Street 13

Ongoing

Street 13

The company cafeteria. 

Today's dinner menu for me is a cheeseburger. 

"This burger isn't bad, huh?" 

As I take a bite, the minced meat crumbles apart, and the texture is no joke. 

The caramelization of the onions was done well, too. 

It didn't used to taste this good, so it seems like my taste buds have really reset. 

While I am busily munching away, the two guys who called Rachel out are chatting excitedly. 

"I was so confused in the weekly meeting because I couldn't understand a thing. It wasn't just me, right?" 

"Yeah, it was English, but I couldn't keep up at all, which made it even scarier. How about you, Rachel?" 

"Me too." 

"Ha ha, right?" 

As they talk, the guys keep glancing at Rachel. 

Their behavior is cautious, which means, if they're interested in her romantically, they would either aggressively flaunt their masculinity or play it gentlemanly. 

But cautious? 

That means they are aware of Rachel's connections. 

"As expected, they know about her background." 

It would be great if they just dropped some hints since I can't directly ask, but these guys aren't stupid. 

Their conversation remains focused on work. 

They're making an effort not to trigger Rachel's defenses. 

"So, has everyone started staffing?" 

"Not yet for me…" 

"What about you, Rachel?" 

"Chemical M&A. Here, Sean is working on it too." 

As Rachel mentions me, she looks at the two guys with a sense of anticipation in her eyes. 

I barely held back a chuckle. 

'We're thinking the same thing.' 

Just like I'm trying to gather information using those two, Rachel wants to hear something about me through them. 

She's hoping for a reaction like, "Sean? Are you the guy from that bet?" but that's a naive thought. 

"They're not idiots." 

Doing that would only draw more of Rachel's attention to me. 

"What about you, Jim?" 

"IPO. I landed a pretty big deal this time…" 

See? They're not going to talk about me. 

Rachel didn't seem to expect this and quickly lowered her gaze, stabbing at her salad with her fork. 

She looked disappointed. 

Meanwhile, the guys continued chatting animatedly. 

"A big deal? What is it? You're in the tech department, right?" 

"Didn't you hear during orientation? Chinese wall! Even if we're at the same company, I can't tell you. Just wait a few months, haha." 

If it's an IPO of this size that someone in the tech department would brag about, there's something that comes to mind. 

"Twitter?" 

"Huh?" 

"Am I right? Facebook's IPO tanked recently, so maybe they're going for NYSE instead of NASDAQ?" 

The guy's jaw dropped, and the other guy's eyes widened. 

"What? Is it really Twitter?" 

"No comment. But how do you know about this stuff?" 

"Sean's from Silicon Valley." 

This time, the princess mentioned my background, but 

I had no intention of spilling more information about myself. 

I tore open a wet tissue and wiped my hands, casually replying, "I just guessed. I don't know much about tech, it's not my field." 

Normally, the conversation would flow from here into, "Then what's your field?" 

"Biopharmaceuticals." 

"Oh, so that's what the bet was about?" 

But… 

"Ah….Right…" 

Because the two guys trailed off, there was an awkward silence for a moment. 

Disappointed, Princess Rachel lowered her head again and poked at her salad. 

"These guys won't do." 

They're being overly cautious of me. 

It's clear I won't be able to get any information about Rachel through them. 

Still, there was some gain. 

I confirmed that the princess is curious about me. 

And that's not all. 

When Twitter eventually goes public, the princess will remember me. 

She might even mention something like this to someone around her: 

– A guy from my company predicted Twitter's IPO before it happened…. 

Building a reputation for accuracy is always a good thing. 

You have to collect these little opportunities whenever they come, but unfortunately, this is it for today. 

"Ugh, I really don't want to work." 

"Yeah, but it wouldn't look good to disappear for too long on the first day." 

Lunch was over. 

Everyone was clearing their trays and getting up. 

I stood up as well, and then I noticed a few people running towards me. 

"Hey, newbie! Is it true about the 5,000 dollars?" 

"You! I heard you bet your salary!" 

Here we go again. 

I was curious about how the two guys who tried to hush this up and Rachel, who wanted to hear it, would react, but— 

"Is it true?" 

One of my seniors completely blocked my view. 

Let's focus on this for now. 

"News travels fast." 

"Ha! It's true! Yeah, that's what makes a real man!" 

"Alright, I'm betting too! My salary!" 

"Me too, 7,000 on Brent!" 

Just as I expected. 

They wouldn't come running just to ask a confirmation question and then run off— they came here to get involved. 

"May I have your department and name, senior?" 

"TMT group. Just mention Crack, they'll know." 

"Syndicate Desk Liar." 

I opened my notepad and started jotting down the names of my betting clients. 

By the time I finished, the two guys and Rachel were gone. 

"Did they hear?" 

I didn't have to wait long to find out. 

As soon as I got back to my department, the questions started pouring in. 

"Sean, earlier… is it true?" 

That thing…. 

"What do you mean?" 

"The bet with your salary." 

Now that was a direct hit. 

It's a personal question with no relation to work. 

When exactly…. Come to think of it, the princess wasn't there earlier. 

When seniors suddenly run off every time they see me, it's natural for her to be curious. 

When I sincerely answered all her questions, she responded like this: 

"But your opponent is experienced…." 

"It's fine. I don't start games I don't have a chance to win." 

"...I see." 

She doesn't believe me at all. 

But there's a bigger problem. 

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed just a little. 

It's not that she's worried about me, but rather, she's reacting negatively to my recklessness. 

'Was I too intense for the princess?' 

People who only prefer healthy food might be unfamiliar with MSG. 

She's not a fan of someone stirring things up by betting their salary. 

