Chapter 120: The Capital Game

"Bang! That bastard, he’s profiting and still acting smug." As a representative of the Gold Group, Russell Smith shouldn't have been so impolite. Today's guests were not his subordinates or juniors; every one of them was a titan of industry.

"Old man, his argument holds water. What is absolute power without restraint? You should have learned that lesson at Auschwitz."

Gold was their common interest, but beyond that, things were not so clear. The Jewish financial syndicates only enjoyed surface-level glory; if they pushed things too far, did they really think there was no one left to keep them in check?

George W. Bush didn't grasp the meaning behind William White’s words, but his father understood perfectly. This wasn't just a matter of money; it was a matter of breaking the rules.

Breaking the rules wasn't entirely impossible—after all, the elite were the primary beneficiaries of those rules—but to do so with such reckless abandon? Were they planning to defect to the Soviets?

The ones who feared this the most were the Jewish syndicates. The question was, did they dare to keep playing with fire?

If this happened again, there wouldn't be many people left standing.

Since the end of World War II, competition between syndicates and families had remained within the rules. No one went around bombing a competitor's factory; that was a tactic from the last century.

Hadn't they made a fortune in Germany back then, too?

And what was the result?

Using power or violence, there is no essential difference; these are both means outside the rules.

William White’s message was crystal clear: you can’t do this. Without a reasonable explanation, the current balance would be shattered.

Are you planning a return to the Warring States period?

If the old timers didn't provide an explanation, William White would be the first to flee. The United States was no longer a safe haven; the families better start praying to God.

As for the desert tycoons who got shafted?

No one mentioned them.

Their ability to court disaster had reached the stratosphere; they were truly the gold standard of infinite self-destruction.

What is the nature of controlling oil?

It is the lifeblood of every industrialized nation. By holding such a treasure, you invite disaster; the sensible thing to do is to seek shelter under a hegemon, yet they dared to threaten the big brother.

Heh, this time they even planned to undermine the foundation of the global reserve currency. What kind of brain does it take to pull off something like that?

The fires of war in the desert are just the lingering symptoms of the oil crisis. Until alternative energy sources emerge, there will be no peace there.

The old timers had to carefully consider the Hunt family’s conditions, or it would end in catastrophe—and they would certainly be the ones left to take the fall.

As gold continued to depreciate, William White spent his days counting his money, while the desert tycoons suffered the greatest losses.

They had finally sobered up. The waters of capital were too deep; money alone wasn't enough. Their previous way of thinking could only be described as naive.

The restructuring of the chip company wasn't happening overnight, but the design department had already shifted its focus entirely.

William White’s requirements were simple: strip away the 32-bit components, keep the CPU frequency above 2 MHz, and fully cover the 6502 market.

The 60-series chips needed to reduce power consumption, and the company began fully investing in the R&D of industrial chipsets.

Ricoh expressed strong support for this R&D goal, even hoping to inject more capital.

Although Motorola’s designers didn't understand the move, their senior management realized that William White’s target was cheap chips—a strategy completely contrary to their original plans.

Sell the shares to Ricoh or the White family?

They weren't foolish children. According to the industrial blueprint William White presented, the number of CPUs required wouldn't be counted in the thousands.

Regardless, they had to build it as requested first; an order for two million units was no joke.

"Damn, no wonder he insisted on entering this industry. Otherwise, who could guarantee the supply?"

Regarding this volume of orders, Ricoh stated there would be no difficulty. If everything went smoothly, they were confident that production would reach the million-unit level within six months.

Motorola’s production department nearly choked; no wonder these cheap chips were to be produced in Japan—it would have been absolutely impossible for them to meet the goal.

At the same time, they were developing a 6600 chip. It was truly baffling why someone would go against the grain when everyone else was chasing 32-bit technology.

The lawsuit with OC had dragged on for too long; there was no need to remain entangled. It was easier to just build one himself. By using an 8-bit processor with a 16-bit bus, he would achieve a crushing performance advantage.

Don't look down on the Apple II just because it was aging; they wouldn't mind a minor refresh, provided the price wasn't outrageous.

Motorola’s 60-series chip was a massive gold mine. Anyone who would discard something that was still being widely used in 2010 was a fool.

OC was a small company after all. Once William White poached their key technical staff, they were essentially living off past glory. After being hit repeatedly, a direct acquisition would be simpler—why go through all the trouble?

Designing downward was simple enough, and with the 6502 as a reference, he believed the industrial version would be ready soon.

By the time his home game console hit the market, Atari would likely be finished. He was very much looking forward to that day.

Gold fell sharply, and market panic began to subside. The recklessness of the capital markets had stirred the dissatisfaction of the Federal Reserve.

Paul Volcker despised gold speculators; the "exit" game the Americans were playing was his own orchestration.

It could be said that before this round of inflation, his plan was near perfect, and inflation was kept within a controllable range.

After the Hunt family’s stunt, the old man nearly coughed up blood. All their efforts had been reduced to nothing, and it was impossible to avoid a heavy price; the recession of the U.S. economy was inevitable.

His attitude toward the Hunt family could only be described as gnashing his teeth; years of hard work turned to ash—it would be hell if he weren't furious.

He didn't like what the Commodity Futures Trading Commission did either. Like William White, he found it unacceptable.

Look at that—you acted like rogues, and the Hunt family followed suit, resulting in a "you’re a rogue, but I’m even more shameless" standoff.

He didn't have a good impression of William White either. He didn't subscribe to those wild legends; he believed the kid was just trying to spite the Hunt family and got lucky.

There were too many uncertain variables involved. If the desert tycoons hadn't been dragged in, he would have been liquidated long ago. How could he have picked up such a massive bargain?

Shorting gold?

That would have been even simpler. If they had allowed silver trading, he would have switched to shorting that long ago; the profit margins were far higher than gold.

One bastard was making a fortune while mocking everyone else, while the other was waiting for a government bailout—the irony was palpable.

And then there were those parasites on Wall Street who never possessed a shred of awe. Could the blood of so many predecessors not wake those bastards up?

Paul Volcker was looking for someone to take the blame, and the target was naturally that group of bastards. In any case, those banks could not be allowed to collapse, or a severe crisis would ensue.

William White?

Everyone wanted to avoid hearing that name. He was a guy who loved to rub salt into wounds; it was better to keep a safe distance.