America's No. 1 financial conglomerate

Chapter 569 News Center

The battles in the financial markets never involve gunfire, yet they are more brutal than any battlefield.

At the same time, you need to be patient; it tests your mindset and strategy.

In this battle between bulls and bears at YueDong Games, Ernst Asset Management can only play a reactive role, gradually luring the enemy into its trap and waiting for the most lethal opportunity to strike.

So for Ernst, all he could do was wait.

However, he wasn't bored in New York, a city that never sleeps; there were plenty of things for him to do.

Watching sports, chasing girls, and his career.

Queens, New York.

As Alan Cohen trudged through the snow across the parking lot to a vast open space filled with shipping containers, the noise from the buildings across the street made his eardrums ache, causing him to unconsciously turn his attention in that direction.

It was an office building under construction. Although it was only 13 stories high, which might not be considered eye-catching in Manhattan with its towering skyscrapers, it was already an indisputable landmark in Queens, an area dominated by low-rise buildings.

The main structure of the office building has been completed, and workers are currently busy with the exterior facade construction.

Huge floor-to-ceiling windows stretch along the walls, reaching halfway up the building. Winter sunlight filters through the clouds, refracting dazzling light onto the smooth glass surfaces, making the unfinished building appear exceptionally bright and beautiful, creating a striking visual contrast with the somewhat dilapidated surrounding neighborhood.

On the roof of the office building, a large tower crane is slowly rotating its boom, with a huge bronze plaque hanging below.

As the crane arm moved, the words on the sign gradually became clear—MGM News Data Center.

Nine gilded characters gleamed in the sunlight, announcing the media giant's strategic layout in Queens.

Alan Cohen stopped, a hint of longing in his eyes. "It must be so comfortable to work in a place like that."

But in just a moment, he snapped out of his reverie, shook his head, dismissed these unrealistic thoughts, and turned to walk toward the huge open space on the other side of the parking lot.

This open space is occupied by hundreds of shipping containers, creating a unique landscape.

The containers come in various colors, and many of them have been meticulously painted with graffiti on their exterior surfaces, featuring abstract lines, exaggerated patterns, and all sorts of text.

It has the spontaneity of street art, yet also the ingenuity of creative ideas.

These containers are stacked and combined in a staggered manner to form a highly designed architectural complex, which, from a distance, resembles an open-air modern art gallery.

This perfectly reflects the unique character of Queens. As a microcosm of New York's multiculturalism, it is a melting pot of immigrants from all over the world. Different races and cultures collide and blend here, giving birth to a free and vibrant art atmosphere, making Queens a paradise for countless independent artists and creative professionals.

He climbed the iron staircase surrounding the container, the cold metallic touch making him quicken his pace. Reaching the third floor, he pushed open an inconspicuous metal door and stepped inside a container.

The scene inside was completely different from the ruggedness outside, as if one had stepped into another world.

The interior is made up of multiple shipping containers connected together, with simple wall decorations and a smooth carpet.

The interior is divided into multiple functional areas, fully equipped with desks and chairs, computer equipment, recording equipment, and even professional soundproofing facilities, making it comparable to a regular office area in an office building.

"Matt?" Alan Cohen called out his companion's name, looking around the room, but received no response.

"Matt?" he called again, his voice echoing in the empty room.

The office area in this container wasn't very large, about 80 square meters. He quickly walked through every corner but couldn't find Matt anywhere.

He frowned slightly, a hint of doubt rising in his mind. He took out his cell phone and dialed Matt's number.

The moment the call connected, before he could even ask anything, Matt's hurried and concise voice came through the receiver: "North District, highest point."

The call was abruptly ended as soon as he finished speaking, leaving only a busy tone.

Allen stood there, stunned, unable to react for a moment.

North District? Highest Point?

What exactly happened?

After a brief moment of confusion, he pushed open the door and stepped out of the container, continuing up the outer staircase toward the north section.

This container building complex is enormous, occupying most of the open space. To facilitate management and access, it has been divided into four areas according to orientation: east, south, west, and north. The containers in each area are decorated with the color of that area as the main color scheme.

For example, in the South Zone where he is located, the main color is yellow, and all the graffiti on the outside of the containers is predominantly yellow.

He quickly walked along the internal passageway, and from time to time he could see busy figures in other containers. These people, like him, were private radio operators stationed here.

When he arrived in the North District, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.

Unlike the quiet of the South Zone, the area around the containers in the North Zone was now crowded with people, men, women, young and old, all with expressions of excitement or curiosity on their faces, their eyes all focused in the same direction, as if something important was happening there.

Allen followed the gaze of the crowd and saw several luxury cars parked on the open ground not far away. These expensive luxury cars looked particularly out of place in this rather simple container park, but it shouldn't have been this kind of scene, right?

This is New York, where luxury cars are everywhere on the streets.

Just as Allen, who was puzzled, was about to ask what had happened, a loud shout came from above, "Allen, over here!"

On the tallest six-story building in the North District, he saw Matt waving at him, with his neighbor, Hughes, standing beside him. He quickened his pace, hurrying up the steep iron staircase to the top floor.

As soon as he arrived beside Matt and Hughes, before he could even ask what had happened, Matt clenched his fist and shouted excitedly, "They're out!"

Allen subconsciously glanced down at Matt's crotch area before realizing what was happening and quickly turned to look in the direction everyone was staring at.

