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

Chapter 246: Roadshow About the Future (4.6K Long Chapter)

On the evening of Sunday, April 24, 1892, the gilded ballroom of Astor IV Estate on Fifth Avenue in New York City was bustling with activity.

Almost every prominent and wealthy person in New York City received an invitation from Saul Porter. Of course, as the general manager of a brokerage firm's branch office on Wall Street, Mr. Porter didn't normally possess such extensive social connections.

But wealthy, trend-conscious individuals are naturally interested in such novel Wall Street inventions. Furthermore, the fact that this new company, called a "fund," is backed by Morgan Trust Bank adds a significant amount of third-party trust to the product's credibility.

As a result, almost half of the wealthy people who received the invitations planned to go and broaden their horizons.

By noon on Sunday, the wealthy individuals received a notice of location change; the fund's inauguration ceremony had been moved once again to the estate of the prominent New York wealthy family, the Astor IV. This act of relinquishing their family's private estate for the opening ceremony of a Wall Street financial product caused a sensation throughout New York's high society.

So that evening, except for those who were unable to move or too young, almost all of New York's wealthy gathered at Astor IV's estate, curiously anticipating what this high-profile roadshow would be like.

King Astor IV, who has always enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle and a love of socializing, and his socialite mother personally arranged the dinner, with hundreds of bottles of various fine wines and some of the finest cuisine from the East Coast of the United States prepared.

Due to the tight schedule, the Astor family urgently recruited chefs and service staff from several high-end hotels, along with servants from their own estate, to present what was arguably the highest-standard dinner in New York in recent years.

Now, the dinner party has begun as scheduled, and the guests are chatting and laughing happily on the dance floor, raising their glasses and discussing the upcoming moment.

Even the most discerning socialite couldn't find anything wrong with it.

John Astor IV stood in the shadow of the second-floor colonnade, his fingertips tracing the cool marble columns.

Downstairs, half of New York's high society was gathered—representatives of the Vanderbilt family, directors of Morgan Bank, railroad tycoons, and newly rich individuals who had risen to prominence through oil and steel. The trajectory of the champagne bubbles in their glasses seemed meticulously calculated.

“Larry,” Astor IV said, turning to the scene, “you and Eastman had better put on a really good show. If you mess it up, we’ll all become the laughingstock of the United States.”

Larry smiled slightly, took Colt's gold-plated pocket watch from his gray suit pocket, looked at it, and said with a smile, "Mr. Astor, the difference between a laughing stock and a prophet is often just a successful demonstration. Mr. Eastman was taught by me before, and if he can conduct this roadshow as I instructed, I believe your concerns will be proven to be completely unfounded."

King Astor IV frowned and said, "...Are you that confident?"

“Of course,” Larry said with a smile, pointing to the area in the center of the stage covered by red velvet, “because it’s not just an ideal, it’s the future.”
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As the clock struck 7:30, the lights in the dance floor gradually dimmed.

Charlotte Augusta Astor, the mother of King Astor IV, knew the crucial moment had arrived. She smiled and apologized to her guests before leaving. She then walked to the red velvet area in the center of the stage and gently rang a bell.

Upon hearing the bell, the wealthy men stopped talking and gradually focused their attention on Charlotte.

Sherlock Astor's face is no longer round; the years and experiences have etched clear lines on it, and his skin appears pale from spending so much time indoors. But this face is by no means fragile; rather, it exudes a marble-like resilience and coldness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Astor family estate. It is a great honor for me to welcome you on behalf of the Astor family. Although it is still spring, your presence has filled this house with a radiance that is brighter than a summer day in Central Park."

After Sherlock finished speaking, a round of applause immediately erupted in the dance floor.

The old lady continued, “Some say that organizing a banquet is like conducting a symphony orchestra; it must be harmonious, but there are bound to be some unexpected notes. My only concern is whether tonight’s delicacies and wines can match the wisdom and wit that you have brought to the room. I hope my chef can compete with his many ‘opponents’.”

The wealthy guests burst into laughter, then applauded. This was not only because of the old lady's humorous remarks, but also because they wanted to attend the Astor family's dinner party.

To the public, this lady was a widow at the pinnacle of power and wealth. Behind her elegance lay an iron will, and beneath her politeness were strict class boundaries. She herself was a living chronicle of New York high society, the ultimate role model that all nouveau riche tried to emulate but could never reach.

"I am very honored to have my son John's distinguished guest, Mr. George Eastman, a renowned inventor and gentleman from Rochester!"

