A $50 million margin call? I'll short Wall Street.

"Damn it...damn it...damn it..."

Richard cursed under his breath, his fingers repeatedly rubbing against the seam of his trousers. His palms were covered in cold sweat, soaking through the $800 Hermès belt.

He turned around and stared intently at the two folders on the desk.

The blue one is the put option betting agreement that Lu Ze signed.

The brownish-yellow ones are the internal reports of CDOs that he had "sunk" to the bottom, with a real default rate as high as 14.2%.

Two bombs.

He would be blown to pieces by any one of the explosions.

If Harriman were to withdraw his investment today, Bear Stearns' financial chain would immediately suffer a severe shock.

Other institutional investors will pounce like sharks that have smelled blood, tearing at the fish.

Once a run on the bank begins, Bear Stearns' stock price will plummet, and the $512 million put option will balloon to an astronomical figure in just a few days.

And he was responsible for making the payments.

His brain was working frantically, like a server about to overload.

and many more.

calm.

There is another way.

He suddenly opened his eyes, walked to his desk, and picked up the landline phone.

Harriman was just a risk control officer at a Boston-based pension fund.

An old relic who has spent thirty years in an ivory tower.

He didn't understand the rules of the game on Wall Street. He was simply terrified by an anonymous email from an unknown source.

And I am the vice president of Goldman Sachs.

On Wall Street, Goldman Sachs is synonymous with gold.

Richard straightened his tie and leaned back in his chair.

He took three deep breaths, forcing his heart to slow down. Then, he quickly constructed a near-perfect system of rhetoric in his mind.

What he needed to do was not to convince Harriman that "the data was fake"—that would be too stupid; any actuary could see the flaws.

What he needs to do is redefine the right to interpret that data.

To package a fatal truth as a harmless "technical bias".

Richard picked up his phone, found Harriman's private number, and dialed it.

It rang five times before the other end answered.

"Feed?"

It was Harriman's voice, filled with obvious vigilance and suppressed anger.

Good morning, Dr. Harriman.

"I am Richard Kleiman, Vice President and Head of Structured Products at Goldman Sachs."

Richard's voice instantly switched to that perfect, magnetic, and sincere tone of a Wall Street elite—warm, composed, and slightly apologetic, like that of a gentleman with the highest level of education.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. Kleiman."

Harriman's voice was devoid of warmth.

"Are you making this call on behalf of Goldman Sachs or Bear Stearns?"

"I speak for myself."

Richard said, with a hint of candor in his voice.

"Doctor, I heard you received an anonymous email this morning containing default rate data for Bear Stearns' underlying CDO assets. I suspect this may have caused you some... unnecessary trouble."

"unnecessary?"

Harriman's voice turned cold.

"Mr. Kleiman, the data in that email shows that Bear Stearns' publicly disclosed default rate was 6.8%, but the actual monitoring data had soared to 14.2%. This isn't 'trouble,' it's blatant data fabrication!"

Richard remained calm.

Instead, he chuckled softly, a gentle chuckle carrying a sense of complete control:

"Doctor, if I may be so bold, you are an actuary by training, and you should know better than anyone the difference between raw exposure and net risk."

Harriman did not speak.

Richard continued, his voice carrying the patience of a professor answering a student's questions:

"The 14.2% in that anonymous email is the raw gross default rate without Delta hedging and risk smoothing."

It reflects a static snapshot of the most extreme scenario in the underlying asset pool, but it completely fails to consider the multi-layered risk buffering mechanisms we establish through CDS hedging, reinsurance transfers, and liquidity reserves.

He paused, his tone becoming more sincere:

"For example, Doctor. If you look at a patient's thermometer and it shows 39 degrees Celsius, can you say that the patient is about to die? No. Because you also need to look at their blood pressure, heart rate, white blood cell count, and whether they are receiving treatment."

"Bear Stearns' CDOs operate on the same principle. The original default rate is one indicator, but it's not the only one, and it's certainly not the final net risk value."

There was still silence on the other end of the phone.

But Richard could sense that Harriman's breathing rate had slowed down a little.

It worked.

Richard struck while the iron was hot:

"More importantly, Doctor, I must tell you a fact—"

He lowered his voice, as if revealing an industry secret.

"Recently, several unscrupulous short-selling funds on Wall Street have been frantically spreading this kind of out-of-context, maliciously pieced-together data in an attempt to create panic so they can profit from the market crash."

"This anonymous email is most likely their doing."

Harriman finally spoke:

"Mr. Kleiman, do you mean that the data is fabricated?"

"Do not."

Richard shook his head.

"The data is not fabricated, but the interpretation is malicious."

"That email deliberately concealed the hedging mechanism and liquidity reserves, only showing you the most alarming number, with the aim of causing you to panic and withdraw your funds."

