Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

The trading floor remains as busy as it was before they left.

Numbers on a large electronic screen kept changing, and telephones rang from different directions. Several young traders in shirts stood around the table arguing about something, one of them with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie lying on the back of his chair.

Looking at this alone, it's hard to imagine that this company is experiencing the most severe crisis since its inception.

Everyone is still going to work, still quoting prices, still trading.

They still argued heatedly with the client over a few basis points.

Recently, more and more people are staring at the receiver for a few seconds after the call ends.

There is a specially partitioned smoking room at the other end of the floor.

As soon as the door was pushed open, a smell mixed with tobacco and coffee wafted out.

There were already three people standing inside.

The windows were closed, the ventilation system hummed softly, and several metal ashtrays along the wall were overflowing with cigarette butts.

Walsh and Morrison found a spot against the wall.

The lighter clicked.

Morrison took his first breath, and seemed to finally recover a bit from the phone call.

Nine years.

He suddenly said.

Walsh looked over.

"What?"

"I've been with the company for nine years."

Morrison exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Think about it, we're Solomon, you know. We used to be the ones picking out the clients."

"Some small accounts want Solomon to give them priority in quoting, but they might not get a response even after three phone calls."

"Now look what's happened."

"People who want to do business with us have to go back and consult their legal department first."

Walsh's lips twitched slightly.

"At least you don't have to explain to clients why our names are in the newspaper every day."

"It's because we used to love reading newspapers so much."

Morrison bent down and flicked off his cigarette ash.

That's enough.

The two remained silent for a while.

Someone finished smoking and left. As the door opened and closed, the ringing of a phone outside briefly drifted in, but was quickly blocked back out.

Morrison suddenly asked:

"Do you really think the Japanese will save us?"

"I just told McCormick I would."

"I'm asking what you think."

Walsh leaned against the wall.

"How would I know?"

"Then what you just said sounded so true."

"I'm a salesperson."

Walsh glanced at him.

"If I myself tell the client that the company is going to go bankrupt, do you think he'll need a few more days to consider it?"

Morrison couldn't help but exhale through his nose.

"Too."

He took another puff.

"But thinking about it, it's still pretty absurd."

"Where is it absurd?"

"Salomon Brothers".

Morrison raised his hand and pointed outside, then pointed to himself.

"us."

"The best traders on Wall Street."

"In the past, banks and insurance companies in Tokyo would line up with money to come to us, but now we've been reduced to waiting for a Japanese company to save our lives."

Walsh did not respond.

Morrison found the whole thing increasingly absurd.

"Mitsubishi bought Rockefeller Center, Sony bought Columbia, and now they're even looking to buy Salomon Brothers?"

What are they planning to buy next?

"The New York Stock Exchange?"

Walsh took a drag of his cigarette.

"Do you have any other ideas?"

Morrison immediately fell silent.

The only sound in the smoking room was the continuous hum of the exhaust system.

Walsh stared at the red glow at the tip of the cigarette butt for a few seconds before continuing:

"Eddie, you know our situation better than those reporters outside."

"Customers are reducing transactions."

"The bank is re-approving the credit limit."

"The government has something new every day."

"If this drags on any longer, there's no need for anyone to formally declare Solomon's bankruptcy."

"Once enough customers stop doing business with us, and enough people stop lending us money, the company will shut down on its own."

Morrison remained silent.

"What's needed now is for someone to step up and tell the market—Solomon won't disappear tomorrow."

Walsh brought the cigarette to his lips.

"And this person has to be rich."

"A lot of money."

"So much so that people are willing to believe what he says."

At this point, both of them knew who the most likely person was.

Saionji Temple.

Walsh recalled the large group of reporters downstairs a few days ago, and also the Japanese girl standing next to Gutfred who looked even younger than many of the analysts in the company.

to be frank.

When he first saw her on TV, he also thought the whole thing was incredibly absurd.

It may be absurd, but it is absurd nonetheless.

Capital will never reduce the number of zeros just because someone is young.

Although that Japanese girl is not tall, even if all the accounts of everyone in this building were combined, they wouldn't amount to a fraction of her net worth.

