Warren Buffett, George Soros, Julian Robertson, John Bogle.
The commonality among these legendary figures of American finance was simple—they were all quite old.
They were born in almost the same era: 1930, 1930, 1932, and 1929, respectively. A well-known piece of trivia: Soros was born exactly 18 days before Buffett.
Which meant they had each spent at least three decades entrenched in Wall Street. Naturally, the thought of retirement couldn’t be ignored.
Of course, it was rare for someone who had spent thirty years in Wall Street to step down willingly. Just look at Meriwether, born in 1947, still clinging to LTCM. Which is why I had crafted a plan to help my old mentor retire—
somewhat forcibly.
***
The surprise event I planned this time was bound to have its ups and downs.
First, the size of the futures market itself was different, and so was the environment.
In the late 1990s, the annual trading volume of the crude oil futures market was only a few hundred million barrels, whereas by 2020 it exceeded ten billion barrels a year.
The one fortunate thing was that, unlike 2020, the North Sea crude market wasn’t as dominant in the 1990s. WTI held far more sway back then. Once I brought the shale gas card into play, the market expanded quickly enough.
Anyway, what happened in 2020 was the result of numerous investors rushing in without any real plans for physical delivery. The negative oil price back then was fundamentally caused by too many players in the futures market. With fewer participants now, it would never drop into the negatives under normal circumstances.
Think of it like trying to develop YouTube in an era without personal computers—approach it wrong, and you just burn money.
In the late 90s, when smartphones didn’t exist and PCs weren’t yet widespread, retail investors were exceedingly rare in the futures market. Even in early 21st-century Korea, if someone said they lost money on futures, most people would tilt their heads in confusion.
‘Though things have changed a little now.’
When the crude oil futures market first launched in 1983, the daily trading volume was reportedly just 1,000 contracts. By the late 90s, it had grown to hundreds of thousands of contracts a day—a hundredfold increase over twenty years. But I wasn’t satisfied.
The era itself had changed. The 90s of this life were fundamentally different from my previous one.
—Rustle.
“When did they bring all this here? Ahaha.”
I smiled at my ever-so-attentive secretary’s office. A stack of articles I’d like had been perfectly clipped together.
[Talents Flocking to Wall Street... A Frenzy Comparable to the Gold Rush]
[Golden Age Phenomenon, Linked to Ultra-Low Interest Rates. Greenspan: ‘No Rate Hike Plans for Now,’ Firmly Declares]
That was right.
East Asia’s economy had been half-ruined, Russia had declared a moratorium, LTCM had collapsed, countless hedge funds had shut down, and some of Wall Street’s most famous banks had closed their doors...
And yet, to the god of gold, it was all good.
“It’s only the truth, miss.”
My secretary, who had rushed over the moment I arrived at Daehwa Securities, answered quietly.
“That’s true. I’m just so amazing that even the truth sounds like flattery.”
I had been in a rather good mood lately.
Think about it—nothing else, but one hundred billion dollars.
The moment Alpha Fund’s one-hundred-billion-dollar profit was confirmed, Alpha Fund itself became a symbol of the spirit of the age.
A powerful person is powerful because people recognize their power, and in the modern world, where money is the most fluid form of power, it is useless without trust.
Meaning, the strength of something is determined entirely by how people perceive it.
Haven’t we often seen how a well-made drama, movie, or novel can influence major life decisions? Like how a popular drama about hotels can suddenly boost admissions into hospitality programs.
So it was only natural that talent and money flowed like water into Wall Street and Alpha Fund, which had just written a modern-day myth.
“From Daehwa Securities’ perspective, it must be a bit disappointing, right? You’ve served me for a long time, and among East Asian securities firms, you’ve shown notable growth, but in the end, the spotlight is hogged by an American company.”
“No, it’s fine. In the end, the true path to success is serving you well, miss. I may not be an executive at Daehwa Securities, but I’m sure they think the same way.”
“Ah, are you saying something like this? That if you serve me well, you get to enjoy some good scenery?”
I grinned mischievously and undid one of my top buttons.
“...I’m only here to serve you faithfully, miss.”
My secretary straightened my collar and shook his head. He was the same man who once panicked and fled when I tried to enter the bath, but now, perhaps thanks to some training, he managed to keep a poker face.
—Thud.
I lifted my leg onto the table. My legs, wrapped in black stockings, were as beautiful as ever.
“Good, I like a loyal secretary.”
“...Thank you.”
Though technically a new secretary, he had been in the student council before, so I’d known of him for a while. That was the advantage of student council recruits—no need to test their loyalty.
“Whether it’s loyalty or infatuation, I don’t really care. Feels the same to me.”
“....”
“Just kidding.”
I smirked and stretched out my slender hand. Gazing through my small fingers at the view beyond, I felt a faint weight press against me.
