The Bulls' Frenzy and Keane's Painful Decision

Chapter 395 The Bulls' Frenzy and Keane's Painful Decision

When the price surpassed 65 cents, the trading pool completely erupted!

Exclamations, curses, and excited howls mingled together. Those bulls who were watching from the sidelines yesterday, those retail investors who had already been liquidated and left but were now eager to rush back in with bloodshot eyes, and countless day traders attracted by the upward momentum, all rushed towards the buying side like madmen.

"65 1/4, buy! Take as much as you can!"

"Squeeze in! Buy 50 lots at market price!"

"The short sellers are finished; they can't deliver the grain!"

The bears attempted to build a defense around 65 cents, but the actual collapse was faster than butter melting.

The calls of several major short-selling brokers were barely audible amidst the surging buying pressure, like the buzzing of mosquitoes.

Panic is spreading: if prices really get out of control, and if the fleet of short sellers in New York really can't register their warrants in time—then every second you hold a short position now is like jumping into a fire pit.

However, at the very moment when market sentiment was at its most fervent and buying was at its most intense, Larry, standing by the railing on the second floor, frowned slightly.

"Something's not right, Matthew!" His voice was deep and calm, completely out of place with the madness downstairs.

"What's wrong? Prices are going up, Larry, our plan worked!" Matthew asked, puzzled.

"It's a huge success." Larry stared at the trading pool, his gaze sweeping over the floor traders who were frantically buying. "You see, after 65 cents, the rate of increase slowed down. The trading volume is increasing, but the price fluctuations are becoming more moderate."

Matthew kept looking up at the price chart, then stared intently at the trading pool—sure enough, the price was fluctuating around 65.5 cents, pausing after each upward breakout of one or two minimum price levels, with extremely frequent trading between buyers and sellers.

What does this mean?

"This means there's no stock left in the market!" Larry's lips curled into a cold, helpless smile. "It's not that there are no sellers, but rather that there aren't enough meaningful sellers. Most of the sellers in the market right now are sporadic sell-offs by long positions to close out their positions, and a few short-term speculative short orders trying to hit the top. The truly substantial sell orders based on spot market logic have disappeared."

He paused, his tone tinged with complexity, "We pushed up the opening price, successfully triggering a buying frenzy. But now the buying pressure is too strong, draining the liquidity. I was planning to add to my position at 65 to 70 cents—"

But right now I can't find enough people willing to sell to me at this price. Everyone's either scrambling to buy, holding onto empty positions waiting to die, or just watching and waiting.

The market's shift from extreme pessimism to extreme optimism was breathtakingly rapid. And Larry, the one who started it all, suddenly found that the fire was spreading faster than he could keep adding fuel.

He now has a huge amount of money at his disposal, but he is struggling to establish a sufficient strategic position at the ideal price because the market has become self-reinforcing and has fallen into a liquidity trap of frenzied buying.

This was the first time Larry had truly experienced the pain of an organization—it was like a great white shark opening its mouth only to find that all the small fry nearby had already been devoured by the suckers attached to it.

The small fish are having a blast, but the big fish are missing out. Alternatively, they can only expand their long positions by waiting for the longs to start closing out their positions, or, in a very small probability, for the shorts to open new short positions.

But it's all settled now! The short sellers should know they can't win at all—there isn't enough wheat available for delivery, and the price can't be driven down.

This is what Larry had told McMillan before: if the other party doesn't fight back and surrenders now, Larry will have no choice but to "punch him"!

Could the short sellers make a fatal mistake at the last minute? Larry didn't dare to think that way, because he knew his opponent well—a master who could turn around in a flash.

A true expert would never make such a basic mistake.

Downstairs in the trading hall, prices were still struggling to climb, one step at a time. 66 cents, 67 cents—each tiny increase triggered a new round of cheers.

The short sellers looked ashen-faced, some of them having given up resistance and numbly filling out closing orders.

At 11 a.m., the price rose to 69 cents, a high that Monday's surge had not reached! This means that all the short sellers from yesterday are now trapped again, and all the short-term longs have been freed from their losses.

However, when wheat futures prices hit this level again, the short sellers' confidence had completely collapsed—they saw neither a reason to further suppress the market nor a counterattack from the major short sellers!

It's over! Everything is over!

If Livingston, who is orchestrating the rise in wheat prices, were to unleash a large sum of money and sweep up the few remaining sell orders, wheat futures prices could even reach over 80 cents!

Larry upstairs was also worried. He knew the emotional foundation for a short squeeze was firmly established. But if the other side chose to cut their losses, his own profitable position would only be around 3000 lots.

Larry turned away, no longer looking at the price list.

"Let them stop. We're not buying anymore. Let the market play its own game for a while," Larry said to Matthew.

Matthew nodded in agreement and went downstairs to deliver the latest trading instructions.

As the dust settled in the Chicago futures market, the five men Larry had sent to a warehouse in a nearby central city were also completing their assigned task.