"so--"

Walsh shrugged.

"Who cares if he's from Tokyo, London, or Mars?"

"As long as they're willing to keep this company open, for my clients to answer my calls tomorrow, and for me to be sitting here again next month—"

He shrugged.

"Then I welcome them."

Morrison glanced at him.

"You really don't care?"

"At least I don't care now."

"What if they lay off staff after they come in?"

Walsh paused for a moment.

Morrison had clearly thought about these things.

"Do you think the Japanese would spend billions of dollars and then do nothing?"

"What if they deem a department worthless and simply cut it?"

"And the management team as well."

"Will they send a bunch of their own people over from Tokyo?"

"How will our bonuses be calculated?"

"Will next year's salary be the same as now?"

"If they combine their Asian operations with their own, how many people will we need to lay off here?"

Walsh was about to reply casually, but the words caught in his throat.

He looked at Morrison.

He has been worried about the Ministry of Finance lately.

I was worried about the customers.

I was also worried about the company's capital.

He even worried whether the name Solomon could remain on Wall Street.

But what Morrison said...

He really hadn't thought about it seriously.

It's probably because I've been here for too long.

Over time, when he considered a problem, he would subconsciously start with "What should Solomon do?"

But it was only now that he suddenly remembered.

What Solomon did is one thing.

What happens to Peter Walsh is another matter entirely.

Now, it seems that what Morrison is asking is what truly concerns the two of them.

He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand, which was already half-burnt.

"Anything is possible."

Walsh thought for a long time, but finally shook his head.

"Both are possible, that's the answer."

He stubbed out the remaining cigarette in the ashtray.

"But they haven't even agreed to pay us yet, and we're already discussing how the Japanese plan to cut us. Isn't that a bit premature?"

Morrison thought for a moment.

"Too."

"Let's think about how to appease the remaining customers today first."

Walsh was just about to pull the door open.

The door was pushed open from the outside first.

The two of them looked up at the same time.

Standing at the door was Richard Berman.

Their department head.

Berman glanced at the two people first, then his gaze fell on the ashtray next to him, which was already overflowing with cigarette butts.

"Great, I knew I'd find you here."

Morrison, who had just lit his second cigarette and was still holding it in his hand, instinctively pulled it behind his back upon hearing this.

"We are discussing clients."

"Of course, you'd better really be."

Berman was clearly too lazy to investigate their sneaking out to smoke, and simply turned his head toward the door.

"Let's head back now. The people from Saionji have already started working. We've cleared out a few meeting rooms for them upstairs, and another list of documents just came down. All departments need to cooperate."

Walsh nodded.

He had heard about this in the morning, but he didn't know it would happen to him so soon.

What do we need to provide?

"They're conducting random checks on long-term client programs that haven't ended yet," Berman said, glancing at him. "Northern United Life was selected."

Walsh paused for a moment, his hand still resting on the doorknob.

"The McCormick project?"

"That's the one."

Berman, clearly unaware of the phone call that had taken place ten minutes earlier, continued:

"We have compiled the transaction records of the past six months, the complete plan for this portfolio adjustment, client correspondence, internal approvals, and the several versions you have worked on before and after."

"They not only want to see the final product delivered to the client, but also how it was revised in the process."

Walsh frowned.

"Does it have to be that detailed?"

"They're not here for coffee."

After Berman finished speaking, he turned and took two steps away, then, as if remembering something, turned back and added:

"Also, they require the person in charge of the project to go in person. Don't give the documents to your assistant; deliver them yourself."

This time, Walsh was genuinely taken aback.

"Now?"

"Now."

Berman glanced at the watch.

"The people from Saionji are already waiting."

Walsh followed him out of the smoking room, where the incessant ringing of telephones resumed.

He glanced instinctively toward his workstation.

The project materials from Northern United Life Insurance were still spread out on the table.

Just over ten minutes earlier, he had told McCormick on the phone that everything would be fine as long as Saionji's support was in place.

Now, the people of Saionji are preparing to see for themselves how this deal is going.