Stock Price Manipulation 2

Each one shielded their face, ignoring the broadcast crew with their conspicuous mics and cameras. The embarrassment of being outmaneuvered by the HU group not once, but twice, left them averse to any camera attention.

"Chairman, I'll be the one to touch base next time."

President Do was the first to make a swift exit. The thought of familiar eyes catching him on the 9 PM news, possibly disappointing his father back home, had him leaving his place swiftly.

Lee Sang-hoon, observing the departure, promptly took his parents' hands and led them away.

"Let's go as well. Staying seems futile."

The Lee family hurriedly moved away as the crew continued to film.

Driving back with his parents, Lee Sang-hoon devised a plan.

"Tomorrow, regardless of what happens, visit the bank first for document reissuance. Then inform the brokerage about your lost credentials. They might instruct a branch visit, so act early, allowing for swift stock sales once markets open."

Confused, his mother asked, "How can we sell shares with just replacements?"

Lee Sang-hoon, noticing the strains of the day on her, comforted her.

"Don't stress. With the restored ID, password, and certificate, I'll handle the stocks. Ignore Mr. Do's view; ready yourself to act fast if a selling window appears."

Her father, reassured by Sang-hoon, echoed, "Trust in Sang-hoon. Our role is merely the preparation."

"But is it safe? An error might risk it all," his mother worried.

"Keep calm. Even at a price fivefold our purchase, the risk remains manageable," Sang-hoon assuaged her concerns.

Though reassuring his mother, his own spirits were low.

The following day, rather than heading to work, Lee Sang-hoon, deeply engrossed in his sister's business, mapped out tasks for his parents. He detailed bank and brokerage procedures and left them to their tasks at eight in the morning. Alone, he scoured online forums for intelligence.

[Luho, the situation seems pretty dire, don't you think?]

[Silence all around. Is there any way out of this?]

[How long can we endure if the prices hit rock bottom?]

[Could this be the absolute lowest the store can go?]

[We're braced for up to a three-room drop. What about everyone else?]

Lee Sang-hoon, unfamiliar with certain terms, sought definitions first.

The 'lower limit' in the stock market refers to a set daily fluctuation range; prices can't rise or fall beyond these bounds. This range had expanded to 15% in Sang-hoon's time, meaning stocks couldn't climb or dip over that percentage, with the market closing if the 15% plummet were reached.

Then there's the 'store limit,' referring to a market that opens at a -15% drop and doesn't recover by closing time, appearing as a single static point on charts, inducing sweat at the mere thought.

Lee Sang-hoon dared not envision the dismal scenario implied by a starting point-down limit, yet contrary to his hopes, things were spiraling down.

[Check the backlog of Luho shares]

[Incredible, I've never seen anything like this]

[Terrible. My sympathies are with the Luho holders]

Sang-hoon quickly logged onto the trading system after a while on the bulletin board and pulled up Luho's data. Before the 9 AM market opening, pre-market pricing was in process, where the starting price was determined by reservation trades based on the previous day's close.

Normally, bids fluctuate with each new buy or sell reservation, and these fluctuations increase as 9 o'clock approaches. However, Luho shares were immovable, stuck at the -15% point, with a growing backlog of shares on the sell side but no incoming buy orders.

A wave of cold dread washed over Sang-hoon. The price dropped from 51,000 won to 43,300 won—a 15% fall. His parents' investment of 70 million won seemed to vanish in an instant. Despite a still sizable profit from the original 10,000 won purchase price, the sheer loss weighed heavily on him.

"Exhausting."

At 9 AM, trading began. While other stocks saw active buying and selling, Luho was stagnant, with only sell orders accumulating at the bottom limit, virtually paralyzing the trade.

Sang-hoon didn't linger on the bulletin board. The posts there multiplied and vanished quickly, reflecting rampant curiosity and concern.

However, the tone soon shifted to mockery. Photos of a shabby shack, purportedly Luho's headquarters, were shared, and those holding shares were mercilessly ridiculed.

Sang-hoon, lost in thought, slumped back in his chair.

'No escape today... How agonizing.'

After his parents left to handle their business, he took a walk, pondering the potential loss if the value kept dropping.

'If it's 7,000 loss per day, that's 350 million by week's end. Yet, when and where will it stop?'

Sang-hoon knew if the trend continued, at some point, it would result in a net loss. Delving into history, he discovered chilling precedents of prolonged market lows.

His research revealed a disturbing past—a business once faced a harrowing 42-day losing streak, with stocks plummeting 95%. Another chilling moment occurred four years prior, with stocks declining 92% over 21 days. These numbers were more dire than Sang-hoon had hoped.

Back from the walk, feeling somewhat refreshed, Sang-hoon listened as his father recounted completing their banking tasks, offering a newly issued ID and password. Sang-hoon's mother hovered, tense, by the computer.

"The price dropped to 43,000 won today."

"43,000 won? Good. Let's sell promptly."

When it became apparent that the sale couldn't proceed today due to the lack of buyers, his parents were confused and worried.

"Won't someone want to buy?"

"We have to be hopeful... but if not..."

Sang-hoon left the sentence unfinished, the heavy possibilities unspoken.

"Anyway, since you're ready, don't dwell on it negatively. Look at it positively. Isn't it still a substantial gain from the initial 20,000 won?"

Despite his reassurances, Sang-hoon hid the grim reality that a more than 90% drop was possible—well beyond his parents' worst-case scenario.

"Right. We'll be primed to sell first thing tomorrow, so don't stress too much now. In the worst-case scenario, we fight for a main battle, and if not, we minimize the damage. Just wait."

Resolving to maintain the house and avoid complete ruin, Sang-hoon urged his parents to rest. The weight of responsibility seemed to grow heavy on him as he went out for a breath of fresh air, seeking respite and clarity.

Returning home, Sang-hoon found an ominous headline flashing on his computer screen about Luho's uncertain journey and the widespread panic gripping the market. The article detailed the potential for a halt in trading and the ghostly specter of widespread financial manipulation.

After taking a moment to digest the grim news, Sang-hoon realized the importance of positivity amidst the storm, yet couldn't ignore the looming challenges. He steadied himself for whatever lay ahead.