A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 43

No matter how sensational a rumor is, every rumor has an expiration date.

This case was no exception.

The gossip that peaked on the first day fizzled out by the second and became nothing more than an old story by the third.

But things changed on the afternoon of the third day.

At the center of it all, once again, was Ha Si-heon.

He had made yet another unexpected move.

However, this time, it was the exact opposite of the boldness he had shown before.

The catalyst was surprisingly trivial.

“Why not back out while you still can? You might ruin your life if you’re not careful.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to return the money you took and resolve this mess?”

For several days, Ha Si-heon had been hounded by unsolicited advice from those around him.

Everyone seemed to be urging him to abandon his investment plans.

On the surface, their comments were cloaked in concern, but in reality, they were no more than nosy remarks driven by curiosity.

“You said you weren’t completely sure, didn’t you?”

“I am sure. I only said that because I haven’t proven it in real-world conditions yet.”

“But the situation has changed, hasn’t it? When the scale of the funds shifts, the rules of the game change entirely.”

“My algorithm is based on fundamental analysis. It functions independently of the scale of investment.”

Yet something felt off.

There was a clear tone of irritation in Ha Si-heon’s voice, and he sighed deeply several times throughout the conversation.

It was a stark contrast to the calm composure he usually displayed.

“And didn’t you say a real expert doesn’t rely on buying low and selling high? That’s wrong. Every trader I know does that.”

At these words from an associate, Ha Si-heon’s eyebrows twitched.

“They are not true experts.”

“Four years in the field doesn’t count?”

“To develop expertise, one needs a long period of apprenticeship. For doctors, becoming a specialist requires medical school, an internship, and residency—at least a decade of practical experience. No one is a professional before 10 years of hands-on practice.”

The associate furrowed his brows.

He had intended to share his wisdom as a senior, but Ha Si-heon’s unyielding insistence on being right left him feeling annoyed.

“Even those ‘specialist’ fund managers advocate for buying low and selling high.”

“That’s why half of all hedge funds don’t survive beyond five years. A fund pushing for such practices has no chance of survival. You wouldn’t call someone who can’t last five years after becoming a specialist an expert, would you?”

Some of the others couldn’t hide their doubts.

It was the first time Ha Si-heon had been so adamant about his beliefs.

“If you don’t want to believe me, then just drop it. It’s not your business anyway.”

When his cold tone finally slipped out, a thought crossed the minds of those watching.

‘As expected… He’s anxious too.’

It was only natural.

No matter how talented someone was, managing a large sum in their first real-world trial was bound to be nerve-wracking.

Even seasoned portfolio managers often faltered in their first few months when their managed funds grew significantly.

What mattered was acknowledging and controlling those feelings.

However, to them, it seemed that Ha Si-heon was ignoring his emotions altogether.

“I’ve never forced anyone to believe in me. Those who want to invest can do so—it’s that simple.”

“But no one’s coming forward right now, are they?”

At the associate’s remark, Ha Si-heon fell silent.

In truth, not a single person had come forward to invest, even though many had inquired about joining his fund just before the holiday.

This was proof that no one believed in Ha Si-heon’s chances of success.

But after a slight grimace, Ha Si-heon responded,

“That’s because I’m not ready yet. I asked everyone to wait until I had finalized and announced my operational guidelines.”

“That’s not the real reason, though.”

“… Sigh. Anyway, thank you for your concern. I need to go now—I have somewhere to be.”

With a deep sigh, Ha Si-heon abruptly stood and left the room.

His destination was the retail division.

“Senior, do you have a moment?”

The person he addressed was an associate who had previously shown interest in investing.

Handing over a prepared set of documents, Ha Si-heon began to speak.

“I plan to officially launch investments in a week. If you’re still interested, here are my operational guidelines. Please review them and—”

“You’re recruiting more investors?”

The associate didn’t even glance at the documents.

In a tone of incredulity, the associate asked,

“Why?”

“You’re the one who expressed interest in investing, senior,” Ha Si-heon replied.

“No, it’s not that. Haven’t you already secured $20 million? My investment would only be $10,000 or $20,000…”

At this stage, there seemed to be no reason for Ha Si-heon to bother collecting such small amounts. However, he responded firmly.

“Even $10,000 is legitimate capital. The more investment funds, the better. I plan to recruit up to five investors. After reviewing the operational guidelines, please provide your investment and signature here…”

“Ah, well… sorry, but I’ve changed my mind.”

The associate didn’t bother hiding his refusal.

However, Ha Si-heon didn’t take it lightly.

“May I ask why?”

“You’ve already got $20 million in existing investments, right? Managing that alone seems like it’d be overwhelming.”

“It requires the same effort to select and analyze stocks regardless of the fund size. The only additional work would be updating the investors. I can handle up to five.”

