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

March 16, 2008, Sunday, 6:47 PM.

Manhattan, headquarters of Farstar Capital.

Isabella leaned back in her office chair, holding a cup of black coffee that had completely gone cold. She had been there for a full twelve hours, staring at the Bloomberg terminal screens, waiting for an answer.

Outside the window, the early spring sky was as overcast as a sheet of lead. The entire financial district was deserted, with only a few scattered lights in a few distant buildings—those were Wall Street workers like her, working overtime on the weekend awaiting the verdict.

Bear Stearns' fate will be revealed tonight.

Since the market closed on Friday, everyone on Wall Street knew that executives from the Federal Reserve, the Treasury, JPMorgan Chase, and Bear Stearns were locked in a conference room at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York for marathon negotiations.

Rumors are flying everywhere.

Some say JPMorgan Chase will acquire Bear Stearns for $20 per share;

Some say the Federal Reserve will directly nationalize it;

Some say Bear Stearns will declare bankruptcy protection before the market opens on Monday.

But no one—including those seasoned veterans of Wall Street who had been there for 30 years—could believe that an investment bank with an 85-year history and total assets of over $400 billion would be sold off at an extremely humiliating price.

"Boss..."

Isabella turned her head and looked at Lu Ze, who was sitting on the black leather sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

He didn't anxiously refresh the news like she did.

He simply sat there quietly, holding a half-read copy of "The Alchemy of Finance." On the table sat a glass of chilled bourbon, its sides condensed with fine droplets of water.

"How much?" Isabella asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Lu Ze did not answer immediately.

He closed the book, picked up the wine glass, and gently swirled it. The amber liquid swirled within the glass.

"Lower than you expected."

His voice was soft, yet it carried a chilling certainty.

Just then—

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The Bloomberg terminal suddenly emitted a piercing alarm.

A glaring red banner pops up in the upper right corner of the screen:

[Breaking News] JPMorgan Chase announces acquisition of Bear Stearns for $2.00 per share.

Isabella jumped up from her chair, her coffee cup crashing to the floor with a thud, splashing dark brown liquid everywhere.

"Two...two dollars?!"

Her voice trembled with shock, and she froze on the spot as if struck by lightning.

On the screen, the news was refreshing rapidly, each word like a red-hot branding iron, searing into the retinas of every Wall Street resident:

JPMorgan Chase acquired Bear Stearns for $2 per share

On the evening of March 16, New York time, JPMorgan Chase, the Federal Reserve, and Bear Stearns jointly announced that JPMorgan Chase would acquire Bear Stearns for $2.00 per share in cash and stock.

该收购价较贝尔斯登上周五收盘价24.05美元暴跌91.7%，较该股2007年1月的历史最高点171.51美元暴跌98.8%。

The total value of the transaction is approximately US$2.36 million.

$ 2.36 billion.

This figure isn't even enough to cover Bear Stearns' headquarters at 383 Madison Avenue—that iconic 47-story building that cost $12 billion to construct in 2001.

Isabella's fingers trembled as she clicked on the detailed report.

More breathtaking details popped up on the screen:

The Federal Reserve will provide JPMorgan Chase with up to $300 billion in non-recourse loans to take over Bear Stearns' bad assets.

Bear Stearns CEO Alan Schwarz stated in a brief statement: "This is the best solution we could achieve given the current extremely challenging market environment."

The deal is expected to be completed within 90 days, at which point the name Bear Stearns will disappear from Wall Street forever.

"God……"

Isabella slumped back into her chair, covering her face tightly with her hands.

Her mind was a complete mess.

A little over a year ago, Bear Stearns' stock price was $171. At that time, the company had a market capitalization of over $200 billion, making it the fifth largest investment bank on Wall Street and a career pinnacle that countless financial elites dreamed of.

Now, it has been sold to JPMorgan Chase for $2—a price that's less than that of a junk stock.

This is not an acquisition.

This is an execution.

This was a public execution orchestrated by the Federal Reserve and Wall Street to declare to the entire market: if you dare to play with fire like Bear Stearns, this is your fate.

Isabella suddenly remembered something, and her trembling fingers flew across the calculator.

Lu Ze held a put option with a strike price of $25...

If Bear Stearns ultimately sold for $2...

The intrinsic value of each share is: $25 - 2 = $23.

They initially purchased the rights for $512 million at an extremely low premium of $0.15 per share, equivalent to...

3416 million put contracts!

