Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 170 Infiltrating the Vault
Larry arrived in New York again on Tuesday noon.

Stepping out of Grand Central Station in New York, the streets of New York City remain bustling and congested.

Larry, carrying his suitcase, stood in the train station square, waving for a horse-drawn carriage. Mr. Dunbar walked up to Larry, frowning, staring at the bustling street scene, and kept exclaiming in amazement.

"My God, is this New York?"

Larry laughed, and as the carriage drew near, he quickly pulled open the carriage door, jumped in, and greeted Mr. Dunbar.

"Come on, let's ride in the carriage and see the New York street scenes!"

Mr. Dunbar always seemed nonchalant and indifferent, but Larry could tell that once he arrived in New York, the most bustling city in the Americas and even the world, Mr. Dunbar was somewhat unaccustomed to it.

Larry took the initiative to sit in the back of the carriage, allowing Mr. Dunbar to sit in the front seat so that he could easily look at the scenery through the window.

The coachman turned to Larry and asked, "Sir, where are you going?"

“Morgan Trust Bank!” Larry simply instructed.

The carriage started moving, and Mr. Dunbar sat there, constantly peering out the window at the undulating New York skyline, his mouth never closing.

Eight-story skyscrapers occasionally appeared abruptly, standing out like cranes among chickens in a crowd of low-rise buildings; two-horse passenger carriages, canopy carriages, and four-horse freight carriages jostled and crowded together, while crowds thronged the streets, people hurrying along, each heading to their own destination.

After turning a few streets, trams appeared again. These trams with tall carriages moved slowly along the tracks, and the tram drivers kept ringing their bells to remind pedestrians to be careful.

Mr. Dunbar was once again awestruck as he passed through Central Park.

With towering buildings on one side of the street and the expansive Central Park on the other, this stark contrast only serves to highlight the opulence of the houses along Central Park.

After observing for a while, Mr. Dunbar turned his face to Larry and gestured, “I have a feeling that there are countless opportunities here, like that thing called a motor in your car.”

Larry laughed, looking at the people hurrying by on the street, and said, "Yes, the engine of progress driven by technology and money."
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The carriage stopped in front of the Morgan Trust Bank at 23 Wall Street. Larry gave the driver $3 for the fare, adjusted his hat, and got out of the carriage.

Mr. Dunbar followed Larry down from the carriage. He looked up at the tall, solemn classical columns of the Morgan Bank, tightened the lapels of his old coat with some unease, and a look of fear appeared on his face, which was rarely seen on him.

Unlike other banks in the area, Morgan Bank was not ostentatious, but it had its own dignified aura.

As the two men approached the bank entrance, a doorman in a crisp uniform stepped forward and said to Mr. Dunbar politely but firmly, "Sir, you cannot bring your service weapon into the bank."

“I’m a practicing detective!” Mr. Dunbar retorted.

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed to carry weapons, not even the president himself.” The doorman’s tone was gentle, but his words were firm.

Larry smiled and waved to Mr. Dunbar, "Uncle Dunbar, you can wait for me here!"

Dunbar could only nod helplessly and walk down the marble steps to the street, but he still couldn't help turning back to look at the Morgan Bank building again.

Larry followed the doorman's directions into the bank lobby.

Today was a weekday, and the busiest time of day, so the atmosphere was vastly different from when Larry had visited before. As Larry entered the lobby, a receptionist in a grey morning suit, his hair impeccably combed, approached slowly, bowed slightly, and said, "Sir, may I ask what brings you here?"

His English had a slight British accent, a typical characteristic of Morgan Bank employees, many of whom had worked and trained at the London branch.

Larry lifted his small suitcase and gestured to it, saying softly, "I have a deposit certificate for 400,000 gold coins with a guarantee of transfer."

A barely perceptible hint of surprise flashed in the receptionist's eyes. After all, $40 in gold coins was no small sum at this time; it was enough to attract the attention of the bank's top management.

The receptionist bowed slightly again and said softly, "Please come with me, sir. This type of business requires our senior partner to handle it personally."

Larry nodded in agreement, and the receptionist led him forward.

This time they used the central passageway of the bank, which was completely different from the previous internal passageway.

The two walked through a long corridor covered with Persian carpets, with photos of the Morgan family with political figures from various countries or classical oil paintings hanging on the walls on both sides, silently demonstrating the powerful influence of this financial empire to their clients.

Passing through the long corridor, you enter the luxurious inner lounge reserved for VIP clients.

Yes, even at Morgan Trust Bank, which never receives ordinary people, most ordinary wealthy people can only squeeze into the outer hall, and only truly important clients can go directly to the luxurious inner hall.

Upon reaching the door of a private meeting room with walnut wood paneling, the receptionist bowed and gestured for Larry to enter.

"Sir, please wait inside for a moment."

Larry carried his suitcase inside. The only room with a high-end sofa was the main seat, clearly prepared for clients. Larry calmly sat down.

Soon after, two senior banking experts entered, first bowing politely, and then requesting to verify the gold coin deposit slip.

Once Larry brought out the endorsement deposit slip, the two of them took a magnifying glass and a monocle and began to carefully examine the authenticity of the deposit slip.