But it's fine. 

MSG is something you get used to gradually. 

While Rachel's taste buds are adjusting, I have to keep my eyes on the new opportunities right in front of me. 

What matters on Wall Street? 

Money. 

And what do you need to make money? 

Liquidity. 

The moment I bet my salary, the game changed. 

From now on, it's poker. 

If you don't call or raise, you fold, which is essentially leaving the game. 

And we forget about the ones who fold without hesitation. 

Then we sift out the real ones from the ones still betting. 

The ones who come to me voluntarily and throw down their salaries fall into one of two categories. 

They're either bold, dopamine-driven addicts, or they're rich enough that losing their salary doesn't matter. 

I need the latter. 

If they're truly wealthy, they could become my future fund clients. 

Recruiting hedge fund investors is not easy. 

It's not something just anyone can join. 

They use high-risk, high-return strategies without hesitation, and there's no compensation if they fail. 

What would happen if an average person jumped into this? 

That's why, by law, only people with extra money are allowed to invest. 

In other words, there are conditions to becoming a hedge fund investor. 

So, what are those conditions? 

Annual income of over 200,000 dollars. 

Or assets worth more than 1 million dollars. 

Converted into Korean won? 

An annual salary of over 260 million won. 

Or assets (excluding the value of one's home) worth more than 1.3 billion won. 

Moreover, the minimum investment required for a single fund is about 100 million won. 

To summarize? 

It's a fund only for the wealthy. 

So, who are these wealthy people? 

They're mostly white. 

Who do wealthy white people entrust their money to? 

They entrust it to their white acquaintances. 

It's not racism; it's human nature. 

When humans are handling large sums of money, they usually choose someone from within their own social network. 

Of course, this decision is based on a deeply selfish calculation. 

They believe that entrusting it to someone they know gives them an informational advantage. 

Got a question? 

You can just casually ask over drinks, right? 

Moreover, there's a sort of social insurance at play. 

It's easy to shift blame if you lose someone else's money, but what if it's your best friend's son-in-law? 

You wouldn't spend recklessly. 

And before something goes wrong, you'd probably get a heads-up. 

You can even gauge how well the fund is doing just by observing your friend's mood or spending habits. 

On Wall Street, this kind of relationship is called "credibility." 

To succeed in the fund business, credibility is essential. 

In fact, large hedge funds don't have enormous assets just because their performance is exceptionally good. 

It's because they have deep credibility, and wealthy people trust them with their money. 

The point is, connections are important. 

Especially connections with wealthy white people. 

If I start a fund and record high returns, wouldn't rich white people come running to me? 

In two years, I'll be thirty. 

How many people do you think will throw down a million dollars on some young Asian guy from an unknown family? 

They'll probably watch me for a year or two, see if I can consistently prove my skills, and then, maybe, open their wallets. 

But someone with a limited time frame can't afford to wait 1-2 years. 

Now, what if the same unknown young Asian guy happens to be a colleague of their son? 

And he's even rumored to be a genius with a sharp eye since his Goldman Sachs days? 

Then they might throw down a million dollars right away. 

That's the power of credibility. 

And the more credibility you have, the better. 

"Hey, rookie! Can I join too? The bet." 

Even without actively seeking them out, seniors are starting to come to me one by one. 

I'm quietly assessing and categorizing each one of them. 

"Ha! Yeah, this is why we do this! So, who else is in?" 

This guy's out. 

He's too interested in the other participants. 

It seems like he wants to use this bet to boost his own status. 

If he needs a bet like this to elevate himself, he's not a useful client. 

"My name? Oh, you probably don't know me. Sherer." 

This guy is marked for now. 

His attitude implies he thinks I should recognize him. 

But it could just be bluffing, so I'll need to investigate more. 

"Are you that rookie?" 

The Hispanic man with the relaxed demeanor might be promising. 

People of color who enter Wall Street tend to fall into one of two categories. 

Either they are immigrants who climbed the ladder with grit, or they come from wealthy families abroad. 

If he's willing to throw down his salary, he's likely the latter. 

It's best to leave a strong impression on such a person. 

"Are you betting too, senior?" 

"No, but there are a few guys making a fuss about it. Is betting your salary really such a big deal?" 

"It's not about the amount." 

"Then what is it?" 

"This is what makes it fun. It's like the difference between playing soccer with and without keeping score." 

"Ah!" 

Finally, the man smiled and clapped his hand into his palm. 

"Yeah, it's more fun when you keep score! Can I join too?" 

"Of course. Could I get your department and name, senior?" 

"Natural Resources Department, name's Gonzalez." 

This is another positive sign. 

He could be the heir to a mining empire. 

"Still, I'll rank him below Rachel for now." 

Foreign tycoons tend to lack connections in the U.S., so the compounding effect works more in Rachel's favor. 

I still haven't figured out her exact background, but there's a reason MDs are bowing down to her. 

That's credibility. 

So far, fifteen seniors have approached me. 

The number is small, but the impact isn't bad. 

"Did you hear? Another one joined, Gonzalez this time?" 

"Ha, that guy would. But what's the total pot now?" 

"Must be over 110,000 dollars, right?" 

If it were just Pierce's bet, it would've become stale after a day or two, but now, every time a new bettor joins, everyone whispers about it. 

A bet that only the wealthy at Goldman Sachs can join. 

And the pot has already exceeded an annual salary. 

By steadily adding fuel to the fire, the rumors haven't cooled down. 

But by the afternoon, a concerning rumor reached my ears. 

"Did you hear about that?" 

"Hear what?" 

"The Healthcare MD went after Pierce." 

Word has it that two MDs are clashing over this bet. 

Who knows… the game might change again. 

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