Their latest instructions were a telegram they received the previous night.

Now, Mr. Dunbar, his two bodyguards Tiger and Snake, and two Italian buddies are stationed in five food hubs: Pittsburgh, Kansas City, Omaha, Minneapolis, and St. Louis.

Previously, their orders were to monitor Cargill's acquisition of high-quality wheat and ensure that the acquisition process was slow and "standardized".

Now, they have a new mission.

Around the Cargill warehouse in Omaha.

The farmers who had gathered at the purchasing point had already learned of the urgent halt to wheat purchases. Regret and pain were evident on their faces.

"No, gentlemen! Please, have mercy! I've been queuing for 40 hours straight to get here—I really need this money to pay off the seed money I owe the bank!"

A farmer wailed.

"You can't refuse to accept it. Didn't we agree beforehand that the kind-hearted Cargill would expedite the acquisition, and that Mr. Livingston would also be generous?"

Another farmer argued.

The Cargill warehouse manager wore a pained expression. They wanted to help the farmers, but since their boss had said he would stop buying, there was nothing they could do.

After all, buying grain at 10 cents above market price and having to pay the full amount two weeks later—that's a huge financial burden.

Cargill employees could only keep explaining to the farmers, emphasizing that the acquisition was originally a semi-charitable endeavor.

No matter how much the farmers pleaded, threatened, or negotiated, Cargill employees dared not budge. The farmers surrounded Cargill's collection point, making it impossible to move.

Just when the situation reached a stalemate, Mr. Dunbar strode confidently up to the Cargill executive.

"I am Mr. Livingston's authorized representative, responsible for overseeing the Cargill acquisition. May I ask what has happened here?"

After reviewing the documents provided by Dunbar, the Cargill manager, with a regretful expression, explained that the company had decided to stop purchasing wheat, a fact that the farmers were unable to accept.

To everyone's surprise, Dunbar told his supervisor without hesitation, "Continue buying wheat! Buy for two more days, this is Mr. Livingston's decision."

The supervisor was stunned and protested, "How is that possible? This is a company order I personally received."

"You can check with headquarters now! Call or telegraph Mr. McMillan yourself," Dunbar said resolutely. "I don't care about other cities! Here, in Omaha! We'll open another 48 hours to acquire him. This is Mr. Livingston's order."

"He's the one who paid for the acquisition; just do as he says."

After speaking, Dunbar turned to the farmers and shouted, "Gentlemen, brothers and sisters! Mr. Livingston has always been deeply concerned about your hardships, and this agricultural revitalization plan is also aimed at helping farmers get out of trouble—you really have it tough!"

Dunbar's shouts resonated with the farmers, and when they heard that it was someone Mr. Livingston had personally sent, they all showed anxious expressions.

"Afterwards, Mr. Livingston will acquire a stake in Cargill, and Cargill will then be able to represent Mr. Livingston in assisting you —"

Dunbar looked around at the crowd, and after the farmers' expressions of joy and whispers subsided, he continued, "Mr. Livingston is a kind man and cannot bear to see farmers suffer! He asked me to tell you that it doesn't matter if it's another city, but right here in Omaha, Mr. Livingston will give you an extra 48 hours to buy the produce!"

My brothers and sisters, do not worry, do not be afraid! Mr. Livingston is with you!

The farmers initially couldn't believe it, but after a few bolder farmers repeatedly checked with Dunbar, the onlookers shouted and jumped with excitement.

They cheered for having another opportunity to sell wheat!

Cheers to Mr. Livingston’s kindness!

"God bless Mr. Livingston!" An old woman made the sign of the cross on her chest, tears welling up in her eyes.

After more than ten minutes, the supervisor had completed the verification with the company headquarters. Indeed, Larry was present, and the wheat purchase was delayed for 48 hours.

But only warehouses in the five major cities are eligible!

The farmers in line were ecstatic! They even repeatedly hugged Dunbar's shoulders to express their gratitude and asked him to convey their heartfelt thanks to Mr. Livingston.

Dunbar dealt with the excited farmers for two hours, watching the line of people waiting to buy their produce grow longer and longer. He couldn't help but shake his head and smile. "Larry is such a smooth talker! Just by taking away and then giving the farmers the right to buy their produce, he can double their gratitude. Amazing! His reputation for benevolence will soon spread throughout the Midwest."

New York, 12:28 PM.

James Keane sat motionless behind his office chair, oblivious to the fact that the cigar in his hand had burned down to his knuckles.

"72 and 3/4 cents —" he muttered to himself, the price quote in front of him, printed on the paper strip, was the last September wheat futures price before the morning close.

The price felt like a dull knife, slowly pricking his nerves. Outside the window was the clear blue sky and white clouds of Manhattan in late autumn, the air crisp and clear; but he felt as if he were in a shrinking iron cage.

