A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 44

The enrollment for my unofficial fund is capped at five members.

Only one spot remains.

And there’s only one way to claim it.

“From now, kill each other.”

In other words, it’s a survival game where only the highest bidder prevails.

Participation wasn’t bad.

The mere fact that an MD from the Industrial Division had invested was enough to make people think, “There’s something going on here.”

Soon, they were all scrambling to join.

The process that followed was incredibly monotonous.

The number of people coming to see me increased significantly, all of them desperate to carve their names onto the list.

Competition always drives up prices.

At first, they raised bids by increments of $500, but after a few days, the stakes began to climb more sharply.

“Damn it, I’ve been outbid again. $35,000!”

Some started to get seriously invested.

Since all the participants were associates, the amounts they could wager weren’t large.

Compared to $5 million, it was pocket change, but the money wasn’t the point.

I never cared about the capital in the first place.

$20 million was more than enough for my seed money.

What I needed now was ongoing attention.

To keep the rumors alive, it’s best to lure in talkative associates.

“Not bad kindling.”

The best part? I barely had to lift a finger.

All I had to do was deal with the visitors and update the list, and they did the rest—spreading the word themselves.

Thanks to this, I could dedicate all my time to selecting investment opportunities.

A week passed like that.

When the bidding ended, the final list was confirmed:

Mosley ($10 million)

Mosley ($5 million)

Gonzalez ($5 million)

Ferguson ($5 million)

Faber ($55,000)

The fifth investor, an associate, only managed to bid a mere $55,000.

Sure, I could’ve recruited VP- or MD-level players, but I deliberately avoided doing so.

If it turned into an exclusive game for the upper echelons, it might lose public interest.

It’s better to include at least one regular person.

Whatever the case…

I now had the seed money I needed.

I had also liquidated my Bitcoin holdings.

[$26,883,284]

This is my war chest.

I plan to put this money to work, stirring things up in a way that will leave everyone watching utterly dumbfounded.

Ordinary investment strategies won’t cut it. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

That’s why I’ve prepared something special.

Now, it’s time to put that plan into action.

Once again, it’s time to set Goldman ablaze.

This time, on a scale that dwarfs anything before.

Before causing havoc, one must first secure insurance.

Not the kind that protects against attention, but something far more crucial.

That insurance is legal insurance.

The place I visited was the Ethics and Compliance Department.

I handed a thick stack of documents to the staff member.

“These are the investment targets I plan to pursue. Please review them for potential conflicts of interest.”

As it happens, Goldman employees face numerous restrictions when trading securities.

Options and short-selling are prohibited, there’s a minimum holding period of 30 days, and transactions with companies tied to one’s department are outright banned.

The Ethics and Compliance Department, where I now stood, monitors adherence to these rules.

“There’s no need to submit this much paperwork every time. If we detect any suspicious transactions, we’ll flag them ourselves.”

“Wouldn’t confirming things in advance save trouble later?”

“Well, that’s true, but…”

“I’m only going to invest in pre-approved targets. This should make things easier for you.”

The staff member seemed puzzled but, realizing they had no grounds to refuse, nodded reluctantly.

“Could you leave your business card? I’ll send you an email as well.”

“That’s…”

At the mention of email, the staff member trailed off.

After a moment’s pause, they stared at me and cautiously asked,

“Were you at the orientation?”

“Yes.”

"Then you must know. All written communication must adhere to…"

“You’re referring to the New York Times Test, correct? Yes, I’m aware.”

The principle of leaving only records you’d be comfortable seeing published in The New York Times.

At its core, this principle is simple:

— Avoid leaving evidence whenever possible.

This is drilled into every new hire before they even join the company.

Yet here I was, fully aware of this, voluntarily insisting on leaving a paper trail.

The staff member looked at me curiously.

I met their gaze directly.

“You’ve heard the rumors about me, haven’t you?”

“Rumors?”

“The ones about my accuracy rate.”

“Oh, that…”

“If there’s no record, misunderstandings could arise.”

“…Ah!”

Finally, the realization dawned in their eyes.

Exactly. I need an alibi.

When an investment banker makes suspicious trades, they’re bound to show up on the financial authorities’ radar.

A rookie at Goldman with an 80% hit rate on every call?

That’s practically an open invitation for the SEC to come knocking.

‘Dealing with those guys would be a nightmare.’

Accusations of insider trading are far too easy to make.

Even without actual evidence of wrongdoing, proving one’s innocence is equally challenging.

And worse, once it reaches that point, the real troublemakers tend to show up:

The FBI, the Department of Justice.

People who act as if they’re Holmes and I’m Moriarty, obsessed with uncovering the secrets behind my investments.

I have no intention of dealing with that headache in this lifetime.

