Golden Spoon Investment Portfolio - Chapter 7

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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7. I’m afraid we won’t be needing that.

Right there, the lawyers from both sides drafted a revised contract with the modified terms, and I reviewed it before signing immediately.
Paulson, seated across from me, also finished signing the contract and stood up with a smile, extending one hand.

“Now that we’ve entered into this agreement, I hope the investment yields favorable results.”
“It will.”

I grasped his hand, then released it and asked.

“When can we begin selling pounds?”
“Since we’ve officially signed the contract, you can place orders whenever you’d like, starting now.”

At my confident demeanor, Paulson smiled faintly and placed a hand on Cox’s back beside him.

“Cox here will handle all the transactions.”
“I look forward to working with you.”

I nodded slightly and discussed the necessary details with Cox, the assigned broker.
After concluding all the contract arrangements, I left the conference room with Landon, escorted out by the Salomon Brothers team.
As we descended to the lobby in the elevator, Landon, who had kept his mouth firmly shut until now, quickly glanced around before speaking with a worried expression.

“What were you thinking, signing such a contract?”

He had much to say but had been forced to hold it back due to all the watching eyes. Now it finally burst out.
Unlike the anxious Landon, I walked forward with a composed expression and spoke.

“What’s the problem?”
“You don’t know what the problem is?”

Landon furrowed his brow in frustration.

“The margin call requirements and the commission rates—aren’t the terms far too unfavorable?”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then why did you proceed with the contract?”
“Because otherwise they wouldn’t have increased the leverage as much as I wanted.”

Indeed, without such conditions, the counterparty would never have permitted a tenfold leverage.
Landon lowered his voice to a whisper, conscious of the people passing through the lobby.

“Was it really necessary to push the leverage to such extremes?”

Then Seokwon spoke as though it were obvious.

“If you place a large bet, you’ll pull in far more in a single stroke.”

The counterargument rose to Landon’s throat—that if the results diverged from expectations, he could lose everything in one catastrophic blow—but he forced himself to swallow it.

“Setting aside margin calls, at seven percent you’ll be paying 5.83 million dollars monthly in fees. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Unless you possess other funds I’m unaware of, your account will be depleted within three months.”

He spoke with a grave expression, but Seokwon answered with unshakeable composure.

“The results will come before then. Don’t worry.”
“….”

It wasn’t the unstable Mexican or Argentine peso that Seokwon had wagered on—it was the British pound sterling.
Though it had ceded its reserve currency status entirely to the United States after the Second World War, the pound remained a safe asset, still trading alongside the dollar as a bastion of stability.
That Seokwon would gamble against such a currency with such unwavering confidence was utterly incomprehensible to him.
But the contract had already been signed; it was far too late to turn back.
Knowing that any further words would only be hindsight, Landon fell silent and closed his mouth.

‘If this gamble actually succeeds, it would be an enormous jackpot. But it won’t be easy.’

In Landon’s assessment, Seokwon’s gamble had a success probability so dismally low it bordered on recklessness.
As Landon swallowed a silent sigh, the two men exited the building and climbed into the waiting Cadillac Escalade.
As the car pulled away slowly, Landon settled into the plush seat, exhaled a quiet sigh, and asked.

“In any case, your business in New York is concluded now, isn’t it? Where will you go next?”
“Back to school. The fall semester has already begun, and while I’ve nearly completed my graduation requirements, I can’t afford to miss any more classes.”

At those words, Landon regarded Seokwon with fresh surprise.

“So you’re still a student, after all.”

His actions were so bold and unrestrained that even Landon failed to notice this fact.

“I must confess, you negotiate far more naturally than I do. I nearly forgot myself.”

At that, Seok-won broke into a faint smile.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

* * *

Two days later, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
A yellow taxi came to a stop on the road in front of Kirkland House, a dormitory located within the Harvard University campus.

“Keep the change.”

