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

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

Goldman Sachs headquarters, 43rd floor, Vice President's office.

Richard Kleiman sat in the large boss's chair, looking like a devout believer kneeling before a statue, staring intently at the Bloomberg terminal screen.

The opening bell rang.

Bear Stearns opened at $56.72!

"Yes! Yes!!"

Richard sprang up from his chair, his clenched fist swinging wildly in the air.

The market opened higher! The Fed's $290 billion injection worked!

His eyes welled up with tears, not from sadness, but from the ecstatic joy of surviving a catastrophe after suddenly seeing a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

For the past three days, he has barely slept a wink. Every time he closes his eyes, all he sees are the SEC subpoena, the FBI handcuffs, and the cold iron gates of the federal prison.

But now, God has finally heard his prayer.

The United States of America, the most powerful country in the world, its central bank, its credit, the roar of its printing presses—finally stood by his side.

Richard stared at the slightly upward-flickering green timeline on the screen, muttering to himself:

"Hold on...hold on...just get through today...just get to next Friday..."

As long as Bear Stearns' stock price remains above $30, Lu Ze's put option with a strike price of $25 will quickly depreciate.

If he can just get through March 21st, the 512 million will be cleanly turned into his money.

At that point, he would immediately resign, take the money, leave New York, and go to California, to Europe, to anywhere the SEC couldn't find him—

"Um?"

Richard's smile suddenly froze on his face.

On the screen, the green line that was originally rising slightly paused suddenly, as if someone had grabbed its neck.

Then--

It started to turn and head downwards.

"No...no no no...how could this be..."

Richard's smile froze instantly, replaced by an incredulous astonishment.

55.80……55.80……54.20……$52.90……

It has fallen below yesterday's closing price.

"This is impossible... The Federal Reserve has intervened... How can it still be falling..."

Richard placed his hands on the table, leaned slightly forward, and stared intently at the K-line that was beginning to plunge downwards, his eyes bloodshot.

50.30……50.30……47.60……$44.80……

The sell-off was like a flash flood.

Each tick of the numbers felt like a steel needle piercing his heart.

"Hold it up! Damn it! Hold it up!"

Richard growled at the screen, as if he were watching a gamble he had staked his entire fortune on, watching helplessly as the dice rolled into the abyss.

But the market is cold-blooded.

It will not stop because of a gambler's pleas.

42.10……42.10……39.50……$36.80……

10:00 AM.

Richard's personal cell phone rang.

He mechanically picked it up and glanced at the caller ID—it was Emilia, the head of the risk control department.

"Feed?" His voice was already hoarse beyond recognition.

"Richard, about your naked put option on Bear Stearns..."

Emilia's voice was extremely calm, even carrying a hint of cold detachment.

"The system shows that your department's unrealized losses have exceeded fifty million US dollars, and the gap is widening. The risk control committee requires you to immediately report your handling plan."

"I...I know..."

Richard's throat tightened as if something was blocking it. "I'll handle it..."

He hung up the phone.

On the screen, the stock price had fallen to $34.

……

11:00 AM.

The $30 defense line has been breached.

Richard slumped into the chair, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

His mind was completely blank.

The options contract that he originally saw as a "free lunch" has now become a black hole that is expanding wildly, swallowing his department, his career, and his life.

Noon.

$28.40 USD.

Richard's office door was suddenly and roughly pushed open.

"Bang--!"

The door slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

A tall, middle-aged man wearing a dark blue three-piece suit strode in.

Bradley Weber, head of Goldman Sachs' global securities division, partner level, Richard's direct superior.

His face was ashen, and the veins on his forehead bulged, making him look like a ferocious beast about to devour its prey.

"Richard! You fucking explain this to me!"

Bradley slammed his hand on the table, making the whole office jolt.

"You secretly approved a 50x leveraged off-exchange transaction without the knowledge of the risk control committee?! You nakedly sold Bear Stearns put options to a small, insolvent Chinese-owned fund?!"

"Now look what's happened! Bear Stearns is fucking dead! Do you even know how much unrealized loss this deal has in the system?!"

Bradley pointed at Richard's nose, almost roaring:

"Seventy-three million US dollars! And it's still jumping up by hundreds of thousands per minute!"

Richard opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

I don't care what method you use!

Bradley leaned down, placing both hands on Richard's desk as if to smash it.

"Clean up this damn mess before the market closes today!"

"Go find that Chinese guy! Give him money! Give him any amount of money! Make him close out this damn stock option now, immediately!"

