactions.

Baruch first expressed his admiration for Larry's management, and then asked, "But, Mr. Livingston, there's still something I don't understand—"

"Go ahead." Larry smiled as he put a piece of steak into his mouth, then took a handkerchief and wiped his mouth.

"Today, the trading volume for National Rope Company definitely exceeded 100%, yet the stock price only dropped by 18%. I feel something's wrong—" Baruch frowned, spreading his hands, emphasizing, "With such a large trading volume, it should theoretically be possible to crash the stock price by half, but the drop wasn't significant. Who's buying in here?"

"Oh, I'd like to know the answer to that question too, but I can share my thoughts," Larry said after a moment's thought. "There's a saying in the market—on Wall Street, the first person to spot a bubble is usually already bankrupt—this isn't to say that bubbles are forever, but rather that even irrational bubbles have their own inertia. Perhaps some people still think National Rope has value?"

Baruch frowned slightly. "But I feel the truth is more complex than that, because those who could absorb such a large sell-off this morning must be no small fry. They're spending real money to prop up the market; there must be a reason—I'm worried about your short selling amount; 7 shares is no small sum. Do they have a backup plan?"

Larry understood Baruch's good intentions; he was indirectly conveying Baruch's judgment and hints. Larry replied, "Yes, thank you for your kind reminder. However, it's not a big problem—I observed that after our 7-share sell-off, there were two other large sell orders following suit. In fact, they were the ones that drove the continued price collapse. One order was near the $90 mark; the other large order directly broke through the $80 mark. This is what I observed as a sign of weakening internal support funds."

Number."

"Then you should be careful too. There are many large financial institutions behind the National Rope Company. They are all big players on Wall Street!" Baruch emphasized again.

"Okay, I understand." Larry nodded in thanks.

Baruch meant well, and Larry didn't want to emphasize it further, lest he seem ungrateful. Besides, he was someone who frequently manipulated stock prices and knew that one couldn't let one's guard down before the stock price completely collapsed.

Larry thought for a moment and felt he hadn't overlooked anything. He smiled and said to Baruch, "I remember an investor saying—if you've been playing poker for a long time and haven't found the fool, then you're the fool. I think the fool will reveal himself over the weekend! If I don't find out who the fool is by the end of the weekend, then I should really keep an eye out for a potential attack on Monday."

Baruch nodded and said thoughtfully, "I will also keep an eye out for rumors circulating among financial institutions."

After thinking for a moment, he asked again, "Who is this investor you're talking about? That's a pretty apt question."

Larry paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "An investor in Omaha—oh, he's not well-known yet. I'll tell you his name when he starts to produce results."

After having lunch together, the two parted ways at the restaurant entrance.

"How can I contact you if I find out anything?" Baruch asked.

"Oh, I've been at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel for the past couple of days. I have a permanent suite there, which I use as a temporary office," Larry said with a smile.

"Okay, goodbye, Mr. Livingston."

After saying goodbye to Baruch, Larry walked down the street, cane in hand. The rabbit and the dog followed slowly behind him.

"Would you like to ride in a carriage, sir?" Rabbit asked.

"Let's not sit anymore, let's walk!" Larry said to the two of them with a smile.

"But your safety is more important!" the dog emphasized.

"Don't listen to Uncle Dunbar. I know he means well. He's having you take turns guarding me for my safety, but I'm just a nobody in New York. Who would make things difficult for me?" Larry laughed and strode forward.

The rabbit and the dog exchanged a glance, then continued to follow behind him at a leisurely pace to protect him.

Fortunately, it wasn't far from the Waldorf Astoria, less than 15 minutes away. The three of them arrived at the hotel lobby.

The newly opened Waldorf Astoria Hotel is opulent and boasts unparalleled prestige and grandeur in all of New York. Since its opening, it has become a top choice for Wall Street elites and tourists visiting New York. Larry also booked a suite there for temporary accommodation.

He works in the office and only goes back to his Dakota apartment to sleep at night.

But for example, he's been planning to short the National Rope Company these past two days, so he's simply staying here.

As soon as Larry reached the hotel's ground floor lobby, he was surprised to see Logan standing guard with his arms crossed, and Anna standing next to him.

Oh ho, this is Logan contacting Anna—asking him to arrange the important matters between them!

Larry walked up to Logan with a smile on his face. Logan seemed to be waiting, but he suddenly realized what was happening when Larry was right in front of him. "Larry—my God! You're finally back."

"Yes, Mr. Logan Stone, thank you for waiting!" Larry said with a smile, then turned to Anna, who was standing to the side, "You've been waiting too, miss."

A hint of shyness and annoyance flashed across Anna's face. She took half a step forward. "Mr. Livingston, I heard your proposal relayed by Logan—I don't understand it, and I would like to hear your explanation on the spot."

Larry pulled out his pocket watch and checked that it was exactly 2 p.m., then nodded and said, "This isn't the place to talk. By the way, I had Henry Goldman make up a detailed plan, so why don't we go find him now, and in a more private place, explain this plan, which you don't quite understand, properly!"

"That's great!" Logan exclaimed eagerly.

"Let's go then!" Larry said to Rabbit, turning around. "Call a carriage! Then you can go back and rest for a while, Mr. Caul. You've been with me since yesterday and haven't had a break yet."

"I'll have Mr. Brady come down and take my place!" said Rabbit.

"No need, Mr. El is fine with me!" Larry smiled and patted the dog on the shoulder.

Rabbit Cole helped Larry call a carriage, watched the four of them get on, and waited until the carriage drove to the end of the road and disappeared from sight before leaning against a pillar outside the hotel and lighting a cigar.