Applause erupted again from all sides. George Eastman stepped to the front of the stage, first bowing to Mrs. Sherlock in thanks, and then turning to bow deeply to the guests from all directions.

George Eastman stood behind a makeshift oak lectern in the center of the dance floor, his palms slightly sweaty. He could feel the scrutinizing, suspicious gazes piercing him and the dark green velvet-covered object in front of him like needles.

He took a deep breath and lifted the velvet cloth.

An old-fashioned large-format camera was revealed, its familiar, full, and rounded curves displayed under the arc lights of the dance floor.

“This is my camera!” Eastman said to everyone with a smile.

When everyone looked puzzled, Eastman slapped his head as if he had forgotten something, took a few steps, and lifted another piece of velvet cloth from the bulky landline, revealing his exquisite handheld camera.

“Sorry, I misspoke! This is my camera.” Eastman walked up to the camera, pointing first to the bulky old camera, and began to recount the cumbersome, expensive, and inaccessible nature of traditional cameras. He then jokingly told the audience stories about carrying heavy equipment, applying wet plates on set, and having to operate the cameras in a professional darkroom.

The crowd occasionally let out light laughter, and they waited for Eastman to continue speaking.

Larry, watching from the second floor, nodded to himself. This roadshow format was something he'd borrowed from Steve Jobs in his past life. For things the audience wasn't aware of their needs, you had to first thoroughly critique past pain points before subtly reminding them that you had that need.

Larry also emphasized that Mr. Eastman must maintain a sense of humor and use storytelling to advance his product recommendations in order to hook people and keep them listening.

Looking at the results now, it's clear that this "Jobs moment," which begins with a stark contrast and then delivers a powerful and compelling presentation, is indeed very eye-catching.

Before long, Eastman held his new camera in his hand, which was naturally the "Kodak No. 1".

The Kodak camera, its brass and cherry wood gleaming under the arc lights and electric lamps, was only slightly larger than a cigarette pack. A suppressed murmur arose from the crowd, interspersed with a few distinct snickers.

"This little gadget?" A voice, neither too loud nor too soft, rang out. It belonged to a gentleman with a full head of silver hair, who was toying with a cane inlaid with a huge sapphire. "Can it replace that two-thousand-dollar wet plate photography setup in my study that requires two servants to lift?"

Eastman didn't answer directly. He calmly demonstrated: his thumb pushed open the hidden snap on the side panel, and his fingertips picked up a spool wrapped with brown film. "Ladies and gentlemen,"

His voice was unusually calm. "Traditional photography, freezing a moment into eternity, is as complex as alchemy. But tonight, Kodak will turn it into... a simple action. I wonder if anyone would be willing to cooperate and use the latest photographic technology to help you recreate your wonderful moment?"

The people in the audience looked around, but no one was willing to stand up.

Eastman had anticipated this, and turned to Mrs. Astor, nodding slightly. "Mrs. Astor, would you please move to the window?"

Mrs. Astor was somewhat surprised, but still walked gracefully and calmly to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, where the Manhattan streetlights were just coming on.

Eastman raised his camera, and a barely audible "click" was heard, like a snowflake falling onto a piece of velvet. "It's over," Eastman said.

The dance hall was deathly silent. People were still waiting for the complicated procedures to follow, for the pungent chemicals, for the long exposure time. But nothing happened.

"It's...it's over?" the Vanderbilt family's representative asked incredulously.

“It’s finished,” Eastman repeated, a Steve Jobs-esque smile playing on his lips—a smile that blended confidence and mystery. “You press the shutter, and the rest is up to us. In a few days, you’ll receive our crystal-clear, printed photos.”

The real shock came from the following demonstration.

“But if you’re eager to see your elegant posture just now, we can do it right now!” Eastman then waved to his assistant and deftly took the film out of the camera.

Eastman's assistant pushed up a small steam-powered printing press. The film that had just been taken was fed into the machine, and Eastman himself processed it. A few minutes later, an 8x10 inch photograph of Mrs. Astor gazing out the window appeared as if by magic.

The photos were passed around among the guests, eliciting gasps of surprise.

The image is so clear and detailed that even the pattern on Mrs. Astor's button is clearly visible.

“This is impossible!” The Vanderbilt gentleman pushed his way to the front, almost pressing his face against the photograph. “No darkroom? No wet plate? This…this is witchcraft!”

“No, sir,” Eastman corrected calmly, “this is science. This is the future.”