If you can't handle it—

Bradley's voice was extremely low, but every word was like a poisoned knife:

"I will personally submit your name and all the details of this transaction to the compliance committee. At that point, you will not only be fired, but you will also be sent to federal court on charges of 'fraud' and 'excessive authority'."

After saying that, Bradley suddenly stood up, turned around, and strode away.

"Bang--!"

The office door was slammed shut.

Richard slumped in the chair like a skeleton with its bones removed.

His gaze was fixed blankly on the screen.

$26.10 USD.

Only one dollar remained away from the exercise price of Lu Ze's option, which was $25.

……

2:30 PM.

$25.00 USD.

The defenses have been breached.

Richard stared at the number, his whole body stiffening as if struck by lightning.

He mechanically picked up the landline on the table and dialed Emilia's extension.

"help me……"

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"Help me calculate... if Bear Stearns falls to... to $24... how much will our paper loss be..."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

The sound of keyboard typing could be heard.

"Based on the current Delta and Gamma values..."

Emilia's voice was extremely cold.

"If Bear Stearns closes at $24, your department's book loss will reach... $120 million."

"If it drops to $20... $230 million."

"If it drops to $10... $450 million."

"Beep—beep—beep—"

Richard hung up the phone.

He sat there, staring at the ceiling, looking like an empty shell without a soul.

One hundred and twenty million dollars.

This number is enough to destroy his entire department.

That's enough for Goldman Sachs' legal department to nail him to the pillar of shame.

That's enough for the SEC to send him to jail, until his hair turns completely white and he can no longer walk.

……

3:55 PM.

There are only five minutes left until the market closes.

Bear Stearns' stock price is making a final, feeble struggle around $24.

Richard's hands trembled as he picked up his personal cell phone.

He pulled out the number he had saved as "Lance Walker - Far Star Capital".

That young Chinese man whom he once regarded as an "idiot," an "ATM," and the "biggest joke of the year."

His fingers hovered over the dial key, trembling violently.

As a vice president of Goldman Sachs and an elite on Wall Street, he has never bowed his head or begged for mercy to anyone in his life.

But now, he has no other choice.

"Smack."

He pressed the dial button.

The phone rang three times before being answered.

"Feed."

Lu Ze's voice came through the receiver.

Calm, indifferent, as if answering a call from a stranger selling insurance.

"Lance..."

Richard's voice trembled, carrying an almost pleading humility:

"Listen... I know... I know you've won... You made an absolutely brilliant deal..."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes:

"I have a pre-emptive liquidation agreement here. Goldman Sachs is willing to pay you $35 million right now, immediately, to buy out your option contracts."

"Thirty-five million! Pure profit! Just nod your head, and this money will be in Farstar Capital's account within five minutes!"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

Richard held his breath; his heart was about to jump out of his throat.

"Richard."

Lu Ze's voice came through.

"Yes! I'm listening!" Richard said, as if grasping at a last straw.

"Do you feel like Goldman Sachs is giving alms to a beggar right now?"

Lu Ze chuckled softly.

The laughter was extremely cold, like a chilling scalpel slicing across Richard's scalp.

"No, no, no! This is a win-win situation, Lance, this is the rule of Wall Street..."

Richard's voice had completely changed.

"The rule on Wall Street is that the prey has no right to teach the hunter how to fire."

Lu Ze's voice suddenly turned extremely cold:

"Those are my chips. I bet on a contract expiring on March 21st. As long as that day hasn't come, this game isn't over."

"Forty million! Lance! Fifty million!"

Richard was practically screaming into the phone.

"This is your goal, isn't it? I'll give you fifty million! You can't be so greedy! Bear Stearns can't keep falling! The Fed has already intervened, and they'll announce their bailout plan this weekend! If you don't close your positions now, by next Monday, once the Fed's funds arrive and the stock price rebounds, your options will become worthless again!"

"Yeah?"

Lu Ze's voice carried a chilling hint of pleasure.

"Richard, since you trust the Federal Reserve so much, and since you think there will be a rebound next Monday..."

Lu Ze paused for a moment.

Richard could hear the sound of someone gently tapping on a keyboard on the other end of the phone, and the faint sound of car horns coming from the streets of New York outside the window.

Everything was so peaceful.

It was so calm it was despairing.

"Then enjoy this weekend."

Lu Ze's voice was gentle, yet it delivered a death sentence.

I said,

He spoke slowly and deliberately:

Have a nice weekend, Richard.

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The call was disconnected.

Richard stared blankly at his phone, as if he were nailed to his chair.

Outside the window, the setting sun painted the Manhattan skyline a blood-red hue.