: Agent Gains Unlimited Firepower; Old Stone Will End the Short Sellers' Last Hope

Chapter 396: Agent Gains Unlimited Firepower; Old Stone Will End the Short Sellers' Last Hope

12:50 p.m., at the Old Sailors' House restaurant on the Chicago River.

Larry Livingston nodded approvingly at the steaming plate of Illinois slow-cooked bison in front of him, then picked up his silver knife and slowly began to cut into the tough beef fibers.

This dish features tender neck meat from locally caught North American bison as its main ingredient. It requires slow cooking in a cast iron pot for over six hours with dark beer, wild berry sauce, and more than a dozen spices. The meat is robust yet flavorful, making it a typical Midwestern tough guy dish.

This kind of food isn't about exquisiteness, but about time and patience.

"Matthew! This is the ultimate enjoyment. This stuff is so much better than any steak on Wall Street."

Larry took a bite, and a look of blissful enjoyment appeared on his face.

Matthew chuckled, rubbed his hands together, picked up his own knife and fork, ate a piece of beef from his silver plate, and nodded approvingly.

"It's really good, but it takes too long—" Matthew glanced at the clock on the wall, "It's almost one o'clock, and the afternoon session of the stock exchange is about to open—"

"No rush!" Larry picked up a piece of beef covered in sauce and put it in his mouth to chew slowly.

Then he picked up the tin cup filled with local cider and looked out the window at the shimmering Chicago River—coal barges were slowly passing by, their whistles echoing long and drawn out.

"Good food should take more time to prepare. Life is full of suffering and short. How can we not eat something good? —" Larry's mouth was full of food, and his words were indistinct.

"But—I don't understand why you let the movers eat so well too?" Matthew looked at Larry and voiced his doubts.

Matthew was referring to what the two of them had just witnessed. At 11:30 a.m., they arrived at the wheat delivery warehouse of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.

When Matthew arrived there, he couldn't believe his eyes—the workers had already started their lunch break.

When foreman Mr. Debs blew the whistle to signal a work stoppage, the workers saw several long tables set up at the warehouse entrance. On each table were steaming cups of coffee, honey-smoked rye bread, stewed beef, apple pie, and even several plates of Florida oranges.

This is a unique labor benefit program of the "Livingston Agricultural Revitalization Program," where workers not only receive double wages but also breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea.

Even more outrageous, the workers who transported the grain were given a 20-minute break every two hours, and they had unlimited coffee!

These were all instructions Larry had given beforehand, all aimed at ensuring the "efficiency" of transporting the wheat. Of course, the transport process was also overly "retro," as the foreman required the workers not to use carts, but only to carry it on their shoulders and by hand.

As a result, before they could even move 300 tons a day, the workers were often forced by the foreman to take a tea break before they even had a chance to warm up.

An old worker exclaimed, "I've been working here for 40 years, and this is the first time I've ever had breakfast at the docks!"

Another person exclaimed, "This is the first time in my life I've ever had afternoon tea."

At this moment, at the dinner table, Matthew complained about this very point: even if the intention was to deliberately slow down the pace, giving the workers such generous treatment seemed a bit excessive.

However, Larry took a bite of beef, smiled, and waved his hand, saying, "One dollar can buy five pounds of beef. Let them eat their fill, and it won't exceed $100 a day—my brother. The workers can generate hundreds or thousands of dollars in profit for us in two days—they are not just laborers, but our benefactors who make money. Giving them more good food is already the best I can do to repay them!"

Matthew smiled and shook his head at Larry's words, then lowered his head and took a sip of his drink.

Two minutes later, Larry sighed softly, "I calculated everything except that my position was still too small. I only have a little over 3000 wheat contracts. I won't make much money."

Matthew gave a wry smile, deliberately slamming his cutlery on the table. "Stop this damn flaunting! Do you know how much you'll make on this deal? At least several million dollars!"

But Larry still shook his head. "Oh no! You haven't even factored in the money I invested in Cargill, or the grain purchase fees paid to the farmers—if it were just these 3000 long wheat contracts, I could at most guarantee that after paying the relevant fees, all I'd have left in my pocket is this pile of wheat—"

Matthew thought about it and realized it was true—money is hard to earn, and manipulating the market is inherently a high-risk, high-cost job.

"It was mainly about trading against the trend," Larry concluded. "Next time, if we want to follow the trend, we won't need to go through all this trouble—not only are we on edge, but we also don't make much money."

"Yes, oh right, what are you going to do with that wheat later?"

Larry laughed at this, "I would have telegraphed George Eastman a long time ago—"

Just then, the restaurant door was suddenly pushed open. The old trader appeared, staggering in.