The bodyguards work in 24-hour shifts—this was arranged personally by Mr. Dunbar, to ensure that at least one person could provide close protection for Larry and be available at any time.

Of the Lone Star Security Company's full-time employees, known as the "Twelve Iron Riders," six have already taken turns protecting Mr. Livingston. The task isn't particularly difficult, and the pay is quite high, so everyone is vying to protect their boss.

The rest of the men followed Dunbar's instructions, doing tasks such as training teams and interstate transportation.

Rabbit Cole was a little puzzled. He had once been a mid-level manager at Pinkerton Detective Agency and always felt that Lone Star Security Company was a bit too casual and easy to make money from.

I really don't know what this company makes money from—if it's just about being Mr. Livingston's bodyguard, I'd be willing. But Mr. Dunbar keeps going to Texas to recruit more people, which is a bit puzzling.

Forget it, I don't want to think about it anymore—thinking so much is useless, as long as I get the money!

After smoking half a cigar, Rabbit Cole was about to go upstairs to hand over his shift to Tiger Brady when he saw a carriage rushing towards him.

"Mr. Caul," Baruch hurriedly opened the carriage door, "Is Mr. Livingston here? Someone is looking for him, and it's urgent."

"He's gone!" Caul paused, then said, "What can I do for you?"

Baruch jumped down from the carriage, followed by a young clerk. "This is Mr. Potter's clerk. He's here to deliver a message. Mr. Potter needs him urgently—"

Knowing that Mr. Porter was one of his boss's most important friends, Caul quickly said, "But he just left. He said he was going to see a man named Henry Goldman—"

Baruch's face lit up with delight, and he said with a smile, "Alright! Let's go find Mr. Livingston now—"

As he spoke, he hurriedly pushed the young waiter back onto the carriage.

Caul frowned and asked, "What is it you need? In case you didn't run into Mr. Livingston, but I did, I can pass on the message!"

Baruch nodded, a slight smile appearing on his face. "Tell him—I know who the fool at the card table is!"

Tell him to contact me or Mr. Potter immediately!

After dealing with Baruch, Caul returned to the private room on the 8th floor, full of suspicion. This was the floor that Livingston had personally selected, but Caul and the others didn't know why Livingston had chosen the 8th floor instead of the top floor.

As he pushed open the door to the private room, Caul immediately spotted Tiger Brady, who was peering out the window.

Brady's face lit up with surprise when he saw Caul enter, and he quickly looked behind him.

"—Where is Mr. Livingston? Someone is looking for him!"

Kaul smiled, spread his hands, and said, "I know someone's looking for him; I just saw it. But the boss went to see a friend named Henry Goldman, and Mr. Baruch went with him—"

"Baruch? What does he have to do with this? Is he also looking for a boss?" Brady asked with a look of suspicion.

Caul frowned as well. "You mean someone's looking for him? Isn't it Baruch or Mr. Potter?"

"Of course not!" Brady pointed to the phone and said, "I've already received three calls since 1:30—"

It was all from Mr. Whitney, a senior partner at Morgan Bank. He was relaying instructions from Mr. Morgan: have the boss call him back immediately!

"Huh? It wasn't Mr. Potter who contacted him, but J.P. Morgan?" Even Caul was surprised this time!

"Yeah!" Brady looked puzzled. "Judging from his tone, he's in a hurry—it seems like something big has happened on Wall Street, and he needs to talk to the boss to make a decision!"

Saturday afternoon at 4 p.m., Morgan's private library.

J.P. Morgan sat behind his massive oak desk, his body sunk deep into his high-backed chair. His sharp gaze swept over the two men seated before him.

On the left is George Baker, president of First National Bank and one of Morgan's most trusted allies; at this moment, his expression is grave.

On the right is Francis Ormond French, president of the New York Trust Company. Just three hours ago he was a charming gentleman, but now his shirt collar is undone, and his eyes are dark and swollen, as if he has just crawled out of hell.

"So," Morgan began, his voice deep and resonant, like a cello echoing through the empty library, "Hanova Bank and Chemical Bank, with a single contract, pushed you to the brink. And you, Francis, with the reputation and cash that New York Trust had accumulated over the years, took all their garbage."

Francis's Adam's apple bobbed. Although he was older than J.P. Morgan, he sat across from him like a schoolboy. "Pierpont, they planned this all along. It started three months ago when they signed that pledge agreement—"

“I know they planned this.” Morgan interrupted him, taking a Havana cigar from his cigar case and slowly cutting it open with solid gold scissors. “David Hanova came to me last week, wanting to jointly acquire the bonds of the Pacific Railroad.”

I didn't agree. Do you know why?

He lit a cigar, took a deep drag, and the smoke swirled in the light. "Because he's too clever. Clever enough to think he can fool..."

Everyone. So smart—they forgot that on Wall Street, the most deadly thing isn't greed, it's being too clever for one's own good.

Baker spoke up at the opportune moment, asking, "Pierpont, the New York Trust has a liquidity gap of $130 million. But if they sell their National Ropes stock now, they'll suffer a paper loss of over $200 million. If that triggers a run on the bank—"

"You'll die," Morgan finished for him, then turned to French. "Do you know what you look like right now, Francis?"

Like Baring Brothers in 1890. Because of your own stupidity, you've put a hole in every ship in your industry.

"Sir, what should I do?" French asked with a pained expression.

Morgan exhaled a puff of smoke, a disdainful smile playing on his lips. "You should be glad—I know that guy from the National Rope Company. George called me at noon, and I immediately suspected it was related to him. After verification, it really was him—I've already sent people to find him!"

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