Thus, the most reliable solution is to preemptively create evidence.

Proof that I predicted the rise in stock prices and made plans to invest accordingly before anything happened.

I need to ensure that everything coming my way can be confidently attributed to my skill and luck.

“From now on, please communicate with me in writing.”

“Understood. I’ll be careful.”

They seemed to catch on.

‘Let’s see…’

With my legal safeguards in place, it was time to light the fuse.

I headed to the Asset Management Department.

The staff member I’d encountered before greeted me with a welcoming smile.

“Finally, you’re here.”

I’d been to this department once before, back when I first joined the company, to open a Goldman account.

At the time, I didn’t have the $1 million minimum deposit, so I had to leave empty-handed.

Now, things were different.

“I finally qualify.”

I handed over a check.

“$26.8 million, I see.”

The staff member didn’t even flinch at the sum.

As a Goldman employee, they must have already heard the rumors about me. They probably even knew the source of the $26.8 million.

“And here’s the list of my future investment targets.”

After completing the necessary procedures, I handed the same document as before to this staff member.

It contained ten companies and the reasons for selecting them.

“Oh, this is…”

The staff member tried to appear indifferent as they flipped through the pages, but their eyes gleamed.

What they now held in their hands was a “Ha Si-heon’s Unicorn Picks” list.

By pure luck, they were the first at Goldman to see it.

Rustle, rustle.

However, upon reaching the final page, the staff member raised a question.

“The investment amounts and timing aren’t specified.”

The document I provided only outlined the targets and brief reasoning, without details on investment amounts or timing.

“I’ll send instructions via email when the time comes. Just follow the directions as I send them.”

“Ah, understood. Still, if you’re starting today, we’ll need to allocate the initial funds. $26.8 million total. How would you like to distribute it?”

The staff member pulled out a fountain pen, ready to take notes.

A pen wasn’t really necessary, but I let it slide.

“All of it into the first option.”

“Yes, and how much would you like to allocate to option one—”

“$26.8 million.”

Though I’d already finished speaking, the staff member froze with pen in hand.

It seemed they were waiting for some follow-up statement.

When none came, they looked at me, puzzled, and asked again.

“So, out of the $26.8 million, how much are you planning to invest in option one?”

“All $26.8 million.”

“…What?”

Even as they processed my response, their face remained puzzled, unable to comprehend.

Perhaps I should make it clearer.

I locked eyes with them and spoke directly:

“$26.8 million, all-in on option one.”

***

‘Is this guy insane?’

That was the first thought that crossed the staff member’s mind upon hearing Ha Si-heon’s investment plan.

“So, just to confirm…”

“Yes, all-in.”

No matter how many times they asked, the answer didn’t change.

This was madness.

A madman attempting a mad move.

Of course, they felt compelled to stop him, but doing so wasn’t easy.

“Still, wouldn’t it be better to diversify your investments…”

“No. This is a decision I’ve made with full confidence.”

“No matter how confident you are, from a risk management perspective—”

“It’s fine. If things go south, I’ll take full responsibility.”

No argument swayed him.

Ha Si-heon stubbornly insisted on his full-bet strategy, unwavering despite relentless attempts to dissuade him.

“Is there a rule prohibiting all-in investments on a single option?”

“Well… that…”

The staff member faltered.

They didn’t even know if such a rule existed.

After all, it was an unprecedented situation.

Think about it:

Who in their right mind would put their entire fortune into a single basket?

“I’ll need to check on that.”

The staff member rushed to consult a superior.

When the superior heard the story, their face twisted into an expression of disbelief.

“What? All-in on one option?”

Their look practically screamed, What kind of nonsense is this?

But after hearing the explanation multiple times, the superior finally grasped the situation and reached a conclusion.

“Of course we have to stop this! Allowing it would be outright negligence!”

“I tried to stop him, but he was incredibly adamant…”

“Ugh, incompetent fool.”

To be fair, the staff member wasn’t incompetent.

The proof? Even the superior failed to persuade Ha Si-heon.

“It’s my money. Don’t I have the right to manage it as I see fit? Just let me know if this violates any regulations.”

Even bringing in higher-ranking officials made no difference.

Ha Si-heon only cared about one thing: whether his actions were against the rules.

Eventually, the Ethics and Compliance Department was brought into the fray.

“There are no specific prohibitions. However, if you insist on proceeding, we’ll need a written record stating that you were strongly advised against it.”

Only after drafting a liability waiver to protect Goldman did the situation finally come to a close.

Of course, this entire ordeal was anything but quiet.

Numerous voices, almost shrieking, could be heard exclaiming things like “all-in investment” and “full bet on a single option.”

Several higher-ups were seen running around frantically.

The rumor was bound to spread.

In less than an hour, Goldman was abuzz once again.