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

March 14, 2008, Friday, 9:30 a.m.

The New York Stock Exchange.

The moment the opening bell rang, the entire financial world held its breath.

On the Bloomberg terminal, Bear Stearns (BSC) opened at $56.72.

Compared to yesterday's closing price of $52.40, it opened nearly $4 higher.

In suite 2317 of the W Hotel.

Isabella stared intently at the screen, her hands clenched into fists, her palms sweaty.

"The Fed's money... really held up the market?" Her voice was a little strained.

Lu Ze sat on the sofa, still flipping through a printed financial statement, without even looking up.

"Keep watching."

On the screen, the green intraday chart line did indeed twitch slightly upwards in the first three minutes after the market opened.

It looks like the market is casting a vote of confidence in the Fed's bailout.

But just three minutes later—

Like a drowning person who has been given a stimulant, making a final struggle on the surface of the water—the green line suddenly paused abruptly.

Then, it started to turn around and head downwards.

At first, the drop was small, a few cents, then a dozen cents.

But soon, a massive sell-off began.

55.80……55.80……54.20……$52.90……

It fell below yesterday's closing price.

Those retail investors and second-tier institutions who rushed in to buy the dip at the opening bell because of the "Federal Reserve's market rescue" were like stepping into a disguised trap, instantly crushed by the enormous selling pressure.

Sell ​​orders poured in like a flood bursting its banks.

50.30……50.30……47.60……$44.80……

On the candlestick chart, a brutal, almost vertically downward green bearish candlestick descends like the scythe of death.

"Oh My God……"

Isabella gasped.

She had worked on the trading floor of Lehman Brothers and witnessed countless market crashes.

But the scene before them carried an extremely eerie, almost supernatural sense of terror—

The Federal Reserve used $290 billion of national credit to personally intervene in the market. But the market seemed to be giving the middle finger to the world's most powerful central bank.

"This is impossible... The Federal Reserve has intervened, why is it still falling?!"

Isabella muttered to herself, as if questioning whether some physical law had been broken.

Even though Lu Ze had just explained it to her in person, she still couldn't believe it.

On Wall Street, and even in the global financial system, the Federal Reserve is like a god.

God does not fail.

"Trust is dead."

Lu Ze finally raised his head and glanced at the grim black line on the screen.

His voice remained calm and still.

"On Wall Street, liquidity isn't everything. When everyone is convinced you're going to die tomorrow, no amount of money you have today will help."

Because they'll steal it from you before you even have a chance to spend it.

He pointed to the transaction volume data in the lower right corner of the screen.

That number is jumping wildly, already four times the average daily trading volume.

"This isn't a normal sell-off. This is a bank run. Everyone's running for their lives."

……

[March 14, 9:42 AM, CNBC Business Studio]

"Crazy Money Money Money" was aired temporarily.

The red alert bar is scrolling rapidly at the bottom of the screen:

[Breaking News: Bear Stearns Shares Plunge 47% in Pre-Market Trading] [Market Rumors: Liquidity Crisis Worsens]

The studio lights were brighter than usual, almost blindingly so.

Jim Kramer was still standing behind that familiar table, but his tie was crooked by half an inch, and the highlighter he usually used to tap the table was now unconsciously tapping the surface of the table.

"Okay, okay, everyone, calm down, calm down—"

He raised his hand, trying to maintain his usual sense of control.

"Pre-market fluctuations mean nothing! I'll say it again, they mean nothing! The market is currently terrified by rumors, panic, and those short sellers who like to operate in the sewers—"

Before he could finish speaking, the large screen behind him suddenly refreshed.

Bear Stearns: 31.08 -28.94 (-48.21%)

There was a moment of silence in the studio.

Kramer's facial muscles twitched, then he raised his voice, as if he could suppress the string of numbers if he spoke loud enough.

"Listen! This proves I was right before! This isn't a collapse in value, it's a panic sell-off! A panic sell-off! Bear Stearns isn't some small, street-side bank that will evaporate overnight; it has an 85-year history, it—"

Suddenly, I heard the director's hurried, distorted voice coming through my in-ear monitor.

Kramer's face stiffened.

"What?"

He instinctively turned his head away.

The next second, the right-side split screen switched to a live feed from the New York Stock Exchange, showing chaos in the trading floor, with red spreading across the screen like splattered blood.

A new line of text has been added at the bottom of the screen:

[Sources: Bear Stearns' liquidity is on the verge of drying up]

The laughter that had been cheering him on earlier was gone, replaced by a few hushed gasps from the audience.

Kramer's Adam's apple bobbed, and he forced out an almost ferocious smile.

"Okay, okay—let's talk about probability, let's talk about probability, shall we?"

He suddenly turned to the camera, speaking at a machine-gun-like pace, as if he could talk himself back to safety by just keeping talking.

