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

In Lower Manhattan, a secret's shelf life is usually no match for a hot Starbucks coffee.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008, 1:45 PM.

Only sixteen hours had passed since Goldman Sachs issued that red confidential memo.

In trading rooms across New York, London, and Tokyo, countless encrypted messages are flying through the instant messaging software (IB) built into Bloomberg terminals at the speed of light.

"Hey, did you hear? Goldman Sachs' derivatives counter rejected two replacement orders this morning."

"Who is the opponent?"

Bear Stearns.

"Holy crap! Really? Didn't they just announce yesterday that they had 180 billion in cash?"

"Who the hell cares about the announcement! Goldman Sachs doesn't trust Bear Stearns anymore, which means they internally believe BSC won't survive this month! Quick, check how much exposure we still have to BSC!"

2:15 PM.

CNBC, the financial channel watched by traders across the US and even the world, suddenly displayed a bold, unsubstantiated message on its yellow breaking news scrolling bar at the bottom of the screen:

[Market Rumor: A top Wall Street investment bank has suspended accepting collateral and credit guarantees issued by Bear Stearns.]

Goldman Sachs wasn't named, but anyone with a brain knows who "a top investment bank" refers to.

The stock market is the most direct indicator of this reaction.

In the NYSE's electronic trading floor, Bear Stearns' stock price was barely hanging on at around $62.

But as soon as this line of text appeared, the tens of thousands of buy orders that were originally hanging on the tray below disappeared completely, as if by magic.

There's no buying opportunity.

Immediately afterwards, massive sell orders rained down like a flood bursting its banks.

61.50……61.50……60.20……$58.90……

The stock price chart showed a steep and glaring bearish candlestick, plunging straight into the abyss.

This is no longer a "technical adjustment"; it's a panic sell-off involving real money.

……

At the same time. Boston, Massachusetts Municipal Employees Retirement Fund headquarters.

Chief Risk Officer Dr. Edmund Harriman stood behind his large desk, staring intently at the CNBC television screen on the wall, his face ashen.

He was holding a landline receiver in his hand.

On the other end of the phone was an old friend of his who was a senior partner at Morgan Stanley.

"Edmund, listen to me, the rumors are true."

The old friend's voice was low, tinged with a hint of relief at surviving a close call.

"Goldman Sachs' clearing desk rejected three CDS swap transactions with Bear Stearns as counterparties this morning. They're even no longer accepting any Bear Stearns assets as margin. Check your positions immediately; if you have any BSC positions, cut them instantly! This ship is sinking!"

"Beep—beep—"

The other end of the phone hung up.

Harriman slowly put down the receiver, feeling all the blood rushing to his head.

He didn't smash keyboards or hurl insults like a young trader. As a seasoned actuary with thirty years of experience in the industry, his anger was extremely restrained, yet it was a killing intent at absolute zero.

He walked slowly to the computer screen.

On the screen, the email Richard Kleiman had sent him last Friday still lay quietly.

The sender's name ended with the glittering gold "Goldman Sachs".

In the email, the Goldman Sachs vice president assured him in extremely sincere professional terms that Bear Stearns' liquidity was absolutely healthy, its underlying assets were rock solid, and the so-called crisis was nothing but a rumor spread by malicious short sellers.

"Well... well, Goldman Sachs."

Dr. Harriman took off his heavy reading glasses, threw them on the table, and laughed in exasperation.

He lived to be 68, spent half his life immersed in numbers and risk control models, and was almost fooled by a 30-something Wall Street elite clown who mistook him for a country bumpkin!

Goldman Sachs ruthlessly handed Bear Stearns a knife under the table, while sending a vice president to hand him flyers on the table, trying to coax this old man who held the retirement savings of tens of thousands of teachers and firefighters not to withdraw his investment!

What are they trying to do?

Do they want to leave Massachusetts' $42 billion pension fund on board as a human shield to cover Goldman Sachs' own retreat?!

"dream."

Harriman's eyes instantly turned as sharp as a knife.

He put his glasses back on and sat back in the large leather chair.

With both hands on the keyboard, he skillfully entered the sixteen-digit password for the highest risk control authority.

Enter the fund clearing system.

Target: Bear Stearns Steady Structured Credit Fund.

Current holdings: US$3.204 million.

The system popped up a red confirmation dialog box:

[WARNING: You are exercising your Chief Risk Officer's Emergency Risk Mitigation Right, which will trigger a full forced redemption. Confirm?]

Without any hesitation, Harriman's thin fingers slammed heavily on the Enter key.

"Smack."

The instruction has been issued.

This $3.2 million forced redemption order, like a physical armor-piercing missile, traveled along the fiber optic network and slammed into the liquidity pool of Bear Stearns' headquarters at 383 Madison Avenue in Manhattan.

After doing all this, Harriman didn't stop.

He picked up his personal cell phone from the table and dialed a number.

"Hey, David."

Harriman's voice was cold and hard, without any unnecessary words.

On the other end of the phone was David Ross, Massachusetts' top financial litigation lawyer and the pension fund's external legal counsel.

"Doctor? What happened?"

"I need you to come to my office immediately. Bring your team and recording equipment."

Harriman stared at the email on the screen.

"I have irrefutable evidence here that a current vice president of Goldman Sachs is suspected of using the company's reputation to commit major financial fraud and mislead institutional investors."

"A vice president at Goldman Sachs?" The lawyer's tone instantly turned excited and serious. "Doctor, are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely certain. Not only that, I also need you to draft a memorandum to inform the state legislature and the SEC's local office about this matter."

Harriman leaned back in his chair, gazing at the gray Boston sky outside the window, a fierce glint in his eyes, the kind only a provoked beast could possess.

"Since they dared to put their hands in my pockets, I'll cut off their entire arms."