Ha Si-heon showed no signs of backing down.

“Uh, actually, it’s for personal reasons,” the associate replied, signaling that he didn’t want to be pressed further.

Grinding his teeth slightly, Ha Si-heon finally said,

“Understood. Let me know if you change your mind. Recruitment will close in a week. I’ll leave the investment status at my desk.”

Ha Si-heon repeated this behavior across various departments, visiting those who had previously expressed interest in investing. He encouraged them to join his fund.

But the results were dismal.

“Sorry, I need more time to think.”

“I don’t have any spare funds right now.”

“Things are a lot different from back then.”

Everyone either postponed or outright rejected their investments.

With a dark expression, Ha Si-heon wandered the halls of Goldman, seemingly unable to comprehend why this was happening.

Eventually, a trader, pitying him, offered some advice.

“Stop wasting your time. No one’s going to invest anyway.”

“Why not?” Ha Si-heon asked.

“You think investing is just about algorithms, don’t you?”

“… …”

“Well, that’s a common rookie mistake.”

The trader continued, trying to explain in a soothing tone.

“Investing is like poker. No matter how good your hand is, if a player folds, you lose the game. The larger the stakes, the shakier the psychology, and the lower the odds of winning.”

This was why everyone hesitated to invest. Algorithms calculated probabilities with cold precision, but humans were different.

Even if you’re holding a full house, when the stakes jump from $10,000 to $10 million, the fear of betting becomes paralyzing.

No matter how strong your hand is, you can’t help but waver in the face of an opponent’s bluff.

“So you’re saying that I’ll lose my rational judgment under the pressure of large sums?” Ha Si-heon asked.

“Isn’t that obvious? You’re human, not a machine. If the stakes rise from a million to ten million, could you really stay calm?”

“I can.”

The reply was unnervingly quick. The trader sighed.

“That overconfidence is the real danger. It means you don’t even recognize the risks. Everyone makes that kind of mistake when they’re green.”

“My investment approach is different. My positions are determined entirely by algorithms…”

“Just focus on managing the money you already have. If you make a profit, investors will come to you naturally.”

With that, the trader turned his attention back to his monitor, silently signaling that the conversation was over.

Ha Si-heon, his face hardened, left with one final remark.

“I plan to limit the number of investors to five. Recruitment ends in a week, so if you change your mind, come find me at my desk.”

Returning to his desk, Ha Si-heon printed out a document: an investor list.

Mosley ($10 million)

Mosley ($5 million)

Gonzalez ($5 million)

The list showcased astronomical sums, almost as if flaunting: I’ve already secured this much effortlessly.

However, beneath the impressive sums listed on the document, blank spaces were glaringly obvious.

Ha Si-heon displayed the list prominently on his desk.

“Why don’t you just take it down?”

Lenton, who had been watching from nearby, approached with a concerned expression.

The list was having the opposite effect—it made things worse.

To others, it looked like a washed-up hero desperately clinging to past glory.

Even after Lenton’s advice, Ha Si-heon remained stubborn.

“This list is necessary to track the progress of investment recruitment.”

His expression radiated confidence, as if someone would definitely add their name to the list within the week.

But as the day wore on, no investors showed up.

It wasn’t surprising.

Ha Si-heon’s unstable state of mind was already common knowledge.

“That guy’s completely lost it now.”

“He’s gone beyond rationalization and is betting his pride on this.”

“Are you crazy? Who would invest in that?”

To anyone observing, Ha Si-heon was clearly shaken.

The confidence he displayed in front of Gerard was nothing more than a facade.

In this situation, no one trusted him enough to entrust their money.

“There’s no need to wait until the week is up…”

“If no one shows up, his pride will take an even bigger hit. At this rate, he’s bound to lose it all…”

The whispers predicting Ha Si-heon’s downfall grew louder. Though they feigned concern outwardly, their true feelings were mixed with schadenfreude and a sense of certainty in his failure.

But the next day, an unexpected twist occurred.

“How have you been?”

The middle-aged man who came to Ha Si-heon’s desk had a familiar face—Ferguson, the MD from the Industrial Division.

They had worked together briefly during a past secondment.

Without indulging in small talk, Ferguson quickly shifted the conversation to the paper pinned to Ha Si-heon’s desk.

“This… is it only open to associates?”

Ha Si-heon’s lips subtly curled upward. Perfect timing.

He had been expecting this.

Still, he thought it best to feign surprise.

“Oh, no. It’s open to anyone. The minimum investment is…”

“Five million dollars.”

Ferguson cut him off decisively.

Around them, murmurs of awe and suspicion rippled through the room.

“Insane!”

“Why is an MD getting involved?”

Ha Si-heon was the only one unfazed.

Still, not wanting to seem too composed, he widened his eyes in an exaggerated display of surprise.

