The American Kill Line: I Can Predict the Future

Ron is really too busy.

Rather than playing the part of a polite gentleman at a dinner party with a wealthy woman, he'd rather spend his remaining time on things that are truly meaningful.

For example, Robert Hunt.

Although they share the same surname, Hunter, they are not related by blood.

This cowboy, who, like him, came from Texas to New York to make his way in the world, was one of the few companions he could catch his breath in this concrete jungle.

Ron was able to quickly find the couple's address thanks to Robert's connections in all sorts of New York society.

"Damn it, Ron, did you rob a bank?"

Robert stood at the entrance of the Peninsula Hotel, watching Ron walk out in a smartly dressed manner, and his jaw nearly dropped to the ground in shock.

He circled Ron twice, as if he were looking at a flying pig.

He was the same age as Ron, thirty years old, the prime of a man's wildest years.

In contrast, Ron got married early and lived a frugal life, working long hours and saving every penny.

Robert lived a more carefree and unrestrained life.

His life motto is to enjoy life to the fullest.

My biggest wish is to be like Hollywood superstar Leonardo DiCaprio, having a team-building trip on a yacht with a group of Victoria's Secret supermodels.

His greatest hobby is frequenting parties and bars.

The first three days after payday each month became his happiest time.

Whether the remaining 27 days are spent eating junk food every day or being kicked out by the landlord to sleep under a bridge, that doesn't matter.

who cares.

At least he enjoyed it for these three days.

Ron stepped forward and punched Robert on the shoulder, laughing, "Stop messing around. Have you arranged what I asked you to do?"

"I've never heard such a generous request before. Are you sure you won't back out?"

Robert might not be of much help with other things, but he's quite adept at these kinds of games.

The two first randomly chose a restaurant and had a simple meal.

Then, following Robert's directions, they arrived at a gaming club.

The reason they didn't dine at the Peninsula Hotel was that Robert wasn't wearing formal attire.

I doubt he even has a decent suit.

The Peninsula Hotel restaurants have strict dress requirements for guests.

Furthermore, Ron only had ten thousand dollars left in cash.

Good steel should be used where it's most needed.

The so-called game club is actually an upgraded version of an arcade.

While both are game chips, these chips can be used freely within the club.

This includes, but is not limited to, food and drinks, as well as purchasing the service of a female escort for one night.

Ron exchanged $500 in chips and went with Robert to a private billiards room.

The two ordered a drink.

Not long after I sat down, several scantily clad bunny girls walked in.

"Double match. For every game lost, you have to take off an item of clothing, until you're completely naked."

Robert skillfully put his arm around a tall, tanned escort.

And she pushed a big rabbit-shaped girl at Ron.

As a good brother, he knew very well that Ron had a special affection for the big rabbit.

Ron's ex-wife Megan smothered him with a large rabbit at a barbecue party in his hometown of Texas years ago.

That's how the story unfolded.

"Damn bitch, I was definitely drunk."

The past is too painful to recall. Things that were once so memorable now only leave me with a deep sense of disgust.

Of course, this is about the issue, not the person.

Ron the big rabbit still liked it very much.

Ron was really hurt by the money he spent.

Two hundred-dollar chips can buy two bunny girls to play with you for an afternoon.

However, seeing the visual impact of several large rabbits jumping around the billiard table, he felt that the money was well spent.

"nice shot!"

Robert walked over to Ron, lit a cigarette, and while it was being lit, chuckled softly:

"Two red chips."

"What?"

"She likes you a lot, doesn't she?"

Robert grinned mischievously and gestured towards the female companion who was playing pool on the pool table.

Ron instantly understood what his good brother meant.

The club's chips range from $1 to $100, each corresponding to a different color.

Red means one hundred dollars.

Two red chips mean that Ron can take the escort girl home for two hundred dollars.

Since today was for indulgence, he didn't refuse.

Seeing that it was almost time to move on to the next game, Ron thought for a moment and then threw all the remaining chips in his hand onto the pool table.

Robert smiled with satisfaction, whistled, and shouted, "Today is the day our Mr. Hunter is reborn! Get dressed, grab the chips on the table, and let's play something even more exciting, if you'd like?"

The two women screamed instantly.

Swinging their White Rabbit candies, they scrambled to grab the scattered chips on the table.

