The secret to making money in the "Save the Workers" plan is to share profits.

Chapter 386 The secret to making money in the "Save the Workers" plan is to share profits.

Larry returned to the hotel at 4 p.m., where "Tiger" Thomas Brady stood in front of a pillar and gave him a deep look.

Larry nodded silently. He and Matthew went back to the room first, and Brady followed silently in and closed the door.

"What's wrong? Is there any movement from Taylor's side?" Larry asked.

Brady's task these days had been to keep an eye on Taylor's gang. He stepped forward and lowered his voice, saying, "They bought 20 barrels of kerosene and are preparing to make their move. Also, Dawson, that redhead of Taylor's, met with a foreman from Durant's carriage company this morning."

Larry frowned. "Wasn't the railroad company recruiting Taylor before? How did it get involved with Durant now?"

"Durant is one of the railroad company's directors, and this intelligence has been verified by Marco through the railroad company's intelligence channels—I also bribed one of Taylor's men. The intelligence has been verified through two channels, and there are no problems," Brady replied.

"Arson? Those damned bastards!" Matthew's face contorted with rage. "Do they want Chicago to be engulfed in flames again?"

Tiger sneered. "I'm afraid that's the case. They'll stop at nothing to achieve their goals."

"What about time?" Larry asked.

"Saturday night! They'll take action in the workers' shantytown, but the exact time is unknown."

Larry's expression was grave. He waved to Matthew and said, "Get Uncle Dunbar and the rest of them here—we need to have a meeting!"

Thirty minutes later, Brady repeated the information he had gathered in front of the group.

Dunbar frowned and unfolded the map, marking the possible arson points on his own drawing with red and blue pencils.

Larry looked down, then looked up and asked, "Did your intelligence sources mention their plans?"

Brady leaned closer to the map, pointing with his half-missing hand, and said, "The kerosene is hidden in the freezer at the old slaughterhouse three blocks away. If they were to set it on fire, they would definitely choose an upwind location—"

Larry turned to Dunbar, who was in charge of liaison and intelligence gathering for the workers. "Is anything happening with the workers tomorrow night?"

"A workers' congress... I heard a leader from one of the People's Party factions is coming," Dunbar said, frowning. "This could be a conspiracy, because I overheard the workers talking about how Durant once wanted to buy up the workers' shantytowns, but didn't want to spend too much money—"

At this moment, the young Italian clerk named Marco suddenly interjected, "—I heard from people on the railway that it was Durant who repeatedly encouraged the board of directors of the Great Northern Railway to handle the workers' strike with decisive measures."

Larry nodded slowly, but still asked, "But what was his motive?"

Dunbar sneered, pointing his finger at the southern part of the workers' shantytown on the map. "—The workers' village is bordered by the railway crane yard to the east and the old canal wharf to the west. If the shantytown is demolished and the two streets are connected, a trading post connecting the railway and waterway can be built there. —I heard Durant wants a perfect transportation hub to build a new factory."

Larry's eyes narrowed sharply, his finger tapping on the map. "So tomorrow night's fire won't just burn down the wooden houses, but also the holdouts on Mr. Durant's business empire—who called this workers' meeting?"

"Debbs is back from Indiana; he's going to announce the results of the negotiations with the railroad company. The People's Party is here to learn from the strike experience," Dunbar replied.

"Place?"

"St. Michael's Church of the Workers could hold 300 people." Dunbar closed his eyes and recalled carefully, then added, "There were only two exits, and the windows had iron bars on them; if a fire broke out, it would be an iron coffin."

Larry nodded, thought for a moment, and then said seriously to Brady, "I need the most detailed information, and most importantly, how they plan to make their move? Whatever the cost!"

"About $500! That guy's pretty greedy," Brady said.

"I'll give you $1000!" Larry turned to Matthew and continued, "Matthew, go find the priest at St. Michael's Church and tell him that an unnamed businessman is willing to donate money to build an open-air assembly area in the church's backyard, but the project must be completed by tomorrow night. The wooden platform must be lit with gas lamps, as bright as day."

Matthew nodded, but then frowned. "Are you changing the venue? Why not just tell Debs directly?"

“We’re not involved in this at all,” Larry shook his head slightly. “We’re not changing anything; we’re just offering better options.”

As he spoke, Larry walked to the table, tore off a piece of telegram paper, and quickly scribbled a note with a pencil.

"Give this letter to Debus—but not directly to him. Hire a few local kids and find a way to pass it on to him tomorrow. Oh, and you can also find the most wary and hateful workers among them—not the workers' leaders, but the lower-level workers who have had their ribs broken by thugs."

As he spoke, Larry handed the note to Matthew.

"Everything is subject to my orders! We cannot let Taylor succeed!" Larry gave his final command.

After the meeting, Larry went to the first floor of the hotel alone to send a telegram.

