A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook

After returning to New York, I meticulously reviewed my plans again.

‘First of all, I succeeded in putting Stark at the starting line.’

Soon, Stark would start acquiring the startups I recommended and jump into the AI race.

Then, just the phrase “AI company led by Stark?” alone would draw massive public attention.

However, I wasn’t looking for mere public attention.

My real goal was an all-out war between Stark and Gooble.

A life-or-death match for both sides.

A hellish race where, if one side increased its investment size, the other would respond with an even bigger amount, dragging them into an endless whirlpool of competition.

To make this happen, Stark’s company needed to drop a massive capital bomb right from its launch that would make Gooble nervous.

‘I could invest directly myself… But honestly, I don’t feel like it.’ Regardless of Stark’s brand value, putting all my eggs in his basket was a completely different issue.

If it were Tesla, which had already proven itself in my previous life, that would be another story.

But tying up my precious capital in Stark’s unproven AI startup?

‘Why bother?’

From a profit perspective alone, it would be wiser to invest in a company like Envid.

That company is an essential infrastructure player that both sides must do business with.

Whether Stark or Gooble wins the AI war, Envid would make money anyway.

Anyway.

To scale up this war, Stark needed a massive influx of capital, but I was reluctant to use my own money.

At times like this, there’s the best card to play.

‘Use other people’s money.’

So whose money should I use?

Luckily, there was a perfect opportunity.

The Triangle Investment Club — a gathering of hedge fund giants.

Anyone who could get into this club would be a figure with massive recognition and credibility.

If they invested huge sums, the market would be shaken up just by that alone.

Moreover, what if these heavy hitters all bet in the same place at once?

‘It doesn’t get more perfect than this.’

The problem was, I wasn’t a member of that club yet.

It seemed there was some kind of test I needed to pass to join...

‘I still lack too much information.’

In fact, there was someone I could contact in this kind of situation.

White Shark.

But...

‘Would he really give me quality information?’

Well, it’s not like I had no options...

But for now, I had more urgent matters piling up.

It was already December.

December is the busiest month for hedge funds.

At the end of the year, annual returns are finalized, and these numbers get printed on investor reports, which determines success or failure in attracting funds for the next year.

But what everyone really cared about was something else.

P&L (profit and loss).

The individual P&L results being recorded now not only determined bonus amounts but also influenced desk assignments.

Who would give the best corner office seat to someone who posted a loss?

Anyway.

In that context, Pareto Innovation’s trading floor was boiling with the madness of traders fighting for every last cent of their bonus.

“Hey! You bonus destroyer bastard!”

A trader was cursing while banging his forehead on the standing desk.

I guessed the risk manager had blocked an aggressive trade.

‘It’s a madhouse.’

Looking around, it was a sight to behold.

Desks were littered with energy bars and Tylenol, and piles of empty coffee cups were stacked up like mountains.

As I frowned,

“Wahahahaha!”

Suddenly, trader Max jumped up from his seat and burst into maniacal laughter.

Then he proudly ran to the whiteboard in the center of the floor.

<P&L Status Board>

Names, figures, and seat assignments were densely written on it.

Window seats, center spots, by the hallway, in front of the bathroom...

Max immediately erased the figure next to his name, wrote in a new one, and updated the ‘seat’ column.

‘Center VIP, by the window’

Then he turned to the floor and started bragging.

“I saw the size exploding in ICT at Prima and felt it! Long cash, call spread for delta neutrality, and ate up all the gamma exposure! Risk at 30bp, expected return 280bp! This is a real pro trade, you punks!”

It sounded like a brilliant strategy at first...

But in reality, it was closer to gambling, relying on experience, instinct, and timing.

Still, what mattered was that he made money.

Max’s eyes sparkled with madness after succeeding in his high-risk bet.

And he wasn’t alone — most of the traders had bloodshot eyes.

Then, “Sean!”

Max pointed at me with his finger and shouted.

At the same time, the whole floor turned their heads in unison and then rushed toward me.

“TSO’s a dead cat now, right? If we dump now it’s 18.2, but if we push once more we might see 19~”

“COUP option chain gamma is overloaded, so should we dump it today, go in with a tight cut, or is it a fake-out?”

It was as if I were a crystal ball — these kinds of questions poured in lately.

But I just smirked and replied.

“Why are you asking me that?”

At my words, they shook their heads and clicked their tongues before turning away.

Some muttered as they left.

“Tch, guess the prophet mode isn’t on today.”

Even if I came from the future, I couldn’t know day-to-day, minute-to-minute stock movements.

That’s exactly why they gathered all these high-paid, sharp traders — to make those calls.

At that moment, Liliana came running over in a hurry.

“Sean! We have to leave now!”

This time, an investor luncheon was waiting.

December was a month full of meetings with big investors.

The reason was simple.

December is when redemptions are allowed.

Investors, whether satisfied or not, would all play the “I might pull my money” threat game.

To keep them on board?

Talking about “Sharpe ratios” or “asset allocation strategies” wasn’t enough.

Because what they really wanted was something else.

Something like, “I met Sean in person the other day...” — a story to casually drop.

In other words, I had to let them boost their own sense of importance through me.

So my job was simple.

Throw out easy-to-remember, impactful lines.

“It’s finally time for the AI cycle to really take off.”

