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

Chapter 264 Morgan's Fury

At 6 p.m., as night fell, on the top floor of the Morgan Trust Bank at 23 Wall Street.

The orange glow of the Edison lamp in the office cast a long shadow of John Pierpont Morgan on the oak wall lined with hardcover books. The air was thick with the aroma of cigars and a silent, imposing presence.

It was quite unusual for JPMorgan today; he spent the entire day in his bank's office.

In fact, he didn't like staying in his bank because, as he got older, Morgan increasingly disliked dealing with people.

He was already tired of the daily comings and goings, let alone having to deal with the seemingly endless noise downstairs from the bank.

But today was an exception. Instead of staying in his private library, he impulsively spent the entire day at the bank. Apart from dealing with some trivial matters, he didn't find it as unpleasant as he had imagined.

It was already dark. Morgan lit a cigar, poured himself a glass of wine, stood by the window overlooking Wall Street, and began to enjoy a short break, a moment of mental respite.

Just then, his personal secretary, McKinley, walked in silently, holding a newly compiled record of today's transactions.

His steps were more cautious than usual, his face lacked its usual smile, and his voice was extremely low.

"Sir, this is today's closing price. General Electric closed at $78."

Morgan was holding a glass of brandy when he heard this, and his wrist froze in mid-air, causing the amber liquid in the glass to sway slightly.

He didn't turn around immediately, but his broad back was clearly tense.

It opened at $105 and closed at $78, a single-day plunge of over 25%. This is not just a drop in numbers; it is a public challenge to his authority.

"The reason?" Morgan's voice was low and unreadable, but those who knew him well would know that a storm was brewing beneath the calm.

“Preliminary analysis, sir,” McKinley carefully chose his words, “is that there is clear, organized selling pressure. It’s not retail panic, but more like… a pre-planned attack. Some of the selling comes from accounts set up in London, but the majority comes from institutional seats that are hidden at the source, as well as scattered operations by multiple brokers.”

Morgan slowly turned around, his gaze piercing as he looked at McKinley, and said coldly, "Have you found out who it is?"

McKinley handed over another slip of paper. "This is the list of related parties of the account that established the largest short position today, which we have tracked so far. At the top of the list is a composite account that is cross-covered by an institutional client on the exchange and a private bank. We haven't been able to find the specific person in charge yet. However, while investigating other clients who sold large amounts of stock... we made an unexpected discovery."

Morgan frowned. McKinley wouldn't usually be so hesitant; there was definitely something fishy going on.

“Go on!” Morgan coldly ordered.

"Yes, sir. There was a personal account with a very large sales volume; it belonged to Larry Livingston of Paine Weber Company."

“Livingston? Larry?” Morgan repeated the name, tapping his fingertips lightly on the armrest of his chair.

This time, his face no longer showed simple anger, but rather a complex expression—a mixture of offended rage, a hint of barely perceptible admiration, and a deeper sense of vigilance.

Back when he decided to consolidate his railroad and technology stocks at the beginning of this year, Morgan anticipated that a competitor would step forward. But he never imagined it would be Larry, someone he once valued and admired.

After a moment's thought, Morgan said coldly, "...Such a precise and swift move, and the choice to launch the attack on the first day of the IPO. Oh, this is the little guy I invested $50 in his fund!"

“He’s not just bearish, Mr. Morgan,” McKinley added. “Based on the analysis of the trading records, his short positions are so cleverly placed that they seem to be…guiding the market’s downward trend.”

A brief silence fell over the study, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace.

A few seconds later, Morgan made his decision. He placed his glass steadily on the table, pressed the call button, and instructed the second secretary who entered, "Please have Mr. Charles Coster come to see me immediately."

Less than five minutes later, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.

Charles Coster, Morgan's most trusted deputy and a senior partner at the trust bank, appeared at the door.

“Sir, thank you for summoning me!” Koster stood on the floor just inside the study entrance, not going any further in, but standing with his hands at his sides, waiting for Morgan’s instructions.