"3416 million shares... multiplied by $23..."

Isabella's fingers flew across the keyboard, and then—

A number that made her dizzy appeared on the calculator screen:

$785,680,000

US$785.68 million.

"ah--"

Isabella let out a suppressed scream, covered her mouth tightly with both hands, and tears streamed down her face.

She wasn't afraid.

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

Just two weeks ago, she sat with a wealthy Chinese-American second-generation heir who had just attempted suicide by shooting himself and was driven to the brink by Goldman Sachs, in a conference room that still smelled of blood, with only $512 million in liquid funds left in their account.

Everyone was laughing at them.

CNBC hosts called them "the biggest joke of the year".

Richard from Goldman Sachs held a glass of champagne, waiting to open the bottle and celebrate on March 21st.

The whole of Wall Street is saying: that crazy Chinese guy is going bankrupt.

And now-

She turned her head sharply and looked at Lu Ze, who was still sitting quietly on the sofa.

"Boss..."

Isabella's voice trembled so much she could barely speak.

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

She took a deep breath, tears streaming down her face.

Goldman Sachs owes us nearly 800 million.

Lu Ze put down his wine glass.

He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the city that was experiencing a financial tsunami.

In the distance, the lights of the Empire State Building shimmered in the night. In countless warm windows, millions of ordinary people were eating, watching television, and sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the history-altering trial that had just taken place.

But in the offices of Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, and Lehman Brothers, where the lights were still on, things must have been in an uproar.

Countless traders, risk officers, and partners are staring at that "$2" figure as if they've witnessed the end of the world.

Lu Ze picked up his phone and glanced at the calendar.

Today is Sunday, March 16th.

There are exactly five days left until the expiration date of the "end-of-day options" on March 21, which was ridiculed by the entire Wall Street.

But he doesn't need to wait until that day.

He can submit his exercise application to Goldman Sachs' options clearing desk when the market opens tomorrow, Monday.

Goldman Sachs—the vampire squid that has been entrenched on Wall Street for 139 years—will have to take nearly $800 million in cash from its vaults and obediently transfer it into Farstar Capital's account.

"Boss..."

Isabella's voice came from behind, carrying a hint of barely concealed urgency and anxiety.

"Should we... call Goldman Sachs now? Lock in the closing price in advance? Just in case they...?"

"Do not."

Lu Ze didn't turn around; his voice was as calm as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather.

"After the market opens tomorrow, we will formally submit the application for exercising the options and liquidation. We will act in accordance with the contract."

He turned around and looked at Isabella.

In those deep black eyes, there was no ecstasy, no excitement, only an extremely cold calm as one watches their prey fall.

"Make them clearly aware, every minute and every second—"

Lu Ze walked back to the sofa, picked up the glass of whiskey, and drank it all in one gulp.

"On Wall Street, when you've cornered your prey, never give them a chance to breathe."

Outside the window, the Manhattan night grew even deeper.

And in the depths of that darkness, a voice was screaming madly.

……

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

Richard Kleiman sat in the large boss's chair, staring intently at the computer screen.

On the screen, the number "$2.00" felt like a red-hot pair of iron clamps, clamping down hard on his heart.

His face was ashen, and beads of cold sweat dripped from his forehead.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing up the options pricing system.

When that theoretical loss figure popped up—

- $ 785,680,000

Richard felt as if all his bones had been removed, and he slumped into the chair.

His lips trembled violently, and a desperate, almost beastly growl escaped his throat.

"No...no...this is impossible..."

He suddenly grabbed the landline on the table and frantically dialed a number.

It rang three times before the other end answered.

"Lance! Listen! We can talk! I'll give you fifty million! No—one hundred million! Just close your position now!"

Richard's voice had completely spiraled out of control, carrying the plea of ​​a dying man:

"Please! You've won! You've already won! Give me a way out!"

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

Then, Lu Ze's calm voice came through.

There was no anger, no mockery, only an absolute indifference, like a death sentence:

"Richard, do you remember what you said in my conference room on March 1st?"

Richard was stiff all over.

"You said, 'That's the rule on Wall Street.'"

Lu Ze's voice was extremely soft, yet every word pierced the heart:

"Now, I'm returning those words to you verbatim."

"etc--!"

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The call was disconnected.

Richard held the receiver blankly, looking like a soulless corpse.

The office was deathly silent.

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

Outside the window, night had completely fallen.

The death knell of two dollars has tolled.