I didn’t miss the chance to slip in hints about the coming AI war.

This one line would spread to every investor gathering through their mouths in no time.

After finishing that role and returning to the office, COO Crane and PM Laurent were waiting for me.

“Sean, it’s time for the meeting.”

Today’s meeting was about tax strategies.

December was also the season to strategically clear out loss positions.

If profits were too high, you’d be hit with taxes on everything you earned.

So to minimize taxes, you had to somehow lower profits.

How?

Even if a stock was expected to rise long-term, there were moments when it temporarily dipped.

You’d take advantage of that moment to sell it and record it as a ‘loss,’ then quietly re-enter after 30 days.

We would deliberately sell stocks we still believed in, act as if we were mourning them, and once the tax office’s attention shifted away, sneakily buy them back.

It was no different from a guy who breaks up over money and then texts back casually once the issue is resolved.

Here too, we “break up” with the stock “because of taxes,” and after 30 days, we buy it back as if nothing happened.

Anyway,

While we were busily moving around like this.

Before I knew it, December 21 had arrived.

December 21.

The day Space Z’s “Eagle 9” would launch, and the day Stark would rise to stardom overnight.

‘There won’t be an accident... right?’

In my previous life, it succeeded without any issues, but in this life, I had so many ties to Stark that I was secretly worried some butterfly effect might mess things up.

I wanted to watch the launch live...

But as luck would have it, today was Pareto Innovation’s Christmas party.

The person in charge of planning the party was Gonzalez.

The party venue was “Pier 36” on the waterfront.

However, even from the entrance, there was a giant sculpture modeled after my face, looming over the guests.

[We bless you with the highest returns.]

‘This...’

It reeked heavily of a WSB vibe — definitely not my style.

But the inside was even more ridiculous.

First of all, the main electric display in the center of the venue said this.

<The Prophet Was Born in December>

Behind that, LED screens were filled with my face.

I turned to Gonzalez.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be a Christmas party?”

He just grinned broadly and replied.

“Two birds with one stone.”

“Two birds with one stone?”

Right then, the sound of fireworks exploded from all directions, shaking the hall.

“Happy Birthday!”

‘Oh, come to think of it...’

Today was my birthday.

It seemed Gonzalez had decided on a “Christmas and birthday combo party” concept.

However, the balance was off.

‘Where did Christmas go?’

Anyone could see the theme was leaning one-sidedly.

Even the MC’s opening remarks made it obvious.

[Today, we celebrate the coming of Pareto Innovation’s founder, Sean, and the arrival of our savior.] ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ noveⅼfire.net

The party hall was divided into various “themed zones,” and every single one celebrated my achievements.

For example,

[Temple of Saint Sean]

This corner was modeled after the Delphi Temple, and inside, they displayed the “Ten Commandments” and prayers distributed on WSB.

[Behold, a plague shall descend upon the earth... but the Prophet shall foresee it.]

Under this banner, there was an experience zone where guests could try on hazmat suits that briefly trended during the Ebola crisis.

[The witch who sells false blood shall receive the judgment of Saint Sean]

Here, they even held a performance burning copies of Theranos’s NDA documents in a campfire.

But, the most elaborate space was...

[Here lies the old giant; his glory returns to dust, and his power disappears like the wind.]

Nicknamed “Ackman’s Grave.”

There, rows of marble slabs had the names of the positions Ackman was forced to liquidate during the Herbalife-Valiant saga.

In the center stood a huge tombstone, which of course bore this inscription.

<Herbalife Position (2012-2015)>

RIP

One peculiar thing was...

‘High quality.’

These tombstones weren’t just props — they were made of actual marble.

‘That would’ve been impossible with the budget I gave.’

It was clear Gonzalez had used his own money for this.

The reason why the employees unanimously chose Gonzalez as the party planner was now obvious.

‘Thanks to him, we saved on expenses.’

Just as I felt satisfied,

Ding ding ding ding!

A loud bell rang out from somewhere, and the MC grabbed the mic.

[Now, we begin the legendary boxing match! Who wants to challenge?!]

In the hall, there was a boxing ring set up.

Two mascot suits were prepared on the ring.

One was a pure white shark suit, and the other was a black-and-white orca suit.

[We will recreate the epic showdown from the past! Who dares to step onto the ring and fight!!!]

Cheering and laughter erupted from everywhere as hands shot up.

But the moment the participant playing the white shark put on the suit,

Beep!

At the sound of a whistle from somewhere, a staff member came and started tightly tying up the shark’s arms and legs with rope.

[The white shark has a penalty! You all know why, right?]

It was probably a reference to the Epicura incident, where the white shark couldn’t say a word without it sounding like a racial slur, rendering him speechless.

Laughter roared from all around.

The crowd was burning with excitement, eagerly awaiting the big match...

But regardless, my mind was focused only on the time.

‘The launch is at 8 PM, right...?’

Just as I was quietly turning to slip out,

...?

Two unexpected faces came into my view.

The one with a grim expression was none other than Ackman.

His gaze was fixed on... “Ackman’s Grave.”

And...

The one glaring at the boxing ring with a bewildered look was the white shark.

***

Continuation: https://NovelFire.net/a-wall-street-geniuss-final-investment-1206844/2959404.html