“Of… of course! That’s possible. Here’s the fund management agreement I drafted. Please review it, and if you’d like notarization, we can set a date…”

“No need for notarization. I’ll write you a check right now.”

Ferguson pulled out a check and handed it to Ha Si-heon, barely glancing at the agreement.

“Redemptions will be processed in writing, but actual settlements will take three months. It’s a procedure to maintain the fund’s liquidity—”

“Understood. I’ll read the details myself.”

Ferguson interrupted him, eager to move things along. The entire process was finalized swiftly.

As soon as Ferguson left, Dobby approached.

“Who was that just now?”

“An MD I worked with briefly in the past.”

“Why would someone like that…”

“Probably because he had a good impression of me when we worked together. Maybe it’s just a show of goodwill?” Ha Si-heon deflected.

But the truth was, Ferguson had another motive.

***

‘There’s no way he’d pass up an opportunity like this.’

Ferguson was an MD who often extended favors to Rachel.

It was clear he wouldn’t hesitate to use my fund as an opportunity to strengthen his ties with the Mosley family.

For Ferguson, my fund was a golden opportunity.

By matching the investments of Gerard and Judy, he could easily build rapport with them.

“If the fund collapses, even better.”

In that case, he could approach them, lamenting, “I suffered the same loss as you did.”

It would be perfect for bonding over shared misfortune, painting himself as a fellow victim duped by the same “scammer.”

I could confidently say Ferguson was investing with the hope of my failure.

He had ignored me when I was riding high, only to swoop in now that I seemed vulnerable.

“Well, it works in my favor.”

The truth was, I had my own agenda for drawing Ferguson in.

It wasn’t simply about increasing the fund’s size. Ferguson had a much more strategic purpose.

‘He’s the perfect informant for the Mosleys.’

In other words, he was an ideal spy to deliver updates about me directly to Gerard.

‘Rachel would never take on that role.’

Unlike Rachel, who would defend and shield me, Ferguson, eager to curry favor with Gerard, was far more suitable for the task.

If it were him, he’d pass along everything to Gerard in real-time—from my status updates to the various rumors swirling around Goldman.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely an act to rope Ferguson in. For the time being, I needed to maintain my “genius on the edge” image. It was necessary to ensure there were no repercussions later.

“That’s a concern for the distant future. For now, what matters is that I’ve accomplished the immediate task at hand.”

I printed the updated investor list:

Mosley ($10 million)

Mosley ($5 million)

Gonzalez ($5 million)

Ferguson ($5 million)

Now, only one slot remained. This would naturally invoke the principle of scarcity.

Additionally, the fact that an MD-level individual had shown sudden interest in a seemingly doomed fund was bound to raise eyebrows. Surely, people would wonder why.

As expected, it didn’t take long for new inquiries to roll in.

“Who’s Ferguson?”

One associate, who had been lingering nearby, finally spoke up. It was the same person who had hesitated just the day before, saying they needed to “think it over.”

“He’s an MD in the Industrial Division. We worked together briefly in the past.”

“Really?”

The associate darted their eyes around before scratching their head awkwardly and speaking again.

“Uh, so… can I put my name on the list too? It’s only $5,000, though. Feels a bit embarrassing, haha.”

Their sudden decision to invest was entirely due to Ferguson’s influence.

The fact that a seasoned MD with over a decade of Wall Street experience had jumped in so decisively, especially during uncertain times, seemed to signal a high likelihood of the fund’s success. After all, he had committed $5 million—something that seemed like a strong endorsement of my capabilities.

Of course, Ferguson’s actual motive was the complete opposite. What he truly wanted was for me to fail. That way, he could bond with Gerard over shared misfortune, strengthening their connection.

This is the danger of blind imitation.

What may seem irrational to one person can appear perfectly logical to another.

If you’re going to follow someone’s actions, you must first understand their true intentions. But those looking for easy money tend to skip this crucial step.

“They must think the same way I do.”

“They’re in the fund, so of course, they’re aiming for profits, right?”

The most dangerous aspect of investing is this illusion of certainty. Most traps are hidden within that assumption.

But for me, this turn of events was a blessing.

“As I’ve mentioned before, the fund is capped at five participants, and investors will be selected based on the size of their contributions.”

“So, if someone offers more than me, I’ll get bumped off the list?”

“That’s correct.”

It was a rule I had already announced, yet he acted as if he were hearing it for the first time.

“The list will be updated immediately whenever there’s a change. If I’m not at my desk, you can check the status here.”

I updated the list right in front of him.

Craig ($5,000)

Now, all slots were filled.

To secure a spot on the list, a new investor would have to offer more than the lowest contributor and push them out.

It was turning into a survival game.

It didn’t take long for a new challenger to appear.

“Can I join too? I’ll put in $5,500.”