His graying hair was somewhat disheveled, his face a mixture of disbelief and urgency. His gaze swept urgently across the restaurant, locking onto Larry before he rushed over—

"Mr. Livingston!" the old trader gasped, forgetting all formalities, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "The exchange has just made an absurd decision—they've decided to convert that shipment of export-inspected wheat at the docks into deliverable warehouse receipts on the spot, a full 450 million bushels!"

"puff!"

Larry spat out the mouthful of cider he was holding. He slammed down his glass and looked up at the old trader, the bottom of the glass making a crisp sound as it hit the wooden table.

"Mr. Bode, is everything you're saying true?" Larry's eyes widened, his face filled with astonishment, as if he had heard something completely unbelievable.

It's illogical.

"Yes! The paperwork just finished! The exchange's deliverable inventory has suddenly increased by 450 million bushels!" The veteran trader was sweating profusely. "This will cause prices to loosen. What should we do?"

Matthew jumped to his feet, his face deathly pale.

This is a complete disruption! The opponent used power to blatantly change the rules of the game!

With such a large increase in deliverable wheat, the short sellers have even more confidence!

However, just as Matthew was getting anxious, he caught a glimpse of a fleeting expression on Larry's face out of the corner of his eye—it wasn't fear, nor was it anger, but rather a kind of—extremely suppressed, yet about to burst forth, fiery light!

Although Larry's brows were still furrowed and his mouth was slightly open in surprise, Matthew knew all too well the message in his eyes—it was suppressed ecstasy!

That's the sharp, gleaming look that a hunter gives when he sees his prey finally step into the last trap—a look that's a mixture of ecstasy and cruelty.

Larry took a deep breath, a gesture that seemed to be calming his shock, but Matthew noticed that the knuckles of his left hand, which were under the table, were slightly white from the force.

Then Larry slowly leaned back in his chair. He picked up a napkin and elegantly wiped his mouth, his gaze falling on the old trader. The look of astonishment on his face had faded like the tide, replaced by a calm.

"Mr. Bode! From this moment forward, you and all the anonymous accounts under your control have unlimited firing rights!"

Larry said firmly.

The veteran trader was taken aback. "Infinite—?"

"Yes!" Larry's eyes shone brightly. "No matter how many sell orders there are in the market, whether they're new short positions or long positions being closed, no matter the price, we'll buy them all! No price limit, no quantity limit, until there's not a single 9% sell order left in the market."

Until the end of the wheat sales contract for the month!

The veteran trader was dumbfounded. He stared blankly at Larry, his lips trembling slightly, unable to utter a word.

Larry ignored him and continued, "There's only one goal: to peg the price above 70 cents! No, to peg it above the price that everyone's mentally broken. Wall Street wants warehouse receipts, right? I'll give them warehouse receipts, but I won't let them sell at the price they want!"

The veteran trader gasped. This was the ultimate order to use up all available resources and achieve victory in one fell swoop!

But he saw absolute confidence in Larry's eyes, an overwhelming confidence born from knowing everything.

"I—I understand!" The old trader nodded emphatically, turned around, and rushed out of the restaurant like a gust of wind.

The market has just opened! Time is of the essence!

Matthew looked at Larry, his heart still pounding, but no longer from fear, but from being overwhelmed by the turbulent undercurrent beneath Larry's calm surface.

Larry smiled and picked up his knife and fork again, slowly and methodically continuing to cut the remaining half plate of stew.

"Don't waste it, Matthew. This dish will lose most of its flavor if it gets cold!" He even smiled at Matthew.

"Aren't you planning to go back now?"

"No! The real show is about to begin. And the main character of a good show always makes a grand entrance last, doesn't he?"

1:45 p.m., Chicago Mercantile Exchange.

When Larry and Matthew strolled back to the exchange building, the noise in the trading pools was completely different from that morning.

It was a louder, more intense clamor, a mixture of frenzy, confusion, and panic.

On the off-exchange price board in the trading hall, the price of September wheat was clearly set at 71 and three-quarters cents.

Despite the "negative" news that short sellers conjured up 400 million bushels of warehouse receipts out of thin air, the price not only did not fall, but instead, amidst frenzied trading, it was held firmly above 71 cents by an unseen force and even stubbornly continued to climb!

The veteran trader faithfully executed the "unlimited firing rights," and any sell order that dared to be placed, regardless of size, was swallowed up within minutes.

The market has entered a strange stalemate: short sellers feel emboldened by the warehouse receipts and want to continue selling; long sellers who previously profited also want to...

Profit-taking and closing positions—but an endless torrent of funds absorbs all the sell orders without yielding an inch!

Larry glanced at the price list, his face expressionless, as if this thrilling numbers game had nothing to do with him.

