A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 38

An empty, desolate hallway.

I am walking behind Gerard.

"But, why did you…"

"Just because."

When I asked what seemed like an obvious question, his overly concise answer came back.

It was a response designed to shut down any further conversation.

No words followed.

Since I didn’t ask anything else either, silence hung heavily around us.

Step, step.

Only the sound of our footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor.

‘Is this a psychological game?'

He’s deliberately creating discomfort.

The intent is to exert psychological pressure and establish dominance.

‘How did he figure it out?'

I still don’t know how Gerard identified me.

However, I’m not particularly surprised.

I had considered the possibility of being discovered and prepared for it.

Thanks to Rachel hinting that there would be a “test,” I can make sense of Gerard’s behavior.

I’m relatively composed.

So, I decided to use this time to wrap up the speculation I had been mulling over earlier.

‘If it’s retail…'

Excluding the Walton family, there’s only one family among the top ten richest households involved in retail.

The Marquis family.

At the time of my death, they were the third wealthiest family in the United States.

Their total assets amounted to a staggering $1.5 trillion—over 2 quadrillion won in Korean currency.

Most people would tilt their heads in confusion upon hearing about their main business.

They run a confectionery company that sells candy and chocolate.

You might wonder how much they could possibly earn from that…

But the Marquis family owns the globally renowned n&n Chocolates.

This company has one peculiar feature:

It’s not publicly traded.

The founding family owns 100% of the shares, making it one of the largest private companies in the world.

It’s extremely rare for a company of this size to remain private.

Listing on the stock exchange would allow them to attract massive external funding.

However, the Marquis family publicly declared that they would "never go public."

That’s all I know.

The Marquis family is shrouded in extreme secrecy.

Little is known about them publicly, nor about the companies they operate.

Since they aren’t publicly traded, they have no obligation to disclose internal affairs.

They are a family and a corporation that adhere to an almost bizarre level of confidentiality.

‘Am I reaching too far?'

It feels like I might be overthinking things.

I’ve only loosely and forcibly connected a few clues.

But…

There is a possibility.

I remember Rachel once mentioning that her brother works in Virginia.

That’s where the Marquis headquarters is located.

It’s still a slim chance.

But if even 1% of this is true…

It’s an extraordinary family.

One I absolutely cannot let slip away.

***

The Wine Cellar

We had passed by this place earlier during the tour, but I only glanced at it briefly from the entrance.

Now, Gerard guided me to the very depths of the cellar.

At what seemed to be a dead end, there was a single door.

[Identity Confirmed]

Clunk!

After scanning his fingerprints and retina, a guiding voice sounded, and the lock released as the door slowly opened.

“Come in.”

Turning back with a smile, Gerard invited me in.

“Is this a place I’m allowed to enter?”

"In a space with such tight security, is it really okay for an outsider to enter?"

"……"

“That’s why I brought you here.”

Gerard casually pushed the door open and stepped inside first.

As I followed him and stepped into the room, I involuntarily froze.

The space was utterly chilling.

It was an armory.

The walls were lined with firearms of every kind, meticulously displayed with no empty spaces.

It felt like they were ready to wage a war at a moment’s notice.

Clunk!

I heard the sound of the door closing behind me.

When I turned around, Gerard was grinning slyly.

“This is the safe room. All six sides are protected by bulletproof glass, and the real-time air purification system ensures safety even against biochemical agents.”

“I see.”

“We keep the best wine here. If the time ever comes to use this room, that’s when you’ll need the finest drink.”

Gerard walked straight toward a wine fridge situated within the armory.

I followed him, maintaining a reasonable distance.

‘If he deliberately chose this location… The intention is obvious. He’s trying to unsettle me. Unsettlement leads to emotions. When emotions waver, you lose your center, making it easier to be manipulated. To avoid being swayed, I need information.'

I observed the room closely, trying to extract anything useful.

‘A staunchly conservative family.’

This alone reveals a lot about them.