Then, Eastman waved again, and his assistants pushed up several very large display boards, displaying various images of New York City, street scenes, family banquets, and even the guest photographed yesterday.

Everyone was stunned when they saw these high-quality photos taken with the same camera.

I never expected that this small camera could take such high-definition photos.

Seeing everyone marveling at the newly taken photos, Eastman said, "Ladies and gentlemen, since my invention, photography will no longer be a complicated skill. It has now become a fun and easy way to live. You just need to send the film back to Rochester, and our professional photo lab technicians will take care of everything for you!"

"How much does this miniature camera cost?" someone shouted.

Eastman smiled and said to the man, "Not $199, not $99, but to make sure that every decent person in America can own a camera, we're offering it for just $25 today!"

Incredulous expressions crossed the faces of the crowd. They had never imagined that such a revolutionary new camera would cost only $25. A chorus of exclamations arose from the crowd.

"But that's not all! Ladies and gentlemen, I also want to show you the next generation of revolutionary cameras—my Kodak folding camera!"

Everyone was completely taken aback by the follow-up arrangements and looked at Eastman in astonishment. Mr. Eastman then pulled out a brand new camera from the other side of the landline camera.

This Kodak folding camera lay quietly on a velvet cushion, its dark red leather casing elegantly closed like the bellows of an accordion, its metal parts gleaming warmly under the gaslight.

When Eastman's slender fingers gently unfolded the bellows, the flexible structure revealed a sophisticated mechanical aesthetic—no longer a bulky machine requiring a tripod and cumbersome operation, but a portable marvel that could be easily tucked into a gentleman's coat.

Everyone exclaimed in surprise again. This time, even Larry couldn't help but pay more attention, noticing the "folding and retractable lens," thinking to himself that this thing already had the basic prototype of a modern camera.

Eastman repeatedly emphasized and demonstrated the camera's portability, ease of operation, and complete service chain. This concise and convenient technology contrasted sharply with the previously complex photographic techniques, creating the most obvious tension.

"This folding version is only $39!" Eastman then announced the price of this new generation product.

The price once again amazed the guests, because for the wealthy, it was the price of a plate of truffles, but it was transformed into such a clever and ingenious camera, which was truly astonishing.

Mrs. Sherlock picked up the camera and examined it closely, then asked Eastman, "Sir, what is the significance of your invention of this machine?"

In the old lady's opinion, this price was practically like giving it away for free.

Eastman replied with a smile, "For a memory, a moment, an unforgettable person, a lady, I have never felt that I am selling machines. My aim is to advocate the 'democratization' of aesthetics! I also want more people to keep their own memories with them."

Eastman's words elicited sighs and admiration from the crowd. Mrs. Sherlock, thinking of her husband, couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness, but this fragile expression only lasted for a moment.
Then, the lady regained her composure, smiled, clapped her hands, and said, "You are absolutely right, sir!"

The lady's applause was met with even wider applause.

Eastman bowed to the other party, then addressed the crowd.

“Imagine,” Eastman’s voice held a captivating magic, “freezing time anywhere—on the banks of the Nile, atop the Alps, at the crossroads of Wall Street. This is no longer a toy for the wealthy, but a magic box available to everyone who longs to record their life.”

“Every component of this camera speaks to the precision manufacturing revolution brought about by the Industrial Revolution: precisely calibrated shutter speeds, interchangeable lens groups, and that innovation that captivates all photographers—48 frames per second film capacity.”

God gave us beauty, and it is our responsibility to preserve it!

When Eastman finally closed the bellows and gracefully slid the folded Kodak camera into its leather case, the act itself resembled a ritual performed in some modern witchcraft.

The New York tycoons in the audience erupted in thunderous applause once again. After Eastman's reminder, they suddenly realized that he was absolutely right; every moment of life is worth recording.

Eastman was also very satisfied, thinking to himself that this was what Larry meant by "Kodak moment"!
Upstairs, even King Astor IV, who had been frowning and watching Eastman's camera sales pitch, smiled. He turned to Larry and said with a wicked grin.

"You should be the one taking the spotlight! Why did you let Eastman have it?"

Larry smiled faintly, waved his hand, and said, "I'm still more suited to showing my skills on the 'battlefield.' It's exciting enough there, and I don't have to worry about my identity being revealed..."

King Astor IV raised an eyebrow and said, "You mean?"

Larry smiled and said, "I meant tomorrow!"

(End of this chapter)