It's rare to encounter such a generous customer, so they have no reason to refuse.

"The day of rebirth...?"

Ron chuckled softly.

......

The next day, May 6th.

This day was definitely an unforgettable one for Wall Street investors.

Just before 2 p.m., countless investors and stockbrokers, as usual, were sipping coffee and tea, leisurely discussing where to spend their evening.

At 2:32 PM, an automated sell order for 7.5 E-mini S&P 500 futures contracts, worth approximately $41 billion, was submitted and dumped directly into the market without being split.

At 2:42, the Dow Jones Industrial Average plummeted from a height of 10445 points, almost instantly falling below 10000 points.

It finally stopped at the number 9872.

The whole process took only five minutes.

Countless stock exchange alarms went off instantly.

No one could remain calm anymore.

Oh my god!

"What happened?"

"War? Could it be an attack on the White House?!"

"No, it's a stock market crash, a stock market crash is coming."

"Quickly, quickly, dump all orders!"

"It's too late, the account has been liquidated!"

"Fuck you! Damn it, who's going to the rooftop? Count me in."

In just a few minutes, the Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 573 points, a maximum drop of 9.16%.

Following closely behind, the S&P 500 index plunged 8.9%, hitting the 1065-point threshold.

The Nasdaq index also plummeted 9.2%.

The three major US stock indexes instantly evaporated by over a trillion dollars.

The stock prices of countless technology and tech giants have been halved.

A very few stocks, such as Accenture, plummeted from $41 to $0.01 in an instant.

Exelon, one of the largest utility companies in the United States, fell to $0.41 during the session.

Boston Beer SAM fell from $59 at the open to $0.

The eyes of countless people in the financial industry around the world are on Wall Street.

The panic of the stock market crash spread like a plague to global markets.

This is the largest drop and fluctuation in US stocks since the 1987 stock market crash.

Various rumors and gossip swept through the market.

A rumor quickly spread throughout the market.

A Citibank trader misspelled a letter when placing a sell order for Procter & Gamble, typing billion (b) instead of million (m).

"Is he dog shit? How could he misspell that!"

"Damn pig, I bet he's a black guy. Only an idiot like that wouldn't even know how to read."

"This is racist! I'm calling on my brothers to take to the streets in protest!"

"Shut up, you bunch of idiots! Can't you tell? This is a conspiracy. These vampires are using such despicable means to steal our hard-earned money."

"That's right, this is a conspiracy by those bastards on Wall Street. My poor Anna, he's still lying in the hospital waiting for this money to save his life."

"Damn it, we've been cheated! We protest! We demand our hard-earned money back!"

"Protest! Protest!!"

At this moment, countless people who had been liquidated left their homes holding signs and marched to Wall Street to protest!

Even when the market corrected significantly at 2:49 PM, it couldn't quell their anger.

The phones at all the stock exchanges on Wall Street were ringing off the hook.

Countless brokers use various excuses to appease their clients.

At that moment, a broker named Victor Thorne was staring blankly at the amount in an account on his computer screen.

He rubbed his eyes hard, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Seeing this, a busy colleague nudged him and called out:

"Victor, what's wrong? If you're alright, come help me! Damn it, what happened? Why is this happening?"

As they were talking, his colleague casually glanced at his screen.

He froze for a moment, then let out an incredulous gasp:

"Oh my God—"

The scream caught the attention of other colleagues at the exchange.

So everyone turned their attention to this.

Then, a series of exclamations rang out:

"This is--"

"Oh my god! Victor, don't tell me this is true?"

"Did he know that a flash crash would happen today?"

"What are you thinking? Even JPMorgan Chase doesn't know the reason. I'm more inclined to think he's a lucky guy."

"He's definitely a lucky guy; $200,000 suddenly increased to $2 million."

"Victor, I suggest you tell him as soon as possible. If it's appropriate, you could ask him out for coffee. I have a feeling this guy might bring you even bigger surprises in the future."

"Yes, yes, contact him immediately."

Viktor snapped out of his daze, frantically rummaged through the messy files on the table, found the phone book, and dialed the number listed.

The call connected very slowly; it wasn't until the third call that it was finally answered.

Immediately following was a string of harsh curses, as if the person was still half asleep.

"Damn it, you better pray you're not selling some piece of crap, or I'll blow your head off!"