The characteristics of an ultra-conservative family that actively supports gun ownership are evident.

They spare no effort in protecting what is “theirs.”

They argue it’s a citizen’s right to defend their home, family, and possessions with their own firearms—even claiming it’s a foundational right of the United States.

This country was born from a single gunshot heard around the world, after all.

It’s the polar opposite of Rachel’s temperament.

The princess seems to be the black sheep of her family.

And that… is not good.

An ultra-conservative family with an armory like this tends to be excessively protective of their members.

If someone like that sees me as a threat, it’s bad news.

“You can come closer.”

Gerard spoke while inspecting the wine fridge, glancing back at me.

“As I mentioned earlier, I don’t know much about wine.”

“Is that so?”

At my response, Gerard smirked and turned his head slightly.

After briefly scanning the firearms on display, he looked back at me with an amused chuckle.

“You’re not worried they’re loaded, are you?”

It was a taunt, asking if I was scared.

Of course, I was scared.

How many people could stay composed in someone else’s armory?

After gauging my expression, Gerard approached the wall, picked up the firearm with the longest barrel, and lifted it.

Isn’t that a shotgun?

Click!

“Don’t worry, it’s empty.”

He demonstrated that the chamber was unloaded, then pretended to take aim.

The muzzle swept lightly across the safe room and came to a stop—right in front of me.

There was a gun barrel in my line of sight.

Even knowing the magazine was empty, my body instinctively stiffened.

“Do you oppose gun use?”

Gerard asked, still aiming at me.

Now it was time for a Q&A session.

I needed to focus.

‘He’s not asking about my stance.’

Judging by my reaction, he already knew I was against gun use.

This question wasn’t about ideology—it was about confirming my choices.

Gun use is a deeply polarizing issue.

Gerard supports it, while I oppose it.

Should I claim to be on his side to leave a good impression?

Or should I stick to my beliefs to the end?

Either choice could backfire.

If I agree with him, I’d be lying.

If I disagree, I’d draw a hard line of ideological division between us.

“Is it difficult to answer?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m not particularly against gun use.”

“Then you support it?”

“Not that either.”

“Neither side?”

“I’ve never needed to use one before, but if the need arises, I’d be willing to learn.”

My answer was neutral.

It wasn’t about ideology but purely based on practicality.

For the record, this is the mindset every investor must have.

Getting swayed by politics, ideologies, or beliefs will never make you money.

Click.

At my response, Gerard lowered the shotgun.

Judging by the faintly bitter smile on his face, he seemed disappointed I had avoided his trap.

“In our family, hunting is a kind of rite of passage.”

Gerard placed the shotgun back on the display rack.

I thought he was done using firearms as intimidation, but then he reached for another shotgun next to it.

“People who say hunting is cruel are just avoiding reality. Those same people buy meat from the supermarket every day. When they purchase a neatly trimmed ‘product,’ they forget that it was once the muscle of a living creature. They might ignore the discomfort of another life’s sacrifice, but… This discomfort shouldn’t be forgotten. Only by taking a life with your own hands can you truly shoulder the responsibility of an adult.”

Another test, similar to before.

He’s implying that without hunting, one cannot understand true responsibility.

If I agree with Gerard, I’d essentially be labeling myself as an irresponsible person for not hunting.

If I argue against him, I’d create a confrontational dynamic by opposing his ideology.

“What do you think?”

“I agree.”

“You said you’ve never hunted, though.”

“I know what it feels like when life leaves your hands. I’ve stained my hands with blood many times—not to take life, but to save it.”

“…?”

“I’m a medical school graduate.”

“Ah, that’s right.”

His voice carried a note of certainty.

It meant my mention of being a medical graduate had cemented his belief that I was “just a friend.”

Up until then, he hadn’t been entirely convinced.

“Did you approach Rachel on purpose?”

The weight of his gaze intensified.

“You didn’t seem surprised by our family’s status. That means you knew beforehand.”

I couldn’t deny it here.

For the wealthy, trustworthiness is critical.

