From legendary short seller to god of American capital

Chapter 19 Mr. Potter's Advice

As Larry rode his bicycle toward the banks of the Charles River, the wind rushed into his shirt, and he could feel the speed he had grown accustomed to in his past life wash over him once more.

By this time, it was already dark. A municipal worker in a black uniform was lighting the gas lamps along the roadside one by one. The bright orange light had just cast a long shadow of the worker when a bicycle carrying its rider sped past.

When the worker heard a strange noise behind him and turned around, he found a blond boy riding a bicycle that had disappeared from sight like the wind.

I don't know if it's just my imagination, but Larry's three-mile journey home seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye today.

Thanks to Dunlop's invention of the tire, the new bicycle didn't have much of a bumpy ride on the uneven red brick road.

Larry returned to his front door and saw the lights on in the living room. He proudly rang the bell on his bicycle.

The mother peeked out of the room, puzzled, and immediately spotted the bicycle Larry was riding...

"My God! What is this thing?"

The mother hurried out, looking at the gleaming handlebars still shimmering in the moonlight. She hesitated, wanting to touch them, and asked again, "Larry, where did you get this thing?"

"Mom, this is called a bicycle!" Larry replied with a smile.

"A bicycle? Oh, I think I've heard that word before... Did you buy it yourself?"

After being bombarded with tuna, oysters, and reindeer meat for some time, the mother had come to accept that her son now earned a good salary and could afford the expensive prices of many strange and unusual things.

Larry nodded, a nonchalant smile on his face.

"How much?" the mother asked again.

Larry looked up and thought for a moment before saying, "That's about what I earned in a day, well, not even that..."

Is such a big bicycle only $2?

The mother naturally assumed that Larry's "one day's earnings" meant his daily wage. She had some doubts about the price, which was obviously too low, but she was certain that her son hadn't gotten the money for the car through any shady means, so she suppressed her doubts.

"Okay, Larry, put your new toy in storage, and come eat dinner now!"

The two arrived at the dining table, and Larry noticed his father's seat was still empty. He casually asked, "Hasn't Dad come home yet?"

"He went to Holliston, where there's a small farm for sale. I heard the price isn't too high. Your dad plans to look around and buy it if the price is right."

Larry nodded, thinking to himself that he would definitely go and take a look when the farm was bought.

.

The next day was December 19th, a Saturday, and the market was only open for half a day in the morning.

After the market opened at 10 a.m., stocks in the arms sector had already entered a period of consolidation, and other sectors in the stock market continued to decline due to inertia.

There weren't many customers at the store. Most customers were not satisfied with the current sluggish market and chose to wait and see, while a small number of customers chose to be absent because of the business before Christmas.

Larry was much more relaxed than usual when the market was open; sometimes he could even sit in front of the price board and have a cup of coffee.

"Larry! Mr. Porter wants you to go to his office!" At that moment, the receptionist came over and said to Larry.

Larry was a little puzzled. Why was Mr. Potter letting him go to the office during working hours?

However, Larry didn't have time to think about it. He quickly called Tom over to help him copy down the market information, while he dashed off to Mr. Potter's office.

Before standing at the office door, Larry took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and then knocked on Mr. Potter's office door.

"Come in!"

Larry pushed open the door and saw Mr. Potter sitting behind his walnut desk, bending over to look at some documents.

Mr. Potter looked up at Larry, frowned slightly, and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

"Please sit down, you high-stakes gambler!"

When Larry heard the nickname "High-Risk Gambler," he felt as if he had been struck by a dozen bolts of lightning, as if he were a lightning rod in a rainstorm.

Larry didn't dare sit down. He forced a smile, his hands instinctively gripping the hem of his shirt, and slowly asked,

"What do you mean by 'high-stakes gambling kid'?"

Mr. Potter gave him a deep look and gestured for him to sit down again.

Larry then reluctantly sat down in the chair.

Mr. Potter remained silent, staring at Larry. After a while, he smiled faintly, his mustache twitching, and began to speak softly.

"Son, to be honest, you really surprise me... I'm not referring to your going to the gambling den, I'm talking about what you did."

Seeing that Larry didn't respond, Mr. Porter continued, "You actually made $3000 in one go, you know? You really surprised me!"

Mr. Porter already knows everything he needs to know, and Larry has no need to deny it—that would make him look stupid.

He nodded to Mr. Potter and said, "I didn't expect you to know."

"This circle isn't very big, Larry," Mr. Porter said casually, glancing at him.

"Mr. Amon was hospitalized. When I visited him, he told me himself, 'That damn kid in your sales department stole half a month's profit from us.' Hahaha! You should have been there. He was so angry his eyes were practically popping out of their sockets."

Mr. Potter laughed, but Larry did not.

Mr. Potter's smile faded, and his expression turned serious. "Larry, I can't interfere in your private life. But as someone who's been through it all, and someone who has high hopes for you, I'd like to offer a few suggestions."

"You said it, Mr. Potter!" Larry straightened up, all ears.

"First, don't assume good luck will always be on your side. If someone is always fully invested, they're always one step away from death. Understand? Save half of your profits, or even spend them, because only money spent is truly yours. But never invest everything in the stock market!"

Mr. Potter spoke in a very serious and firm tone.

Larry nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Secondly, $3000 is way too much for you right now. You need to understand that having that much money is a hidden danger for a 14-year-old. Be careful, and it would be best to move to a safer area in the city. I don't want to see your name in the crime section of the newspaper, understand?"

After Mr. Potter finished speaking, he opened the drawer of his desk, took out a pistol, placed it on the table, and gestured to it.

"This thing can sometimes save your life!"

"But according to Massachusetts law, men can only own guns after they turn 18." Larry had also thought about guns, but the complicated purchasing process prevented a 14-year-old boy from getting his own weapon.

Mr. Potter frowned and said curtly, "Alright then, when the thugs corner you, you can say to them, 'Gentlemen, I'm not yet of legal gun-carrying age. Could you please wait until I'm 18 before robbing me?'"

Larry swallowed hard and nodded in agreement.

"Mr. Potter! I understand. I'll go back... and look for it."

Mr. Potter took a notepad from the table, scribbled a few lines on it, handed it to Larry, and then said meaningfully,

"Over at the fishing port, there are many new immigrants who have just arrived in Boston. Go there and find an Italian man called 'Old K,' and mention my name."

Larry quickly stood up, respectfully accepted the note, and bowed to Mr. Potter in gratitude.

Mr. Potter gestured for him to sit down, then held up three fingers and continued solemnly,

"Third, and most importantly, son, if one day you really manage to make a decent amount of money from the stock market, then don't stay here, go to New York! Go to Wall Street... that's where you belong!"