Dunbar watched Larry's retreating figure until he disappeared around the corner, then sighed softly and said to Matthew beside him, "See that? That's him, willing to stand up for a complete stranger. Even though he's young, he has the kindness and courage bestowed upon him by God himself!"

Matthew nodded and sighed, "In all my experience, I've never met anyone who possesses both prophetic talent and an angelic heart—perhaps only he can achieve great things!"

"Yes! I heard that Taylor is going to make things difficult for the workers, and he's acting like he's about to suffer a terrible fate himself!" Dunbar sighed.

Matthew's eyes were serious as he nodded again in affirmation, "Or perhaps, that's the reason why he can command people's loyalty."

At this point, the two looked at each other, their eyes filled with admiration and emotion.

Larry walked into the hotel's telegraph room, his face still contorted with anger.

Damn it! They actually targeted my workers at this crucial moment—I was counting on them for the last week to help with the final short squeeze!

Without workers, how am I supposed to force a short squeeze?

Durant! I don't care if you're doing this for your own factory or not, if you dare to ruin my plans, I'll make you regret it!

Larry walked into the telegraph room, plopped down, and after calming himself for a moment, said to the telegraph operator, "I need to send two telegrams. The first is to George Eastman in Rochester, and the other is to the Reading Company in New York—"

"Buy?! September wheat contract?! How is that possible?!"

At eight o'clock on Friday morning, Baruch held the telegram, turning it over and over, examining it repeatedly, as if trying to find hidden messages in the gaps between its pages.

But it really was a buy-in.

The buy and seII trading orders are clearly distinguished, and there is no possibility of ambiguity.

The cable from Larry was very clear: After the futures market opens on Friday, buy 1/4 of your position in September wheat at the bottom range, with no stop-loss. Check for opposing positions after the market closes. The cable was unambiguous; please buy according to the plan! Please inform me of the results promptly.

Baruch frowned, finding Larry's instruction utterly absurd: to buy a quarter position in wheat futures that were already in a downtrend and about to expire.

This isn't bottom-fishing, it's suicide!

Even a blind man can see that futures prices will continue to fall. They may even drop to an all-time low, the lowest price seen in nearly a decade.

The recent successful short-selling of wheat had already made Baruch admire Larry immensely.

But now he's actually going long? This absurd instruction left Baruch utterly astonished.

Baruch pondered for a moment, but couldn't come up with a single idea. With the market opening time fast approaching, he could only sigh and head towards the customer room with the telegram.

The market is open!

In recent days, wheat futures prices have been fluctuating weakly, and after falling below 60 cents, the market has been hovering around 59 to 58 cents.

Currently, all trading members are watching and waiting, with only six and a half trading days left until the last trading day of September wheat.

If spot prices fall further, then the bulls will suffer a final, devastating blow, and the bears in futures will also take the opportunity to short.

However, if spot prices do not continue to fall, futures prices will rise slightly. This is called price convergence between futures and spot prices.

Ultimately, wheat futures and spot prices should move in tandem in September.

The market maintained a strong downtrend, but there was no further selling pressure.

Baruch easily bought 30 lots of wheat at 59.25 cents. When the settlement slip arrived in his hands, Baruch held it with a puzzled look on his face.

Could it be that Mr. Livingston is trying to gamble on a reversion between futures and spot prices? But how much money can he make, and with such a huge risk!

Baruch shook his head, a helpless smile on his face.

"Mr. Baruch, should we set a stop loss for the new position?" the trader asked as usual.

Baruch took a deep breath and sighed, "No need."

Half an hour later, James Keane's trader Quincy had received news that Livingston's account had reversed course and gone long.

Ten minutes later, Quincy had already called his boss to report the news.

"He's actually done this position too much—what's going on?" Keane looked suspicious.

Quincy said on the phone, "That's it, boss! I've checked, he really did buy 30 lots of wheat, and he didn't even set a stop loss."

"—No, he shouldn't have made such a stupid mistake!" Keane said into the microphone. "He knew that the price of futures couldn't just suddenly rise; there must be some other reason."

"Who knows? Maybe we'll wait for short covering, or maybe the futures price will revert to the spot price—it's all just greed, trying to make a quick buck," Quincy said nonchalantly.

Keane put down the phone, thought for a moment, then called his assistant over, "Send a telegram to our futures dealer in Chicago and ask how much the spot price is there?"

The assistant transcribed the telegram, checked it with Keane, and casually asked, "Sir, are you planning to cash in the profits?"

Keane hesitated for a moment. In fact, he had planned to gradually realize his profits from this weekend to next Tuesday.

After all, Wednesday is the settlement registration day, and Keane didn't really intend to drag it out until the very end to make a profit at the very end.

The 30 long positions in Klari's account made him hesitate, because it could be a very good opportunity to wipe out the opposing position.