Lying is a grave mistake.

“Yes, I was aware.”

“Did Rachel tell you?”

“No. We were temporarily assigned to the same department, and I inferred it from the preferential treatment she received as an MD. Later, I heard rumors that her father is a renowned lawyer.”

“So, you approached her because of the family?”

“I didn’t approach her; we became close naturally due to proximity. Learning about her background came after.”

“So, her family has nothing to do with it?”

“In friendship, money is a plus, not a minus. It was a positive factor for me, too.”

“…You’re honest.”

“It’s my only virtue.”

My response made Gerard flinch briefly.

It created a small opening in the relentless barrage of suspicion.

‘As I thought.’

It’s working.

In this situation, there’s only one way to shift the flow in my favor:

Surprise.

Surprise is also an emotion.

If I can use this emotion to unbalance him, Gerard will inevitably be drawn into my rhythm.

“What do you think of Rachel?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“It’s a simple one.”

“The question needs to be clear for the answer to be clear. The scope of thoughts related to Rachel is broad—personality, work ability, traits, preferences…”

“Do you see her as a woman?”

That was unexpected.

It meant he was wary of me as a man.

For a staunchly conservative family to see a black-haired man as a potential rival…

Perhaps they’re more progressive than I gave them credit for.

“Yes, I see her as a woman.”

“…”

Not that it matters—denying it wouldn’t convince him anyway.

She’s beautiful, kind, and wealthy.

Who wouldn’t find her appealing?

“So, is that why you’re clinging to her?”

“I haven’t clung to her. We’re merely on friendly terms.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe…”

“If you’re asking whether I’m scheming to marry Rachel for her wealth and claim half of it, the answer is no.”

“…”

Gerard’s expression was one of sheer disbelief.

The tension in the room eased a little as a result.

The flow of the conversation was starting to tilt in my favor.

“That kind of statement only makes you more suspicious.”

“I was simply answering the implied question from your tone. If that wasn’t your intent, I apologize. As I said, the clearer the question, the clearer the answer.”

“Then let me make it clear. Are you after Rachel’s wealth?”

This was the classic suspicion that every wealthy person harbors.

I had to answer carefully.

“Yes, I am.”

“…Honest, at least.”

“As I said, honesty is my only virtue.”

“Fine, then.”

Gerard let out a derisive snort, full of contempt, and hung the shotgun back on the wall.

He opened the wine fridge and took out two bottles.

His body language signaled that he considered the conversation over.

Of course, I couldn’t let it end there.

He might think we’re done, but for me, this was only the beginning.

“Aren’t you curious why I want her wealth?”

“Not really.”

“Regardless, I’ll explain—it’s in my best interest to be transparent. I intend to multiply it. A hundredfold, a thousandfold.”

“…”

Gerard paused and turned to look at me, his expression questioning what nonsense I was spouting.

“In two years, I plan to launch my own hedge fund. My goal is to make it a legendary fund, achieving the highest returns in the shortest time. Frankly, I’d be thrilled if Rachel invested in it.”

This wasn’t an interrogation session. It was a pitch for my future fund.

“So, you want to use Rachel’s money?”

“I wouldn’t force her. Rachel is an adult and can make her own decisions. Besides, I wouldn’t be using it—I’d be investing it and multiplying it.”

When it comes to trustworthiness, consistency is key.

It wouldn’t do to start as a friend and later reveal myself as a fund manager.

It’s better to establish from the outset that I’m a fund manager who approached Rachel with her money in mind.

“Ah, you want money… That actually simplifies things.”

Gerard let out another contemptuous laugh, glaring at me.

“How much do you want?”

“Are you asking about the cost to cut ties with Rachel?”

“I assume you’re not about to say something sentimental like, ‘Friendship is too precious to be swayed by money.’ A fund manager should put a value on everything…”

“Fifty billion dollars.”

“…”

“If you hand me a check for fifty billion right now, I’ll consider my friendship with Rachel concluded.”

“…”