Wall Street bigwigs!

"Boss!" the trading manager exclaimed.

"If we close our positions now, our confirmed losses will exceed 6000 million, and the peso will collapse."

"I said, stop resisting!"

Harry slammed his hand on the table, the expensive mahogany surface making a dull thud.

"We've already lost! The only thing we need to do now is preserve Thorne Capital's license, protect our core team, and keep the seeds for a comeback! Tell the brokerages we're voluntarily liquidating our positions and request they suspend the execution of cross-default clauses. Go!"

The trading room fell into a deathly silence, then the sound of keyboards clicking resumed, this time like the drumbeats of retreat.

At 2:00 PM, the New York foreign exchange market.

The peso-dollar exchange rate paused briefly at 219, as if giving the world one last chance to breathe, before plummeting to 218.30 in an instant as a massive liquidation order from Thorne Capital flooded in.

This drop triggered all the programmed stop-loss orders in the market, including the long stop-loss lines established by Duzer Fund in its early stages, and a chain reaction began.

In the trading room of R&F Fund, the air seemed to freeze.

"It exploded!"

Schergen stared at the suddenly enlarged volume bar on the screen, his voice trembling with excitement.

"Thorn Capital is selling! They're dumping shares regardless of cost! The peso has fallen below 218!"

Green stood in front of the central control console, holding a cigarette that had burned down to the filter, but his eyes were surprisingly calm.

"Trading volume?"

"In the past 30 seconds, OTC market trading volume has surged by 400%! The price jumped to 217.80!"

Another trader screamed.

"Currently, all bullish investors are cutting their losses!"

Green sneered; he didn't care who the bulls in the market were.

"He wanted to be the fisherman, but forgot that when the tide goes out, all the fish are struggling on the mudflats. Szergen, initiate the 'firewood' plan. Close out all our last batch of peso put options at 217.50. Don't be greedy, lock in the profits immediately."

"But Green," John Than strode over, holding the latest brokerage report, "Technical analysis shows that 217 is a strong support level. If it holds, we might..."

“No way,” Green interrupted him, tapping his temple with his finger. “Historically, there are no strong supports, only strong trends. Harry Thorne’s collapse will trigger a wave of redemptions across Latin American foreign exchange funds, and there will be even more selling tomorrow morning. If 217 can’t hold, 215 is the final destination. But we’re not waiting at the destination; we’re reaping the rewards along the way.”

He turned to face the room full of traders, his voice booming through the microphones into both trading rooms: "Listen up, everyone, this is the final order. R&F Securities, in the US stock market, immediately begin covering our short positions in American Express Mexico and Ford Mexico, being careful not to trigger a rebound. R&F Funds, in the foreign exchange market, liquidate positions in batches, aiming to reduce all leverage to below 1 before the market closes. We want to leave the casino with our money, not stay at the table until dawn."

"What about profits?" Vera asked, clutching the folder, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement.

"Preliminary estimate," Green walked to the whiteboard, erased the red cross representing Harry Thorne, and wrote down a number: "Net profit after tax, $3800 million. Adding the revenue locked in on Mexican telecom, we've netted $4200 million this time."

A suppressed cheer erupted in the trading room, but it quickly subsided under Green's cold gaze.

"Don't rush to celebrate," Green said, walking to the floor-to-ceiling window and looking down at Wall Street. He could see several black Lincoln sedans gathered in front of the Thorne Capital building in the distance. Those were Wall Street vultures—risk control teams from other hedge funds. They had smelled blood and were preparing to dismember Thorne Capital's remains and compete for those high-quality Latin American bond positions.

“Call Robert at Citibank,” Green said without turning around, “and tell him we need a special escrow agreement tonight. I want to place a portion of the cash we earn in an irrevocable trust with Citibank’s offshore division. Not for tax avoidance, but for risk mitigation.”

"Risk aversion?" Mary Shapiro burst through the door, having just finished a call with a former colleague at the SEC. Her face wore a weary but victorious expression. "Harry Thorne has given up. The SEC's inquiry letter was issued, but I suppressed it as an informal investigation. He kept his license, but lost all his dignity and market credibility. You won, Green, a complete victory."

Green turned around, his eyes devoid of any triumphant joy: "Mary, you thought we defeated Harry Thorne? No, we only defeated an outpost. Have you investigated the Caribbean Breeze Trust, that mysterious fund that provided Harry with $2000 million in ammunition?"

Mary adjusted her glasses, her expression grave. "We only traced it to the second level. Behind the SPV in Delaware is a shell company in the Cayman Islands, and beyond that... the trail went cold. But I discovered something interesting: that law firm is also providing consulting services to some... gray-market industries in Mexico."

"The gray industry?" Green's eyes narrowed.

“Drug cartels,” Mary whispered, “or more accurately, the financial brokers who launder their money. I suspect Harry Thorne isn’t just fighting for Old Money; he may have Mexican drug cartel capital behind him. They want to stabilize Mexico’s economic facade by issuing more pesos so they can continue their cash repatriation game.”

Green fell silent. He recalled Mexico's history, around 1988, precisely the period when the Cali and Medellín Cartel began their infiltration of Mexico. If his intervention disrupted the drug lords' capital expansion, then this battle was far from over; it had merely moved underground from the open.

"So," Green said slowly, "we not only beat a hedge fund, we may have also messed with one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the world."

"Yes," Mary nodded, "and they won't use margin calls against you, they'll use bullets."

At 4:00 PM sharp, the closing bell rang.

The peso ultimately settled at 217.50 against the dollar, a 3.8% drop for the day, marking its biggest single-day decline in two years. Thorne Capital's net worth evaporated, forcing it to announce "orderly liquidation" proceedings. Meanwhile, R&F Capital, with a monthly return of 87%, became the youngest and most aggressive predator in Wall Street history.

Green sat alone in the half-empty trading room. The golden rays of the setting sun shone through the glass onto the settlement sheet in front of him. Those numbers represented wealth, power, and... hatred.

The phone rang; it was an unfamiliar number.

Mr. Walker

The voice on the other end of the phone had a heavy Colombian accent: "Congratulations on winning this game. But remember, in Latin America, the value of a currency isn't solely determined by the Federal Reserve. Enjoy your victory while you can still breathe."

The call ended, leaving only a busy signal.