The American Kill Line: I Can Predict the Future

If yesterday's speech by the new Hungarian government was merely an internal discussion...

So today, the Hungarian Prime Minister's spokesperson publicly accused the former government of falsifying data, which undoubtedly tore away the last fig leaf covering the European debt crisis.

The euro has fallen sharply again and could break through the critical point of 1.2000 at any time, hitting a four-year low.

The market panic will be more severe than imagined.

At 5 p.m., when the last VIX transaction was completed, cheers of joy erupted in both Merrill Lynch's temporary trading room and Ron's company.

No one questioned Ron anymore, even though he still insisted on not closing his euro position.

Everyone looked at the figure standing under the projection screen with admiration.

At this moment, this serene figure magnified infinitely in their hearts, like a deity!

Ron looked at the VIX projection screen on the wall and said into his headset, "Victor, calculate VIX's profits."

Unlike the euro, he couldn't be sure whether the VIX would continue to climb next week.

Moreover, the current price is already very high, with most sales occurring at prices above 40 points, and today it even surged to a high of 49 points.

Soon, Viktor's voice came through the earpiece:

"We bought a total of 20215 contracts, with an average profit of $8000 per contract."

Such a high rate of return directly broke Victor's previous trading record.

"That means the net profit is only $1.6 million." Ron said with a hint of regret.

Nothing special—his personal account only has $7.5 million.

The trading volume is still too small; the VIX only has this much trading volume per day.

Upon hearing this, Victor was speechless and said, "Only 1.6 million? Ron, I suspect you're bluffing."

Ron laughed loudly and said into the headset microphone:

"Now, it's time to celebrate our victory!"

He glanced at Sophia, the finance manager, sitting in the front row, who nodded slightly.

Ron smiled and said, "You've all worked hard these past few days. I've booked a presidential suite for each of you at the Trump Soho Hotel. You can go there now for a spa massage, and then meet at the terrace bar at 7 o'clock sharp."

"As for the bonus—" Ron paused.

Viktor held his breath instantly.

All this work has been for this.

He used to be a trader at Merrill Lynch, and the money his clients made had nothing to do with him.

Now that he's Ron's temporary trader, he's naturally entitled to a bonus.

Ron chuckled, "Tell Tony I'll be giving him ten million dollars as a reward. How you two split it is up to you. Don't announce it yet; the bonus will be paid out after the hedge fund closes its positions on Monday."

"One more thing, Viktor, I'll give you a little surprise from the bottom of my heart later."

"Yes!"

Viktor jumped up excitedly and held up a finger to his colleagues.

Immediately, thunderous cheers erupted throughout the trading room.

After hanging up the phone, Ron saw his company employees staring at him expectantly.

He chuckled and said, "Don't worry, you'll all get your share too."

Although these people were all newcomers who had only been there a few days and many of them hadn't participated much, he still decided to give them bonuses as well.

This is also telling those who come after: Follow me, and you'll have something to eat.

"Long live the BOSS!"

Instantly, cheers erupted in the trading room.

That's how simple Wall Street is.

Champagne, red wine, beautiful women, and money—things that philosophers consider vulgar—are revered as supreme truths here.

That night, countless winners like Ron, who profited immensely from the euro's performance, celebrated wildly on Wall Street.

Similarly, there are countless losers who have been exploited and left with huge debts, standing on the rooftop in despair.

The winner-takes-all principle remains an unchanging rule on Wall Street.

In a private wine cellar room at the Soho Hotel, Ron, dressed in a white casual outfit, stood at the head of the long table, raising his glass of red wine:

"I'm not good with sweet talk, and I hate clichés. If you don't have fun tonight, you'd better disappear from my sight forever!"

Cheers!

Everyone happily raised their glasses in a toast.

A table laden with delicacies and expensive red wine.

Each person was served by a petite waitress.

This is just the beginning of tonight.

At the second-floor outdoor pool, more than a dozen magazine models provided by New York Elite Escorts had been waiting for some time.

The group pushed open the door and entered.

The energetic music, the colorful ambient lighting, and the slender models instantly drew everyone into a carnival atmosphere.

Ron sat on a lounge chair by the pool and chatted with Victor.

