Chapter Seventy-Six: Shock on Wall Street

The Christmas of 1979 was destined to be anything but peaceful. The Soviets were still sharpening their weapons, looking as if they could strike at any moment. Afghanistan, being the weakest of the weak, could hardly withstand the torment that was coming. Although many countries were mediating, the efforts so far had been of little effect. The Soviet mindset was truly baffling—what was the point of fixating on such a barren, godforsaken place?

Was it about strategic importance? The Soviets held their deadliest assets—nuclear submarines and missiles—safely at home. One could only wonder what possessed them to once attempt establishing a base right at America’s doorstep, only to disgrace themselves before the world and nearly trigger a third world war. It hadn’t even been many years since that debacle, yet here they were again, playing the game of military expansion.

The Soviets had made themselves the enemy of the world, yet they pressed on recklessly. Was this a union of the polar bear and a teddy bear? Things were not much better in America either; the treasury was empty, and even if they wanted to intervene, they were powerless to do so. They couldn’t fight a war without dollars, and besides, public sentiment was one of panic—tycoons were already digging air-raid shelters. If the US really got involved, the economy would spiral into an abyss.

Rumors spread that someone had siphoned off hundreds of millions of dollars from the BY market, leaving all of Wall Street in a stupor. Vague as it was, this news instantly set the market ablaze. Everyone had suffered terribly this year, and to learn that someone out there was making a fortune was enough to leave people speechless.

Despite the rumor’s ambiguity, the market raised no doubts. Had the story been more detailed, it might have seemed suspect—at this level of high-stakes play, outsiders could never be privy to the truth. Old Hunter was filled with bitterness—he had taken a tremendous fall this time. Frankly, being pecked blind by a mere sparrow was a humiliating disgrace, perhaps the greatest of his life.

As for burning bridges, those had been burned long ago. Did they really think their opponent would shy away from short selling? If that young man decided to go mad, he could absolutely crush their support line. Enemies were already plentiful; there simply hadn’t been a ringleader. Once William White raised his banner, there would be no shortage of people eager to kick the Hunter family while they were down.

At this point, accepting defeat and paying up was the only choice. The stocks of White Oil in hand—best to let them go, or they were bound to die a miserable death.

Was there hatred? Perhaps. But fear was the prevailing emotion. Their opponent had been acting all along, laying traps since the hostile takeover began. It was a pitfall they were forced to jump into. Now was not the time to seek trouble, but to prepare an escape plan for the family. If disaster struck, they would have no tears left to cry.

Should this escalate into a family feud, outsiders would not take sides easily. If hostilities broke out in earnest, innocent casualties would not be unthinkable. Fortunately, up to this point, the conflict had remained economic, with no further escalation.

The major players understood now—they were dealing with someone for whom money was no object. Acquisitions were out of the question; simply not being excluded as an investor was blessing enough. Companies of this type, without exception, were private enterprises.

In America, private businesses were often highly profitable, but usually small in scale, with little debt, and shareholders were mostly family members. There were no strict listing requirements; any company that qualified could go public. Some, like Google, were practically forced to list. Their ethos was to share profits, and secret wealth accumulation was forbidden. If shareholder numbers exceeded a certain threshold, listing became mandatory.

To retain top talent, White Software offered stock incentives. Without these shares to anchor them, most employees would have left. William White’s points system was a masterstroke—those with high scores were nearly impossible to poach, unless one was willing to pay a hefty price.

Whether in software or games, creativity was always the most vital quality. High-level coding could only embellish a project; without the right creative spark, the most skilled programmer was still just a code monkey.

When it came to benefits, there was simply no comparison. White Software’s free lunches were nothing short of lavish—apart from some restrictions on alcohol, everything was fully open to staff.

The company’s current office building was still a rental, which brought certain inconveniences. The new headquarters, however, was even more outrageous; over half the facilities were for recreation. With a boss like that, what more could one complain about?

Life for William White had grown leisurely; everything was on track, and there was no need to overexert himself. A gradual approach was best.

Envy was only natural. Besides the unfortunate Hunter family, several of Wall Street’s sharks were beside themselves with jealousy. The most resentful among them was Soros.

Soros, at this point, was still inexperienced, far from the terror he would become in later years. He knew he lacked the qualifications to join this contest. Yet reality taught him a lesson—the size of one’s ambition determined the size of one’s world. William White, too, was merely an ant—perhaps a slightly stronger ant.

But look at what he accomplished: he pinned down the Hunter family and bled them dry, not only retaining his own family assets but also causing Old Hunter to stumble badly. Most galling of all, he knew when to stop.

To the Wall Street elite, William White was just lucky. They eagerly awaited his next big investment, certain that eventually, all that money would find its way back into their shark-infested waters. But he simply walked away, closed every account involved in the trade, and vanished from that arena as if he had never participated at all.

This left the elite gnashing their teeth in frustration. If you don’t play, you can’t lose—a truth as blunt as it was infuriating.

Want to compete? Wonderful—head to Hollywood instead. William White was thriving there, with another box-office hit about to be released. If you’re not convinced, go and try your luck in that arena.

William White’s advantage was his keen foresight. Only a madman would chase unreliable ventures. History could fluctuate, but with enough force, many things could change. This time, the Hunter family suffered a blow far worse than in the original timeline. In his previous life, the family had endured for quite some time—less extravagant than before, but still wealthy.

The securities market wasn’t that big. Many of today’s household names were still mere saplings. A little investment might not mean much, but heavy investment could yield unpredictable results.

To avoid causing a stir, the best tactic was to intercept—buying Coke before Buffett, for example, or grabbing Tencent before Li Ka-shing. As for other companies, one could only go with the flow. If the opportunity was right, taking a small stake—so long as it didn’t exceed five percent—would likely cause no trouble.

Morgan Stanley had once again raised its valuation of Apple. This time, Jobs showed little reaction—he was already a billionaire, even if only on paper. Still, that made him one of the world’s richest men.

What Jobs wanted most now was to show off in front of William White. After all, at this stage, he was still very much a headstrong youth, craving social recognition above all.