Chapter 108: The Golden Savage

Regardless of whether others were satisfied or not, William White was elated. The beleaguered reporters, repeatedly struck by blows, found themselves at a loss for how to write their articles; their minds were utterly muddled.

There was simply nothing much to say—helping to flatter was the only option. This matter was simply not something to criticize.

Twenty million dollars was no small sum; it required a dedicated team to manage. As long as it wasn’t a publicly raised charity fund, there were usually no overly strict requirements. It was merely a game for the wealthy.

Now that someone had indeed donated, it was best to keep quiet and avoid stirring trouble; offending a large group of people would be unwise. As for William White, he was merely being targeted and felt indignant—youthful arrogance was to be expected.

The poor reporters inevitably lost their jobs. That scoundrel, for reasons unknown, had gone and provoked such trouble.

Press conferences of this nature mainly involved various praises; there was rarely any substantial topic discussed.

A group of old-timers lurking in the shadows finally realized how troublesome this fellow was. As for their next move, they remained uncertain.

Although Afghanistan was occupied, the Russians were not faring well either. The international community’s unanimous condemnation quickly turned them into public enemies.

The tense global situation rapidly drove up gold prices; as of today, gold had surpassed eight hundred dollars per ounce.

In the face of rampant inflation, central banks worldwide began tightening liquidity. The short-term lending rate for the dollar had already exceeded twenty percent.

What an exasperating interest rate that was!

William White couldn’t understand which traditional industry could yield such profit margins. Instead of continuing to produce goods that couldn’t be sold, it was far better to purchase related government bonds, where the profits were at least guaranteed.

“Faber, immediately short gold in London. I want sixty million worth smashed in a short time.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll instruct them to place the orders right away.”

The U.S. market was already closed; the London market had thirty minutes before closing. Although London gold and New York gold were not identical, the difference was minimal, and the linkage effect was significant.

The London trading market was still somewhat inferior to the U.S., though it had recently improved slightly because the Americans had started acting irrationally, even daring to restrict trading—a truly absurd move.

Within just five minutes, a large wave of sell orders suddenly emerged. Though each individual order was not large, their determination was clear.

“Tom, any news in the market today?”

“Nothing, Andy. Have you heard anything?”

“Damn it, why are there so many sell orders? It doesn’t look like a pump-and-dump; is this a suppression of gold prices?”

“Don’t be foolish. How can they suppress? The Russians themselves don’t even know who they’re going to fight next.”

William White’s entry was straightforward and ruthless. Gold could no longer rally; the world was reclaiming its currency, and banks were reluctant to lend. Under such a backdrop, gold had reached its limit.

William White held a large sum of cash and was not afraid of margin calls.

Currently, there were basically no shorts in precious metals futures. Those shorting silver had been crushed continuously, forced into margin calls again and again.

Trading volume in London surged abnormally, with fierce battles between bulls and bears. For now, prices remained stable, and the bears had not yet secured a final victory.

When the U.S. market opened, a similar tactic was employed, though the volume was less than in London.

“Faber, starting tomorrow, increase shorts by five million daily for a week.”

Seeing his heir’s resolve, Faber said no more and promptly arranged the funds.

The sustained selling indeed shook the bulls’ confidence. After rising more than thirty dollars, it was nonsense to say they weren’t afraid.

William White’s disruption frustrated many futures magnates. They wanted to pump prices to sell, but instead, small investors fled en masse.

Pump gold prices further?

The Federal Reserve’s head had already issued stern warnings. They were not as thick-skinned as the Hunter family; to lock in profits, they had to hedge their short positions.

Short selling was different; you had to borrow from brokers, and there were limits. It was impossible to provide unlimited shares.

If you failed to repurchase later, naked short selling could land you in jail—this was no joking matter.

The bulls’ reversal immediately triggered violent market swings. These were all seasoned veterans; fools had long since been eliminated.

Gold began to surge and then retreat. A comical scene unfolded: silver actually rose against the trend.

After all, it was the Hunter family’s private game; outsiders had no part in it. How it would end was anyone’s guess.

William White knew this was the time for negotiations. How to conclude the matter depended on strength. The Hunter family had tied up a group of banks; one misstep could cause systemic risk.

If the trading commission hadn’t caused trouble for him, he might not even have participated. There were deep undercurrents here, far from the surface’s apparent ease.

Damn, this guy was right—making money was indeed not difficult.

The American futures market was truly shrouded in darkness. Though everyone played differently, there were still some general rules.

This young master, however, was different—he simply smashed the market. One hammer blow failed, so he hit again.

“Damn Texan!”

Actually, they were mistaken. Texans weren’t that bad. Those who pulled guns recklessly did exist, but there were no tycoons here—only rough cowboys.

The Hunter family’s strategy spanned nearly a decade. How could anyone call it crude?

After causing disruption, they began to reduce positions—slowly but decisively.

“Damn it, the trading commission! Why stir up trouble for no reason?”

A man with a vast amount of cash could act as he pleased, and no one dared to object.

“Ahem, boss, White Petroleum has been sold to Goldman Sachs. That guy will have at least 1.5 billion more in cash shortly.”

Hearing this, a slightly balding old man grew even more frustrated. Forget futures; if White were to buy physical gold outright, it would be like a small mountain.

The Hunter family, fellow Texans, didn’t have that much cash. Though their assets far exceeded William White’s, they were like toothless tigers. William White was different—he truly had money.

The trading commission no longer bared its teeth. Fighting a barbarian was pointless and far too dangerous.

Having succeeded in breaching the barriers again, William White was elated and naturally indulged in a couple more drinks at dinner.

Fortunately, there was a foot masseuse attending him, so his excess hormones wouldn’t accumulate too much. Though his teeth were odd, if you insisted he was cute, there was nothing to be done.

For the foot masseuse, this was only natural—part of her job.

Yes, she needed to invest feelings and work hard.

Don’t be surprised; this was common in foot massage parlors. Many secretaries served one boss for over thirty years and still married and had children without it affecting their work.

Feelings?

Perhaps there were some. After all, familiarity breeds affection. Humans are not animals; after spending long time together, there are always attachments that cannot be easily severed. You treat a cat or dog this way, let alone something else.