Then, his eyes widened instantly, and his mouth involuntarily opened wide.

A group of people walked out of a container door on the first floor of the North Zone.

There were about seven or eight people in the group, most of whom Allen didn't recognize, but that didn't matter. Allen's gaze quickly settled on two figures in the crowd.

The man leading the way is Frank Mancuso, the vice president of MGM Resorts International. He will be in charge of the MGM press center that is being built across the street.

What surprised him even more was the young man beside him. "I never expected Ernst to come and inspect."

Standing to the side, Hughes was equally excited. He nodded vigorously, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement, "Yes! It seems that the promises MGM made to us before were true!"

"MGM clearly attaches great importance to this news center; otherwise, Ernst wouldn't have come to inspect it in person."

For everyone gathered here, Ernst's appearance was undoubtedly a powerful morale booster.

Who are they? To put it nicely, they are freelance journalists.

To put it bluntly, they are just unemployed people without a permanent position or stable income.

Unlike paparazzi who roam the streets digging into celebrities' private lives, they run a radio station—a private radio station.

These private radio stations are small in scale, have rudimentary equipment, and limited influence, mostly covering only parts of Queens and the surrounding areas.

In the fiercely competitive media industry, they are like small grasses struggling to survive in the cracks, constantly facing the risk of being eliminated by the market.

When MGM approached these private radio operators, it was with the promise of the soon-to-be-built MGM News Center as the key bait.

MGM promised that as long as they move into this container park and establish a private radio industrial park, they will not only have priority access to the news center's resource network, but also receive technical support and brand endorsement from the MGM Group.

For these struggling small radio stations, this was undoubtedly an irresistible temptation.

Thus, under MGM's leadership, nearly a hundred private radio stations moved into this container park, forming a large-scale private radio industrial park.

This is a mutually beneficial cooperation where each party gets what they need.

For MGM, the reach of these private radio stations can further expand brand influence, especially among grassroots communities.

These private radio stations reach a wide audience, encompassing listeners of different ages, professions, and social classes, enabling MGM to more accurately target its audience and boosting the promotion of its film, entertainment, and other businesses. In addition, MGM also reaps considerable economic benefits from them.

These shipping containers, after simple modifications, have become small private radio station studios, and these radio stations need to pay MGM a corresponding rental fee to move in.

Although the monthly rent for a single container is slightly lower than that of nearby office buildings, the sheer number of them makes up for it.

The total monthly rent paid by nearly a hundred studios already amounts to a considerable sum of money.

Moreover, this is almost pure profit; MGM only provided the containers and the space, without investing much in construction costs.

In addition to rent, MGM also charges each private radio station a monthly information fee ranging from several hundred to tens of thousands of dollars, depending on how much news they want to receive.

Nearly a hundred private radio stations pay hundreds of thousands of dollars in information fees each month, resulting in a stable income of millions of dollars per year.

The core reason why these private radio operators are willing to pay rent and information fees is the information sharing service provided by MGM.

As a small radio station with limited scale, they lack both a strong news gathering and editing team and extensive information channels, making it impossible for them to obtain breaking and important news in a timely manner. This also results in low listener loyalty and limited development.

MGM told them that the group was heavily investing in its news business.

Once they join, MGM will share these exclusive information and breaking news with the private radio stations that join, allowing them to broadcast immediately and thus enhance the stations' competitiveness and influence.

This is undoubtedly the most valuable resource for these small radio stations. However, before this, although MGM repeatedly promised to vigorously develop its news business and the news center headquarters across the street was under construction, everyone was more or less uneasy before everything was settled.

They worried that MGM might change its mind halfway through, that the construction of the press center might encounter unexpected problems, and that they would ultimately not be able to enjoy the promised resources and support.

At that moment, Ernst's sudden appearance put everyone at ease, as if by some kind of magic.

Watching Ernst, accompanied by Frank Mancuso, walk towards the black Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Before getting into the car, he stopped, slowly turned around, raised his right hand, and waved to the crowd gathered in the North District.

A simple gesture instantly ignited the atmosphere at the scene.

The entire North District erupted in cheers, shouts, and applause, all blending together in a powerful and unforgettable atmosphere. An uninformed person might have mistaken it for an open-air concert by a popular celebrity.

Once the convoy had completely disappeared from sight, Allen turned and looked again at the MGM Grand Press Center under construction across the street, his tone tinged with emotion, "I don't know why, but I suddenly feel much more at ease."

Matt nodded in deep agreement, a relieved smile on his face. "Yes, even such a large news center didn't make me feel at ease. I didn't expect Ernst's appearance to make me feel so secure. Is this the aura of a tycoon?"

Hughes, standing to the side, seemed particularly excited. He clenched his fists, his eyes gleaming with excitement, and said impatiently, "I must tell the audience on tonight's show that I actually met Ernst in person today and even had a brief conversation with him!"

"When?" Matt immediately turned to look at him, his face full of doubt. "Weren't we together all day? When did you talk to him?"

Hughes glared at Matt with displeasure and said matter-of-factly, "Didn't you see him wave goodbye to me just now? Isn't that the most direct form of communication?" Matt was speechless for a long time after being choked by his words.

Allen was about to speak up and change the subject when Matt suddenly said, "I'm going to go live in a bit and tell my listeners that Ernst has been staring at my bird for ages."

Instantly, Hughes and his companion stopped in their tracks and simultaneously raised their middle fingers.