After a moment of silence, Keane shook his head and ordered, "We'll talk about realizing the profits later! I need real information from Chicago. When can they give me an answer?"

"It should be around 2 PM! Before the market closes," the assistant replied.

Keane waved to indicate that he could leave.

At 2 p.m., Keane stared at the price quote machine with his hands behind his back, watching the paper tapes flow down from the machine on the wall like water.

The monotonous noise of the price quote machine echoed in the room.

The assistant returned, holding a telegram. He went straight to the point with Keane, "Boss! Chicago has replied. There's a huge surplus of wheat on the market right now. With workers preparing to return to work, Chicago's spot traders are in a panic, all wanting to get rid of their wheat as quickly as possible!"

"How much does it cost?"

The assistant glanced at the telegram. "The lowest price has reached 52 cents per bushel, the lowest price ever!"

"How can it be so low?" Keane remembered that last spring, wheat also had a bumper harvest and the lowest price was 75 cents. This year, the current price is 52 cents! This is too illogical!

However, before he could think about it further, the phone on his desk rang.

When Keane answered the phone, he heard Quincy exclaim in surprise, "Boss! My God! Do you know what?"

That kid bought another 30 lots of wheat! His position is almost full—if it drops by just 4 cents, he's guaranteed to be liquidated!

Upon hearing this, Keane sat bolt upright. "Is that really true? This kid—"

"Yes! It's a buy order. My insider told me he's already sent the trading order to Lehman Brothers. I'm telling you this immediately!" Quincy said with a smile.

"—Good!" Keane's face relaxed. "Now that we've got this opportunity, we might as well take care of him while we're at it!"

"Are you planning to buy it now?" Quincy asked.

"I'll put some pressure on his price on Saturday morning and see if he'll add more shares. If he does, that would be even better!" Keane's lips curled up slightly.

After hanging up the phone, the assistant, still standing by the table, asked with a smile, "Boss, aren't you planning to gradually liquidate your short positions?"

"No way!" Keane waved his hand, picked up his pipe, and smiled. "We'll talk about it on Monday. I'm going to do something short-term—since this guy has stuck his head out, I have to make a move."

The assistant nodded in agreement and then left the room.

Keane, puffing on his pipe with a smile, knew that if the price was driven down in the short term on Monday, he could be wiped out!

Hoping for a convergence between futures and spot prices, wheat spot prices will continue to fall.

Those who try to gain small advantages will ultimately suffer big losses.

Mr. Livingston, prepare for your funeral. Greed comes to no good end!

Keane thought smugly.

My earlier doubts about how wheat could possibly be only 52 cents have long been forgotten.

Friday night, Chicago.

Larry stood in front of a mansion, wrapped in his trench coat, feeling the autumn night wind of Chicago blowing from the direction of Lake Michigan.

Rattlesnake Cole stood silently to one side, warily watching his surroundings.

Soon, the sound of horses' hooves striking the ground could be heard, and a black carriage sped towards them, the gas lamps along the roadside illuminating the emblems on the carriage.

Kennedy is here!

Larry turned to look at Cole, who understood and stepped back, hiding himself in the darkness.

The carriage stopped, and Patrick Kennedy stepped down, adjusting his hat, and immediately spotted Larry standing alone on the street.

"Hi, Larry, good evening! What's the rush? Why did you invite me to the governor's mansion?" Kennedy greeted him with a smile.

Larry, all smiles, quickly stepped forward and lowered his voice with a smile, "Sir! The matter you entrusted to me is progressing well. I can create chaos in the futures market, so I must ask you and the governor for a few favors."

Despite being mentally prepared, Kennedy's face still lit up with delight. "Oh, great! You know you can do it! What channels? How?"

"It's still futures, but this time I'm confident I can make a move in the last week. I'm here to discuss cooperation with you all! We need media coverage to maximize its value."

"Yes, yes! Great! Since you put it that way, let's work out a detailed plan together after we meet with the governor!"

After saying that, Kennedy smiled and gave Larry a deep look. "I understand! No wonder you asked me to come with you to visit the governor. Were you afraid that your presence would be exposed in the settlement account and discovered by others? Don't worry, as long as you handle this matter well, no one will know your whereabouts."

"That would be great, but that's definitely not why I came here!"

"Is there anything else?" Kennedy asked, puzzled.

Larry laughed and said, "Making money, sir! My teacher taught me that when you encounter a great opportunity to make money, you must share it with important figures like you and the governor!"

When Larry mentioned it could be profitable, Kennedy's heart skipped a beat. Kennedy knew that trading in the futures market involved leverage.

You might actually be able to make some money on the side.

After a two-second pause, Kennedy asked seriously, "Are you confident? What are your plans?"

Larry looked around, then smiled and said, "Let's go inside and talk—you should trust me, Senator. If I say we can make money, we can make money!"