Morgan cut to the chase and pointed directly to the list. “Koster, go see Mr. Livingston. No beating around the bush, just ask him what his thoughts are on the future of General Electric. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

Koster was slightly taken aback. He had heard Larry's name from Morgan more than once, but today was very special because Mr. Morgan was referring to him as "Mr. Livingston".

Moreover, his words were problematic: "What are your thoughts on General Electric?" This seemed like an inquiry, but it was actually a formal warning and a test.

Koster frowned slightly, took two steps forward, and looked at the list on the table. His pupils suddenly shrank to a point because he saw Larry's name.

Koster looked up at Mr. Morgan, seeing no extraneous expression on his face, but already understanding, he gave a slight bow. "Understood, sir. I will convey your 'concern' properly."

After saying that, he turned and left, his figure quickly disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.

After Koster left, only Morgan and McKinley remained in the study. Morgan first went to the window, gazing at the twinkling lights of New York City outside, his brow furrowed, not even noticing that his cigar had been extinguished.

McKinley didn't dare disturb him, and just stood silently to the side.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the study door, and the second secretary pushed the door open, holding a letter in his hand.

The second secretary handed it to McKinley and then lowered his voice to say, "...The people at the library said that the letter was delivered at 10 a.m....They thought you would go in the afternoon; but you didn't see me in the afternoon, so they sent someone to deliver it quickly."

McKinley nodded and took the letter, which had no postmark and was clearly delivered directly by a special person.

McKinley immediately noticed the sender's name, "Larry Livingston," and then glanced at the envelope's heading, which read, "Urgent, for Mr. Morgan's personal use only."

It was Larry's letter? He wrote a letter to Mr. Morgan this morning?

McKinley looked puzzled, but still held the trust in his hand and said to Morgan's retreating figure,
"Sir, excuse me. This is a letter from Mr. Livingston, requesting that you read it immediately."

"Too late! Burn it!" Morgan said without turning his head, his tone extremely heavy.

McKinley quickly said, “This letter wasn’t written now; it was delivered to the library in person at 10 a.m., but they’ve only just delivered it here… Obviously, Larry Livingston thinks you should have been there this morning.”

Morgan turned his head sharply, his eyes fixed on the letter. Despite the many unpleasant events that had occurred tonight, this was the first time he had shown surprise on his face.

McKinley quickly stepped forward and handed over the letter.

Morgan took the letter, casually tore it open, and pulled out the letter paper.

The letter wasn't very short, but it wasn't long either. McKinley watched as Morgan took a half-step closer to the incandescent light and began to read the letter carefully under its glow.

In just over ten seconds, Mr. Morgan gave a cold snort, but the seriousness in his eyes had vanished. He tossed the letter onto the table and muttered to himself softly.
"Okay, so it's turned into him sharing my burdens... even though he was the one who wanted to make a quick buck first."

McKinley was a little curious, but without Morgan's permission, he had no urge to take a step forward and look at the letter.

Morgan stared at the letter on the table for a moment, as if he had suddenly remembered something, and raised the cigar between his fingers, but then realized that the cigar had already been extinguished.

McKinley quickly lit a cigar for him.

Morgan took a puff, letting the cigar smoke swirl in his mouth before exhaling. He then pointed to the letter and said, "Let's do it his way... Oh, and we should call Charles back. There's no point in him going... Never mind!"

McKinley had followed Mr. Morgan for many years and knew that when he pointed to Larry's letter, he meant for McKinley to read it and do some of the things written on it, so he picked up the letter as well.

Morgan then pressed the call bell again, and after the second secretary entered the room, he continued to loudly order, "Get Jack here to me immediately!"

The second secretary hurriedly ran out.

McKinley was a little surprised. "Sir, do you want Mr. Jack to go...to Livingston?"

"Of course! What's he doing in his office?" Morgan asked seriously, glancing again at Larry's letter. A complex expression, a mixture of relief and gravity, crossed his face as he continued.
"Look at him! Larry isn't even 18 yet, and look at the level of thinking he's doing. And look at him! Let him go, let him see the world. I really don't know what he's doing all day!"

McKinley nodded; he had just finished reading the letter and saw the plan Larry had written for Mr. Morgan.

He agreed with Mr. Morgan's praise of Larry.

(End of this chapter)