Chapter 1 Prologue: Death on Wall Street.
2022, New York Wall Street
Headlines screamed across the financial world:
"Will Japan's Lost Decades Be Repeated in the US?" — The Washington Post
"Black Wednesday: A Drop Exceeding the Great Depression" — The New York Times
"Chaotic Wall Street Forecasts Massive Restructuring" — The Wall Street Journal
Scrolling through his phone, searching "COVID Bubble," Raghav Sharma watched a flood of news reports surge onto his screen. On social media, thousands of users on Twitter and in comment sections vented their anger, despair, and indignation over immense losses.
"This is absolutely insane!"
Since a sharp decline began this Wednesday, the New York Stock Market had evaporated 40% of its market value in just three days. This staggering drop was nearly half of the 88% plunge seen during the Great Depression of 1929. The entire United States — or, more precisely, Wall Street — was gripped by panic.
Even Raghav Sharma, a veteran with 20 years on Wall Street, was laid off this morning from the Hedge Fund where he worked. "Sigh…" His heart was heavy with helplessness. He'd known for a long time that a bubble was forming. Even famous investors just didn't know when it would burst. If it hadn't, he might have been considering Manhattan housing prices with a generous bonus, instead of being kicked out. His luck had truly bottomed out.
"With a return rate of -20%, there's nothing to say about being laid off."
It was a massive project. Raghav and managers from other departments at the Hedge Fund had meticulously operated a railway company, packaging it beautifully, just waiting for it to be listed on the New York Stock Market. They'd used every possible method: taking due dividends, selling off unnecessary real estate, and even getting the company back on track through restructuring. But they never expected the market to plummet just before the impending sale.
He was so anxious his liver hurt. "Who could have imagined the stock price plummeting 60% all at once? It's like it never rains but it pours." And it happened right before the announcement of normalization due to restructuring. The railway company's total market value naturally halved, and his career was ruined. He looked up to the sky and roared, "Heaven and Earth, just strike me down with lightning!"
Yet, driven by the survival instincts honed in the brutal environment of Wall Street, he instinctively scrolled through his phone contacts. From his time at Morgan Stanley to his meteoric rise at the Hedge Fund, the connections he'd accumulated over the years were all there, vibrant lives pulsating on the screen.
"Morgan Stanley, Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, Quantum Fund, Barclays… Phew."
Looking at this reassuring list, he thought, at least these 20 years weren't lived in vain. However, a complex emotion welled up as he saw "Morgan Stanley." "This was the first company that hired me right after I graduated from Harvard, like my benefactor." He quickly opened the dial pad and entered his former boss's number.
Beep… beep…
Click.
"The number you have dialed is currently busy. Please leave a message after the tone—"
Raghav hung up. He'd hoped it might connect, but now Morgan Stanley must be in chaos too.
He walked out of the Hedge Fund headquarters lobby, carrying the box he'd quietly taken from his office. Crash! As soon as he stepped outside, he heard breaking glass. It was the Occupy Wall Street protestors. A few days ago, they were silently protesting with masks on, but they'd since turned into radical rioters, wielding baseball bats and iron pipes.
"Ah, no wonder I couldn't get through." From a distance, the glass in Morgan Stanley's headquarters lobby had been shattered. They weren't too busy to answer; they were facing a threat to their lives. This truly was America, the country of those old elites, always so extreme.
Beep— Accompanied by sirens, New York Police Department forces poured into Wall Street like a tide. Dressed in dark uniforms, fully armed officers with shields and batons charged towards the protestors. "Disperse!" As soon as the police charged, the protestors scattered and fled. The investment banks on Wall Street had suffered heavy losses, and New York State politicians were likely in a frenzy.
But for him, getting through this angry crowd was proving difficult. "How do I get across?" Was he going to sleep in the lobby tonight? Raghav's expensive suit made him look like an intellectual, making him the perfect "prey" for radical rioters. He certainly didn't want to be dragged by his hair or beaten half to death, but with streets full of protestors, he had no choice.
Help!
But when a person is unlucky, even drinking cold water can choke them. Raghav's eyes met those of a burly man in the crowd.
"It's you!"
"Damn it!"
The man waved at Raghav, and rioters charged at him with iron pipes. Raghav quickly turned, but what awaited him was not the warm lobby, but a cold metal rolling shutter. Were these guys trying to kill him? He desperately shouted and pounded on the shutter.
Bang! Bang! Crash—
"Fuck, you bastards!" Raghav cursed them to hell in his mind, then quickly dove into an alley and ran as fast as he could.
"Stop!"
Seeing the protestors catching up, he hurled the box in his hand at them. Crash!
"Ah… my new Mac." He mourned his Mac, now destined for the scrap heap, while quickening his pace. Suddenly, he felt his back grabbed by the angry man. At that moment, only one terrifying thought filled his mind: he would be tortured like a witch by these Wall Street-hating rioters, then executed.
"Come on, you guys!" Raghav steeled himself and struggled with all his might, regardless of whether his shirt would tear. The man gripped the back of his neck tightly, his thick hand like an iron clamp. Raghav was no match; the guy was so burly, while he was like a little chick.
"Let go, let go! You bastard!" Raghav reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a fountain pen, uncapped it, and held it in a reverse grip. He dared not treat this as an ordinary protest; America was a country where gun ownership was legal. Free America, daily shootings. And it was established by the oldest elites in history. If he was caught by accident, he might truly lose his life.
Raghav used all his strength and stabbed at the back of the man's hand. Thud! Thud!
"Ah—"
"Bastard! Let go of me!" The man initially refused to release him, but after being stabbed a few times by Raghav, he threw him onto the road like trash.
"Ah—"
"Oh no."
The problem was, he was thrown not onto the sidewalk, but directly into the road. Raghav stared blankly at the 10-ton truck speeding towards him, its dazzling headlights blinding him. Time seemed to stand still at that moment, and Raghav's and the truck driver's panicked eyes met.
"…I'm going to die!" He only had time to flip the bird.
Bang— A huge impact instantly struck him, and his consciousness dissipated.
Raghav Sharma, aged 44. His life ended here.