Seok-won, seated in the back, handed a fifty-dollar bill to the driver and stepped out of the taxi, carrying the Boston bag he’d left beside him.
As I crossed the grassy courtyard toward the dormitory building, now quite familiar to me, I heard someone calling out urgently.

“Young Master!”

When Seok-won turned his head, I saw Son Dong-sung and Yang Se-jung hurrying down from a Ford Taurus parked on the roadside, their movements frantic.
Watching them rush over as if afraid of missing me, I wore a puzzled expression.

“What brings you here?”

Son Dong-sung, finally reaching me, caught his breath before answering.

“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, Young Master.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”

Son Dong-sung nodded and looked at me with a slightly reproachful expression.

“Where on earth have you been? We’ve been stationed here for four days without knowing when you’d arrive.”

Looking at them now, their dress shirts were wrinkled from waiting endlessly in the cramped car, and they both appeared quite exhausted.
In those days, when even pagers were uncommon and mobile phones unheard of, there was no way to make contact once you left.
Yet they couldn’t return empty-handed when the group chairman had issued orders, so they had waited indefinitely in front of the dormitory for my return.
Realizing the situation at once, I felt a pang of guilt for putting them through this trouble unintentionally.

“Why? Has something happened?”
“The matter concerns you, young master.”

Son Dong-sung glanced around before lowering his voice.

“I heard that you’ve won the lottery.”

The moment I heard those words, I could roughly guess why these two had come here.

“What? You came because of that?”

For someone who had just won over 100 million dollars in lottery winnings, my composure seemed far too casual.
Son Dong-sung wondered whether I possessed remarkable composure or simply lacked financial sense from being born with a silver spoon—he couldn’t quite tell, and inwardly shook his head.

“There are many eyes here, and it’s difficult to discuss this at length. Shall we move to another location?”
“Then let’s go to a nearby café.”

As Seok-won, familiar with the local geography, took the lead, the two men quickly followed behind.
The three of us arrived at a café not far from Kirkland House and took seats at an outdoor table.
Since it was still morning, only a few customers sat inside, and the outdoor area was quite empty otherwise.
Yang Se-jung retrieved three café lattes from the counter and set them on the table before sitting beside Son Dong-sung.
Though we had met several times before and were acquainted, his movements remained naturally cautious in the presence of the chairman’s son.
After taking a sip of my café latte, I looked across at Son Dong-sung and spoke.

“So you’re saying I should put the winnings into a trust product for management.”

Son Dong-sung nodded in response.

“Indeed. Given the substantial amount, it would be far more prudent to entrust it to a professional to manage rather than simply leaving it in a bank account.”
“Or rather, you’re trying to rein me in beforehand because you think I’ll squander all the winnings.”

At my blunt remark, Son Dong-sung couldn’t bring himself to deny it and wore an awkward expression.

“Ahem.”

Son Dong-sung cleared his throat and turned his head to look at Yang Se-jung.

“Show him that document.”
“Understood.”

Yang Se-jung replied briefly, then pulled out a thin folder from the bag resting on his lap and spread it across the table.

“I’ve selected several promising products for you. Why don’t you choose whichever appeals to you most?”

These weren’t empty words—they were products I had genuinely selected with great care.

“No matter what you choose, you won’t regret it. These are managed by the PB centers of major Wall Street investment banks….”

I merely glanced at the folder without touching it, cutting off Son Dong-sung’s words.

“I appreciate the effort you’ve put in, but I’m afraid I won’t need this.”
“Pardon? What do you mean by that?”

As Son Dong-sung’s eyes widened in confusion, I leaned back against my chair.

“I’ve already made a separate investment with the winnings.”

Son Dong-sung then started in surprise, leaning forward as he asked.

“Surely you haven’t invested all 100 million dollars!”
“I have.”
“When did you invest such a large sum… No, more importantly, where exactly did you invest it?”

I smiled, flashing my teeth.