Just then, a senior partner with a full head of silver hair and wearing a black suit walked into the room. Larry frowned slightly, because he had never seen this man before in Mr. Morgan's private library...

However, the senior partner wore a large ring bearing Mr. Morgan's seal, one of the hallmarks of a senior partner. The senior partner introduced himself, "George Whitney at your service, sir. May I ask your name?"

Larry Livingston.

“Yes, Mr. Livingston.” Whitney smiled at Larry, pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, and said politely but directly, “Sir, would you like to exchange these gold coins for US dollars, withdraw them as is, or deposit them directly into our bank?”

Larry turned to Whitney and asked, "What kind of treatment would I receive if the money were in your bank account?"

“0.5% annual interest isn’t very high, but we’re paying in gold coins,” Whitney said with a smile.

"In addition, if you do not choose to withdraw such a large amount of gold coins, we will provide you with a complimentary private gold coin storage service. That is to say, your gold coins will be stored separately in the vault of Morgan Bank, with you and us each holding a key, and we cannot enter without your permission."

Larry nodded, thinking to himself that this was how banks were in all countries; as long as you didn't withdraw large sums of money from them, they would naturally provide very generous returns.

“Sure, but I need to go to my private vault myself to check it out,” Larry said.

“Of course, your reasonable request will be met!” Whitney smiled slightly, looking somewhat relieved.

At this point, the two senior banking experts had finished examining the gold coin deposit certificate that had been endorsed and transferred, and respectfully informed Mr. Whitney.

Whitney immediately offered to open an account for Mr. Larry Livingston at the bank and to prepare a private safekeeping room.

Half an hour later, after all the formalities were completed, Whitney returned, carrying two oddly shaped, ornately decorated long keys with brass handles.

"Has the account been opened for Mr. Livingston?" Whitney asked the banking expert first. After receiving an affirmative answer, Whitney smiled at Larry. "Mr. Livingston, please come with me."

Larry put the account documents into a small suitcase and followed Whitney into the luxurious inner hall, then to an unassuming oak and iron door.

Whitney pulled a brass "time key" from her pocket, inserted it into the lock, and with a heavy click of the spring, the door opened inward, revealing a security room illuminated by a dozen lights, with four armed security guards standing behind the door.

At the far end of the security room, there is also a steam elevator in an iron cage.

After the two entered the elevator, steam spewed out and as the elevator slowly descended, Larry could hear the piston hissing in the pipes.

Through the iron fence, you can see that the well walls are made of rough granite, and every so often there is an electric light inside a glass cover that emits a faint yellow glow.

After descending about 30 feet, the ladder shaft was gradually replaced by a reinforced concrete structure, which was the most advanced protective building construction at that time.

After the elevator came to a stop, a large composite metal door appeared in front of Larry. Four armed security guards were still standing in front of the door, and they maintained their previous demeanor when they saw Whitney and Larry.

In addition, there was a duty manager in front of the vault. He took the initiative to verify Whitney's seal and password before giving the security guard permission to enter.

At the signal of the duty manager, two uniformed guards, each armed with a Colt pistol, stood on either side of the composite metal gate. Together they turned the steering wheel, and with a loud clanging of gears, the mouth of this several-ton behemoth slowly opened, revealing another lattice-style iron gate inside.

Only by passing through these two double security gates can one enter the core area of ​​the vault.

Larry followed Whitney through the latticed iron doors of the vault and into its interior. The air was cold and filled with the mixed smells of metal, ink, and old paper. A ventilation fan mounted overhead whirred slowly.

Larry frowned as he entered the vault. Only then did he realize he had a slight case of claustrophobia; the oppressive place made him feel quite uncomfortable.

Inside the vault is a square hall about 30 feet in size, with small doors to private safekeeping rooms on both sides, and the main entrance to Morgan Bank's core vault in the center.

Whitney stood in front of a small door, handed a key to Larry, and said with a smile, "Sir, we'll turn the key together to open the door in a moment."

Larry nodded, took the keys, and rubbed them in his hand, feeling a little nervous.

Whitney then inserted the key into a key fob on the left side of the door frame and gestured for Larry to do the same.

"Okay, turn it clockwise!"

After Whitney finished speaking, Larry turned the key forcefully.

"Crack!"

As the door opened, a dark, gaping opening was revealed, and Larry could feel the eerie, cold wind emanating from within.

Whitney reached out and touched a switch on the wall of the room, turning on the high-brightness ceiling light.

Larry was greeted by a private safe room: a small room with steel safes lining the walls, and inside was a small, exquisite mahogany desk with a green-shaded brass lamp on it.

Whitney went into the storage room first, pointed to the dozens of dark chestnut wood boxes reinforced with steel bars placed inside the storage boxes, and said to Larry with a smile,
"These are your gold coins!"

Larry took a deep breath, went into his savings account, and stood next to Whitney. He silently swallowed.
"Could you please open the box?"

“As you wish!” Whitney smiled, put the key in her pocket, placed both hands on the lid of the chestnut box, and, without knowing what switch she pressed, removed the lid.

A box full of gold coins appeared before Larry's eyes, gleaming under the lights with an alluring yet cold gleam.

(End of this chapter)