At this moment, two voices were fiercely clashing in Keane's mind.

A rational voice screamed in my ear: Admit defeat now! Although closing the position now will result in a large loss, it will preserve most of the principal, as well as the position of elder of the Wutong Society and the remaining capital.

As a left-handed person who has worked his way up from the bottom, Keane knows all too well the cruelty of the market. Once a trend is formed, especially a short squeeze driven by a shortage of spot goods, any resistance is futile.

He used the three company fleets that had just turned around through the Wutong Association, and now they're stuck in the port of Chicago, unable to register warehouse receipts.

Livingston has blocked every possible path he could think of! This is the final warning.

All I need to do is raise my hand and admit defeat, like I have done countless times before, to "cut my losses" and end this nightmare.

Yes, it's time to end it! This is the only rational and correct path that I know myself!

But another, louder, more fervent voice—the voice of power—resonated from the elder's throne he had just ascended.

He could almost see Gould's all-seeing eyes, and the silent mockery of the other members of the Sycamore Society.

"James Keane? That elder who was forced to cede territory and pay reparations in his very first battle?"

Keane could almost hear those whispers right now. Power under the sycamore tree isn't based on gentleness, integrity, humility, or humility; it's built on…

Prestige and victory are paramount! To concede defeat on the very first attempt is tantamount to political suicide.

Deep down, Keane knew this was wrong! He needed to handle the current predicament more rationally. But greed and fear, the two most deadly emotions for traders, were now transforming into gladiators fighting to the death in the depths of his soul, betting his master's future and wealth.

—No! You are not without options; the elders of the Wutong Association wield immense power! You can even influence the Chicago Mercantile Exchange to make them change the rules.—

Just once! Just once. That's enough to build up a position and hold until delivery. That way, your average spot cost will be only 62 cents, yet you'll successfully thwart your opponent's attack!

Dignity! Dignity is the most important thing, isn't it?

A gentle voice echoed repeatedly in Keane's heart.

Keane felt overwhelmed; both sides were too heavy a bargaining chip for him to decide.

Just then, the cigar burned his finger. Keane felt a sharp pain in his hand, immediately threw away the remaining half of the cigar, and stood up angrily.

Just then, the phone on his desk rang.

Keane took a long breath, forcing himself to calm down, and answered the phone.

"Hey, this is James Keane!"

"Boss, great news! I have some good news for you—" his personal stock trader Quincy exclaimed excitedly on the phone, "My insider told me that guy named Livingston has increased his long positions again—he probably added more margin and is planning to go all in!"

Boss! You absolutely can't let him get away with this! The last trading day is almost here, crush him!

Keane's face was grave as he asked in a deep voice, "How much more... how much did he add this time?"

"I heard it's at least doubled! There should be 180 lots now!" Quincy replied.

Something's not right! Something's not right!

He definitely has much more long positions than that! He wouldn't buy physical goods in Chicago and set up a short squeeze for such a small position—he must have other funds!

Keane's top-tier playmaker reaction instantly revealed the truth to him. But following this line of thought further, he was instantly plunged into a deeper state of panic—

This was a trap that had been set long ago! Livingston had made himself look like a fool, completely manipulated by him!

In his eyes, he was not only a fool, but also a self-deluded clown.

Keane could even hear Larry Livingston's mocking laughter—

And Quincy too!

Keane had long known that his trader Quincy, though seemingly loyal, always spoke ill of him behind his back, complaining about his stinginess and inflexibility!

If I can't even handle little Livingston, how am I supposed to face my own people?

This is a war we cannot afford to lose.

With a "click," Keane hung up the phone. Immediately afterward, he dialed a number he had used the night before last, and this was the second time he'd used it this afternoon.

The call was connected.

Keane tried his best to control his voice, but it was still a little hoarse. "With my elder authority, initiate emergency procedures. Convey our concerns to the board of directors of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange—a batch of high-quality wheat intended for export, which already has complete export inspection certificates due to changes in international shipping arrangements, is being processed on a case-by-case basis. On-site—on-site, convert it into domestic delivery warehouse receipts!"

Every word he uttered felt like a pebble squeezed from between his teeth. He knew this was exploiting the gray areas of the rules to exert pressure, and might even be crossing the line.

But the allure of power and the fear of failure led him to choose this shortcut.

After the order was issued, the office was deathly silent for ten minutes, as if awaiting trial.

As the clock ticked toward one o'clock, the Chicago afternoon session was about to open, and the phone on the table rang again!

Keane answered the phone quickly, and the other end replied: The Chicago Board of Trade "agres in principle to be flexible."

This vague answer is actually quite clear: given the pressure from the Wutong Association, the other party has already agreed to their request.

Keane felt no joy, only a profound sense of emptiness, as if he had stepped into thin air. He had succeeded, and he had failed—he had wielded the power he had craved, but in doing so, he had tainted the very principles of the business he relied on for survival.

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