He paused, his tone becoming more serious:

"Doctor, if you were to withdraw your funding today, what do you think would happen?"

"The moment you dump your $3.2 million, the market will immediately assume Bear Stearns is in serious trouble. Other institutions will follow suit, causing the stock price to plummet and liquidity to dry up."

"But all of this wasn't because Bear Stearns actually had any problems, but because of the panic itself."

Richard's voice carried a hint of heartache:

"By then, Doctor, you will not only lose the 3.2 million, but you will also be nailed to the pillar of historical shame—as the one who personally ignited the crisis."

There was another long silence on the other end of the phone.

Richard could hear Harriman's heavy breathing coming through the receiver.

He hesitated.

He was weighing his options.

He is afraid.

Richard closed his eyes and whispered:

"Doctor, Goldman Sachs' compliance department just reviewed Bear Stearns' underlying assets last week. Our conclusion is—liquidity is healthy, and capital adequacy meets Basel III standards."

He opened his eyes, stared at the city outside the window, and spoke slowly and deliberately:

"As a Vice President of Goldman Sachs, I assure you..."

Silence again.

This silence was exceptionally long.

Richard gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

Finally, Harriman spoke.

His voice remained cold and hard, but the anger in his tone had clearly been suppressed:

"Mr. Kleiman, I understand what you just said."

Richard breathed a sigh of relief.

But then Harriman said something that made his heart almost stop beating.

"Since Goldman Sachs is willing to endorse it, I need you to do one thing."

Harriman's voice became extremely slow and clear, as if he were reading a legal document:

"Please use Goldman Sachs' corporate email address to send me a short email containing your conclusion—'Bear Stearns CDO underlying asset liquidity is healthy, and the anonymous data is a malicious misrepresentation by short sellers'—and copy it to my risk control committee."

Richard's pupils contracted sharply.

"After receiving the email,"

Harriman continued,

"I will withdraw the redemption request. But without this email, Mr. Kleiman, I would have initiated full liquidation in one hour."

"As a vice president at Goldman Sachs, you must understand that only written agreements provide credibility."

Harriman hung up the phone.

"beep--"

Richard sat there blankly, holding his phone with its screen already black.

The office was deathly silent.

Only the sound of the wind in Manhattan outside the window, filtering through three layers of bulletproof glass, sounded like some distant, indistinct lament.

Black and white on white paper.

Richard's hands began to tremble violently.

He knew it all too well.

Saying it is one thing. Wall Street elites lie on the phone every day, and those lies evaporate over time without a trace.

However, once an email is sent to the company email address, it becomes irrefutable written evidence.

If Bear Stearns really collapses, the SEC, the FBI, and congressional hearings will all trace this email back to him.

Goldman Sachs will push him out as a scapegoat.

He will be docked in federal court on charges of "misleading statements" and "false guarantees."

He will go to jail.

At least twenty years.

Richard stood up, staggered to the bar, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He picked up the cup and took a big gulp.

The strong liquor burned his throat, but it couldn't suppress the suffocating fear in his heart.

Countless images flashed through his mind—

FBI agents stormed into his office and handcuffed him;

Goldman Sachs' board of directors removed his name from the list of potential partners;

His wife cried and begged him for a divorce in court.

The iron gates of the federal prison slammed shut behind him...

"No...no..."

Richard was panting heavily, his hands braced on the bar.

He looked up at the world outside the floor-to-ceiling window.

There are only 53 minutes left until Harriman's deadline.

If he hadn't sent the email, Harriman would have withdrawn his investment, Bear Stearns would have collapsed, his $512 million put option would have become a deadly bomb, and he would still have died.

If you send an email...

Richard closed his eyes.

Sending an email offers at least a glimmer of hope.

Bear Stearns may not collapse.

The subprime market may not completely explode in March.

The Federal Reserve will intervene to support the market.

Wall Street giants will not allow systemic risks to get out of control.

If they can just hold on until March 21st, the Chinese guy's stock options will expire and go to zero, and then it will all be over.

Richard took a deep breath.

He walked back to his desk and sat down.

Turn on your computer and log in to Goldman Sachs' corporate email system.

enter password.

Click "Create New Email".

His fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly.

Then he started typing on the keyboard.

......

Richard's finger hovered over the mouse.

The cursor hovers over the "Send" button.

He closed his eyes.

Was this the last chance he would ever have to press the Enter key in his life?

Once you press the button, there's no going back.

Outside the window, an airplane flew over the Hudson River, leaving a white contrail that slowly disappeared into the pale sky.

Richard opened his eyes.

"Smack."

He pressed the send button.

A line of text popped up on the screen:

Sent successfully.

Richard slumped into his chair.

He stared at the ceiling, his chest heaving violently, like a drowning person who had just struggled to the shore from the deep sea.