Buy more?

  The idea echoes as I watch Sonora walk away, her calm still lingering like a stabilizing force in the chaos.

  I suddenly crave coffee. Not for the taste—just something to occupy my hands while my brain catches up.

  I walk to the corner of the trading floor where the machine promises “real” filtered coffee. It tastes worse than instant, but is strong on caffeine.

  I press a button. Nothing. I pull a lever. Still nothing. I bang the machine with the side of my hand. Remains the same. I kick the base of the machine hard, deriving some satisfaction from the small dent that appears. At least that's a response.

  I stalk back to my desk.

  Think! David. Think!

  If Jinfa lied—and it’s likely—then there’s still a glut of unsold bonds. Prices won’t recover anytime soon. But at 98.50, the yield is 3.97%. That’s higher than any comparable local government bond. Eventually, the market will correct. If Jinfa lied, I shouldn’t sell—I should hold. With patience, I might claw back the loss. Maybe even make a profit.

  But what if he didn’t lie?

  What if the other dealers are wrong? What if Merchants Securities really placed 3 billion with the Big Five? Then the shorts will scramble to cover. Prices will spike. And anyone bold enough to buy now will ride the wave.

  The more I think about it, the more plausible Jinfa’s story sounds. I don’t trust him—but I trust Hansen. He is in Beijing right now. Maybe even meeting with the Big Five. If Hansen believed the Big Five were in for 3 billion, odds are they are.

  How do I test it?

  I get an idea. It’s risky. But if it works, the payoff is real.

  No time to check with Hansen. I have to move now.

  I dial Jinfa. My heart raps half a dozen times in the second it takes him to answer the phone.

  “I’d like to buy another five hundred million,” I say. “If the price is right.” I am amazed at how steady my voice sounds.

  Jinfa laughs. “Way to go, David! Let’s make some money. Hang on.”

  That tells me nothing. More sales mean more commission. Jinfa, at least, would be making money.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The real test is the price. If there’s still inventory, he’ll come back fast with a discount. If the issue’s tight, he’ll stall—and come back with lots of excuses and a higher offer.

  I hang on for what is probably only a minute, but seems like ten.

  Finally, he’s back.

  “Sorry, David. We can only manage a hundred million. And only at 99.”

  That’s it. That’s the tell.

  I can tell from Jinfa's voice he is expecting protests from me for offering fewer bonds than I want at a price half a point above his competitors’ offer.

  But I don’t. I’m not angry. I’m focused.

  This is opportunity.

  “Done. I’ll take one hundred at 99.”

  I move fast.

  Next call: Claire.

  “Still anxious to sell Shandong?” I ask.

  “Oh, but yes of course,” she purrs. “I can get you some at 98.50.”

  “Fine. I’ll take two hundred.”

  Two more calls. I manage to scoop up another 150 million at 98.60. That brings my total position to 1.45 billion.

  I sit back and wait. Still tense—but now it’s the tension of the hunter, not the hunted.

  It doesn’t take long.

  Within two minutes, the lights start flashing. Dealers are bidding. First 98.60. Then 98.75. Then 98.90.

  Then Harry Shi from Guosen Securities calls.

  “I’d like two hundred million of those new Shandongs at 99.10,” he says.

  “That’s a generous price for a bond with such limited prospects,” I tease him, unable to keep the euphoria out of my voice.

  “It’s a funny thing,” he says. “The price fell as I thought it would. Then someone—somewhere—started buying. Since then the dealers have been scrambling to cover their shorts, but haven’t been able to find inventory anywhere. So they drove the price up. The really funny thing is that a couple of my private hedge fund clients—who’ve been sitting on their hands for a month—have just taken it into their heads to buy. They think this bond has value, and the rapid run up in price makes them afraid they might miss a broader move in the whole market.”

  I sell Harry 200 million. Over the rest of the evening, I unload another 750 million.

  Claire is especially persistent. Citadel took a hit. I decide to hold ￥500 million—there’s room for more upside over the next week or two. I sell other positions to free up cash.

  I tally the numbers. Realized profit: nearly 4 million over a couple hours. Unrealized gains on the remaining 500 million: another ￥3 million.

  I slump back in my chair. I feel wrecked. Like I’ve gone twelve rounds in a ring. The tension, the adrenaline, the sweat, the mental strain—it’s all catching up.

  But I got it right. In a big way.

  Whatever Hansen says, he can’t deny that.

  For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to take on the market—and win. And it feels good.

  I’ve proven to myself I can trade. Not just survive, but excel. I hope Hansen sees it too.

  “Come on, smug features,” Sonora says, appearing beside me.

  “If you have any more evenings of successful spivving, let me know. I’m sure the second-hand car business would kill for someone with your talents. In the meantime, buy me a drink.”

  “How come I always buy you drink? Don’t they pay you a salary here?” I say, grabbing my jacket. Of course I’m paying. I'm not ungrateful. Without her, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did today.

  Then I pause. “Just a sec—I need to make one more call.”

  I dial Hansen’s mobile. Straight to voicemail.

  I smile. I marvel at the man’s coolness. So much at stake, and he’s deliberately taken steps to avoid hearing about the outcome.

  He has enough confidence in me to let me handle it by myself.

  He’s right. Again.

  With my smug look intact, I power down the screens and follow Sonora to the lifts, leaving the trading floor behind—quiet now, but still humming with the afterglow of risk well taken.