"A few days ago, a young man on Wall Street bought five million dollars worth of Bear Stearns put options. The strike price was $25. They expired in eighteen days. Remember that? What did I say? That was madness! That was financial suicide! That kind of position—"

The big screen flickered again.

Bear Stearns: 27.40

Kramer's voice abruptly stopped.

At that moment, the entire studio was so quiet that you could hear the low hum of the machines running.

His eyes were fixed on the string of numbers, as if he didn't understand them, or as if he simply didn't want to understand them.

Twenty-five.

That number that he told as a joke to the whole nation for a full three minutes.

Now we're only two and a half dollars away from it.

The camera zoomed in cruelly.

The audience finally stopped laughing. Some people had their mouths agape, while others glanced at each other unconsciously, their expressions as if they were witnessing something that shouldn't have happened.

Kramer licked his dry lips, trying to regain some of his authority as the host.

"This...this still doesn't mean that the transaction was rational."

He said.

As soon as he uttered those words, even he knew how weak they sounded.

"What I mean is—listen, there will always be people in the market who make money from extreme tail risks, but that doesn't mean they're right, it just means—"

The screen jumps again.

Bear Stearns: 24.86

This time, even the director forgot to switch shots.

The numbers hung blatantly above Kramer's head, like a public slap in the face.

Twenty-five dollars.

breakdown.

The scene was completely silent.

Kramer's mouth was open, the second half of his sentence stuck in his throat, as if someone had suddenly grabbed his neck.

Almost instinctively, he looked down at the cue cards in his hand, as if trying to find the omnipotent self he had been a few minutes earlier in those thin sheets of paper. But there were no answers on the paper, only a few witty jokes he had prepared beforehand, and a title that had become utterly absurd:

"Wall Street's dumbest trade of the week"

The camera continues to zoom in.

The color drained from his face little by little, leaving only a layer of pale, oily sheen under the television lights.

The director finally yelled into his earpiece:

"Speak! Jim, speak!"

Kramer looked up at the camera, and for the first time did not wave his arms or bang on the table.

He just stared at the camera, his voice strained:

"If... if you saw Mr. Lu Ze's position on TV—"

He paused, as if swallowing a shard of glass.

"So now, it's no longer a joke."

……

"ah--!"

Isabella jumped up from her chair, covered her mouth tightly with both hands, and her eyes instantly turned red.

She wasn't afraid.

She was in a state of extreme shock and unbelievable ecstasy, almost suffocating.

The numbers on the screen continued to fall.

24.70……24.70……24.30……$24.00……

The put option that was originally ridiculed by the entire Wall Street as "the biggest joke of the year" is now deeply in the money.

According to option pricing models, its theoretical value is expanding at an alarming rate.

Tens of millions... hundreds of millions... or even more!

"Boss..."

Isabella turned around and looked at Lu Ze sitting on the sofa, her voice trembling with excitement:

"We...we won...we really won..."

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and the tension that had been building up in her mind for over ten days finally eased a little:

"Should we...submit a liquidation request to Goldman Sachs' clearing desk right now? At the current market price, we can lock in at least...lock in at least fifty million US dollars in profit!"

Fifty million US dollars.

For a tiny hedge fund that was on the verge of bankruptcy just days before, this is an astronomical figure that could be a life-changing event.

But Lu Ze merely raised his eyelids and glanced at her.

"Do not."

His voice was soft, yet resolute.

"What?" Isabella was stunned.

"I said, I won't close the position."

Lu Ze stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked out at the city that was experiencing the financial tsunami.

In the distance, countless people were still in the subway, in cafes, and in offices, completely unaware of what was happening before their eyes.

"Isabella, do you remember why I chose March 21st as the expiration date?"

"Because..." Isabella's mind raced.

"Because you knew Bear Stearns would collapse during this period?"

"Not only that."

Lu Ze turned around, a glint of utter indifference flashing in his eyes:

"Because I know it will fall deeper, more tragically, and more completely than anyone imagines."

"It's $24 now. But this isn't the end."

He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall.

Today is Friday. In two more days, it will be the weekend.

In Lu Ze's memory, that weekend would see one of the most iconic events of the entire 2008 financial crisis take place.

That was a shameful number that sent shivers down the spines of the entire Wall Street.

"Wait until the market opens next Monday..."

Lu Ze murmured to himself, as if speaking to himself, and also as if speaking to the city:

"You will know what true despair is."

Just then—

"Buzz—Buzz—Buzz—"

The Blackberry phone on the table suddenly started vibrating violently.

Isabella glanced at the caller ID instinctively, her pupils contracting sharply.

"Boss... that's Richard's office hotline."

She looked up at Lu Ze, her voice tinged with disbelief:

"That vice president at Goldman Sachs... he called you."

Lu Ze looked at the still-vibrating phone, and a genuine smile of pleasure appeared on his lips.

He walked over, picked up his phone, and pressed the answer button.