“The pound.”

* * *

555 Madison Avenue, Manhattan, New York.
The headquarters of the renowned Quantum Fund was located in a fifty-story skyscraper adorned with elaborate sculptures and decorative elements in the heart of Midtown.
Through expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, the towering Manhattan skyline stretched out in full view across the spacious office.
A lean, intellectual-looking middle-aged man sat alone at his desk in the modernly appointed office, decorated in black and white, attending to his work.
The man’s name was Rodney, the CIO of Quantum Fund and the successor to George Hamilton, recognized on Wall Street as an investment genius.
While reviewing a thick report, the intercom on one side of his desk beeped and rang.

[Ian has arrived.]

At his secretary’s voice, Rodney straightened his posture and reached out to press the intercom button.

“Tell him to come in.”
[Understood.]

Moments later, a blonde Caucasian man in a custom-tailored suit with subtle pinstripes opened the wooden door and stepped inside.

“What brings you here?”

Rodney, having covered the report, leaned back in his chair.
Ian, the chief fund manager, approached the desk directly, made eye contact in a light greeting, and broached his business.

“Salomon Brothers sold 100 million dollars each in pound spot and futures during the afternoon market session.”

While not rivaling the dollar, the pound occupied a substantial position in the international foreign exchange market.
Consequently, with daily average trading volumes reaching as high as 80 billion dollars, 200 million dollars was not an exceptionally large sum.
However, given that the British government judged it increasingly difficult to maintain the European Exchange Rate Mechanism and was preparing an assault on sterling, I reacted sensitively to Salomon Brothers’ movements.

“Is Salomon targeting the pound as well?”

Ian, receiving the gaze, shook his head.

“It’s not impossible, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I reached out to an acquaintance in Salomon’s foreign exchange trading division to check, and they said it was a customer order relay, not their own trading.”
“If someone placed an order of that magnitude at once, they must be quite influential. Who could it be?”
“They wouldn’t disclose that—it’s confidential.”

Ian shrugged.

“If you wish, I can investigate further.”

Rodney stroked his chin, pondering briefly before concluding there was no need.

“No. If we’re going to fight the arrogant Bank of England, having even one more ally works in our favor. Let it be.”
“I may be overly cautious, but it seems several sharp-eyed investors are catching the scent and beginning to move one by one. Shouldn’t we also start testing the waters and begin our assault in earnest?”

Ian continued with a notably serious expression.

“Even if the Bank of England senses something amiss, they won’t immediately abandon the ERM and devalue the exchange rate. But if the opposition mobilizes in response, it will require that much more force to bring them down.”

Since it wasn’t an unreasonable assessment, Rodney nodded heavily and spoke in a subdued voice.

“I’ll have a conversation with Hamilton. In the meantime, make sure we’re prepared to move at any moment.”
“Understood.”

After Ian gave his brief reply and stepped out, Rodney sat alone in his chair, tapping his fingertips against the desk as he organized his thoughts.
Then he picked up the receiver and dialed a number.
The line rang for a long stretch before someone finally answered with a deep voice.

“Hello.”

It was George Hamilton, the founder and CEO of Quantum Fund.

“It’s me. Rodney.”
“We just spoke a moment ago, and now you’re calling again—something must have come up.”

Hamilton’s voice sounded distant because he was in Hungary, his homeland, attending to personal charitable work.
Rodney adjusted the receiver against his ear and spoke.

“I believe we need to accelerate the Britain operation we’ve been preparing.”

Hamilton’s tone hardened slightly.

“Has a problem arisen?”
“Nothing critical, but we’re beginning to see pound-selling movements appearing in the market.”
“Hmm. When you think about it, anyone could identify the Bank of England’s vulnerabilities, so it’s perhaps inevitable.”
“That’s why I want to ring the opening bell before the Bank of England tightens its guard further.”

After a brief silence, Hamilton spoke dryly.

“Do it.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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