He and Matthew made their way through the noisy crowd to Stone's trading counter.

"Where's Mr. Stone?" Larry waved to his eldest son.

"He...he's inside!"

"Go and call him out, now!" Larry ordered.

Three minutes later, old Stone rushed out, his face flushed red with tension and excitement.

"Mr. Stone!" Larry shoved a hand on his shoulder, his voice low but clear, "Now we need to execute the 'Endgame' order, and this is something you'll have to do."

"You said it! I will faithfully carry out your orders!" Old Stone said with a look of heroic defiance.

"Now! Immediately buy back all the short hedging contracts for the 500 million bushels of wheat we sold to Stone Corporation." Upon hearing this, old Stone's pupils narrowed to a single point—

Damn it! I almost forgot about this damn 500 million bushels of wheat!

This wheat is really from so long ago!

Old Stone looked at Larry and naturally followed the instructions.

Buy back Cargill's short hedging position? That's a contract worth a full 500 million bushels! This means it will ignite another buying frenzy in an already tense market! Prices are bound to skyrocket.

No! No! It's not just that.

Previously, the exchange's statistics showed that "wheat available for liquidation" was 1128 million bushels, but this contained a trap that Larry had set up long ago, because it included the 500 million bushels of wheat that Larry had acquired disposal rights over, which were Cargill's earliest wheat!

This is what Larry and Matthew previously said about the exchange-deliverable wheat inventory figures "needing to be discounted"!

The actual deliverable wheat was 628 million bushels!

Old Stone, of course, was unaware of Larry and Matthew's conversation, but he knew that even if the exchange added another 1500 million bushels of wheat in the final week, once Cargill's original 500 million bushels were removed, the number of deliverable warehouse receipts would be significantly reduced.

Larry turned to Matthew and said, "Notify Cargill and the exchange's business department to immediately cancel all the wheat that the workers have been queuing up to register and put into storage these past two days! The reason is—the quality inspection found a potential risk of excessive moisture, and it needs to be returned for reprocessing."

Matthew immediately nodded in agreement, turned around, and left!

boom!!!

Old Stone felt as if a thunderbolt had exploded in his mind!

He understood completely! He understood perfectly!

Not only is Cargill withdrawing its deliverable inventory, but the 1000 million bushels of wheat newly registered in the delivery warehouses these past two days also belonged to Larry.

Now that Larry has withdrawn all the deliverable wheat he controls—what's left in the exchange's warehouses?

Besides the previous 628 million bushels of wheat, there's only the 450 million bushels of "dockside-exempt wheat" that were temporarily added at noon today. Just now, all brokers and floor traders were informed that the total deliverable wheat for short sellers is 2500 million bushels, which is why they dared to continue suppressing the market after the market opened this afternoon—but the market didn't collapse!

Now, the truth is out!

Canceling the warehouse receipts for that batch of wheat that had just been delivered and belonged to Larry himself—that was a stroke of genius! A decisive blow!

Once cancelled, the actual available delivery inventory within the exchange system will plummet instantly.

The actual amount of wheat that can be delivered on the exchange is not 2500 million bushels, nor 1500 million! It's only a little over 1000 million!

The short sellers' default on delivery is a foregone conclusion!

Old Stone could imagine how badly the market would collapse when this news reached the market!

This is not a short squeeze, but a death sentence!

"I—I'll get right on it!" Old Stone's lips trembled, his face flushed with excitement. "Mr. Livingston, should I tell them the truth about the delivery inventory?"

Larry took out his gold-cased pony pocket watch and looked at it. "You buy back those warehouse receipts first, and then tell everyone in the market at 2:30—we want to give our friends in New York a little surprise!"

"Yes, sir!" Old Stone's voice was hoarse with excitement. He turned and squeezed into the crowd, his steps carrying the determination and fervor of a martyr.

Larry watched him leave before slowly walking to the second-floor railing.

The trading pool downstairs remained noisy, but soon, these two orders would be dropped into the pool with two bombshells, silencing everything.

The bustling city was reduced to deathly silence!

Then, ignite the true, all-destroying, world-ending flames!

Larry, hands in his pockets, gazed at the ant-like crowd below, a smile finally spreading across his lips—a smile that was no longer concealed.

A cold and unrestrained smile.

My trump card! Now I'm finally revealing it.

No matter who the opponent is, not only does he not surrender to me, but he also dares to fight back?!

Then I'll let him have it! And his fleet! His warehouse receipts!

And his right to overstep the rules!

In this final, calculated explosion, they were all crushed to pieces!

It's 1:58 PM now, a little over an hour before the market closes.

The hunt has entered its final delivery phase.