He is currently lacking an operations director.

Victor had worked at Merrill Lynch for many years with an outstanding track record, was familiar with SEC/FINRA regulations, and had experience handling complex financial products.

More importantly, Ron felt that he and Ron worked together quite well.

So now, taking advantage of this noisy environment, he's extending an olive branch.

"I'm not sure if I'm up to the task, you know, Ron, I've never been an operations director at Merrill Lynch. So..."

Everyone has a first time, right?

Ron interrupted him, raised his glass, raised an eyebrow and smiled, "This is my first time in this line of work too, today marks exactly one month. Remember, you were the one who greeted me that day, haha, I still remember the look of disdain in your eyes."

"Yes, you've only been in this line of work for a month." Victor clinked his wine glass with Viktor's.

Recalling the scene of his first meeting with Ron, he couldn't help but feel a little dazed.

He witnessed firsthand how this man transformed from a disheveled,颓废-looking middle-aged man into a Wall Street tycoon worth billions.

This process took only one month.

Just then, Alexandra called out to Ron, indicating that someone was looking for him.

Ron looked at the person coming through the door.

Then, he turned and patted Viktor's arm: "No need to rush into a decision. Think it over carefully. Have fun tonight."

After saying that, Ron stood up and walked towards the pool entrance.

Alexandra took his arm.

"Hi, Mr. Trump."

"Ron, I heard you came to my hotel, so I made a special trip over." Trump, who is over sixty years old, is still full of energy.

The two shook hands, and Trump said, "Ron, I'm very disappointed in you. I heard you started a hedge fund; why didn't you invite me to invest?"

The old man's quite the opportunist... Ron said with a smile, feigning doubt:

"No? I remember sending you an invitation."

"Really? Maybe it was because I wasn't there, or maybe my staff was negligent. You know me, I have many businesses and a lot of things to manage."

Trump is also a skilled actor, shaking his head and pretending to be stupid.

Immediately, before Ron could speak, he stepped aside and began introducing the woman beside him:

"This is my eldest daughter, Ivanka, who also manages this hotel."

Ivanka, dressed in a black low-cut dress, resembled a black swan. She smiled and extended her hand, her chest trembling slightly as she took a half-step forward: "Hello, Mr. Hunter, welcome to the Soho Hotel."

Ron gently touched her fingertip, noticing the wedding ring on her finger, and said with a faint smile, "Hello, Miss Ivanka."

After the introduction, Trump waved to the waiter carrying the red wine.

After clinking glasses lightly and taking a sip, Trump exchanged a few more pleasantries before leaving with his daughter and son-in-law.

It seems they really just came over to say hello.

"Dad, is there anything special about this person?" Ivanka asked, puzzled.

As Trump walked, he said, "I don't know, this is the second time I've seen him. The last time was when someone introduced him to me to rent an office, and I gave him a discount because of the friend's recommendation. Some people say he's the biggest winner on Wall Street today, making hundreds of millions of dollars."

Although Merrill Lynch and JPMorgan Chase keep the information of their high-net-worth clients confidential, those who want to find out, especially professionals in this field, can still estimate some information.

"Hundreds of millions of dollars?" Ivanka said incredulously. "I remember everyone saying he made it by luck, and that his ex-wife swindled him out of his entire fortune a month ago."

"Once might be luck, but is it always luck?"

"So everything circulating outside is false?"

"I didn't know, so I came to check on it tonight."

Before his daughter could ask any more questions, Trump had already gotten into the car.

As he himself said, he didn't know, and even after seeing him with his own eyes, he couldn't see anything special about Ron.

Ivanka watched her father's car drive away.

She had originally planned to go straight home, but after thinking about it, she turned to the lobby manager beside her and instructed him:

"Serve a glass of my treasured red wine to the guests at the second-floor rooftop bar."

"Miss, is there anything I need to tell you?" the lobby manager asked cautiously.

Ivanka said softly, "Just say I'm very grateful that he chose the Soho Hotel."

By the pool, Ron glanced at the hotel lobby manager with surprise, raising an eyebrow:

"Please thank Miss Ivanka for her kindness, and tell her that I appreciate her sentiments."