These tiny fingers were ruling the global financial world.
“Actually, it’s a problem if even you start thinking I’m that amazing.”
“Miss?”
“The amazing one is Alpha Fund, not the youngest Alpha Fund director, ‘Yoo Ha-yeon.’ Of course, give it five years, and that’ll change, but for now, it’s true.”
Everyone thought Alpha Fund was the ultimate crust of the 20th century and the greatest financial organization—and so it became one.
Now, more people than ever were knocking on Alpha Fund’s door, and the influx of talent rushing into Wall Street was more than enough to replace all the retired or bankrupt fund managers.
The reason was simple—they all wanted to make money.
Most didn’t care where that money came from, nor were they interested in losers.
Derivatives are essentially a zero-sum game. Where do you think I made that one hundred billion dollars (actually more)?
‘I’ve no reason to refuse newbies lining up to hand me their money.’
Still, I couldn’t afford to grow complacent. There was a reason I kept striving, even while holding hundreds of billions of dollars and aiming for the chairmanship of Daehwa Group.
“...I don’t really understand. Isn’t it all the same? Alpha Fund exists because of you, miss.”
I answered firmly.
“But people don’t know that. In the end, what people believe is the name and their own belief in it.”
Just look at Jobs—he was kicked out of Apple once. What do you think ordinary people who don’t see behind the curtain would believe?
I smiled faintly.
“Well, I’m just saying you and the student council kids need to work harder. You can do that, right?”
“Ah, y-yes! I’ll do my best!”
“Good, I’ll trust you.”
I stood up, draped a coat over my shirt, and put on my watch and shoes.
It was time to work.
.
.
.
“Alright! Everyone ready?”
At Daehwa Securities, I swept my gaze over the team. They’d grown used to my sudden visits; though their heads jerked reflexively, they quickly responded.
“Yes!”
“Good! Don’t be too nervous—I’ll do the worrying for you. Treat practice like the real thing and the real thing like practice. We did well in training, didn’t we?”
“....”
A slightly awkward silence.
“Oh, we didn’t? Ahaha, well, just do better now.”
Though I spoke cheerfully, I was rather tense inside.
As I said before, this was very different from anything I’d done before. This wasn’t about pushing a boulder already teetering on the edge of a cliff—it was about rolling a boulder all the way to the cliff myself.
Normally, even with future knowledge, you wouldn’t do this. But I prided myself on rolling boulders like Sisyphus, so here we were.
—Thud.
Smiling in satisfaction, I pulled a few gold bars from my coat and set them on the table. Carrying them in my clothes had been quite the hassle, given how heavy gold bars were.
“Here, a little gift for each of you. A cash bonus in gold, ahaha.”
“Th-thank you!”
The employees gaped at the gleaming gold and bowed repeatedly.
“My house is full of gold these days. Can’t get rid of it fast enough, haha. Work hard, and I’ll show you something even better when this is over.”
I hadn’t expected Korea to have so much gold. It was a moment that proved just how capable Daehwa Trading really was.
Even across my two lives, I’d never seen this much gold.
The only places with more than my house now were Fort Knox or the New York Fed’s vault.
—Rustle.
“Miss, documents you need to review.”
The team leader, looking much more relaxed after receiving the gold, handed me a file.
The title ‘Bank of Korea’ stood out clearly.
[Audit Report on Eight Korean Securities Firms]
[Analysis of the Revised Derivatives Regulation Act]
Financial stability reports, economic analysis, economic outlook reports...
Hmm, quite well done.
—Tap, tap.
“There really is a lot of talent in this country. So, are they complaining that the derivatives regulations have been loosened too much?”
The author seemed rather hostile toward Daehwa Securities.
[...While the relaxation of derivatives regulations should indeed proceed gradually in line with Korea’s economic growth, the current financial market’s rapid pace, ignoring all such discourse, raises suspicion of Daehwa Securities’ monopoly.]
“This being a copy, I guess this isn’t the official report?”
“...Yes. We intercepted it before it went into the shredder. Thought you should see it.”
Impressive. A report the Bank of Korea tried to scrap was now sitting right on my desk.
‘Well, I did bring a lot of derivatives into Korea.’
ETFs... admittedly, they hadn’t done much, but the other derivatives had worked quite well.
Mostly ruining people’s lives, of course. Derivatives are usually zero-sum games, and I always won.
And right now, the futures team was out there recruiting suckers to dive into the crude oil market.
“So you’re showing me this because you’re nervous?”
“...I can’t deny it. Daehwa Securities may not be much globally, but in Korea, it holds unrivaled power—thanks to you, miss.”
“Hmm...”
I only wanted to {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} acquire Yukong and play around a bit, but things had gotten out of hand.
Why were they all so obsessed with me, really?
Sure, the only difference was that I was selling oil, not water.