Simon's approach of "taking it one step at a time" regarding the Nasdaq was, in reality, a display of supreme confidence. The Westeros system had, as early as 1996, preemptively prepared for the eventual burst of the tech bubble. Its tech companies had amassed significant cash reserves, ensuring resilience in the face of any market downturn.
For Julian Robertson, the head of Tiger Fund, however, these past few days had been nerve-wracking.
As a staunch bear on the tech sector, Robertson had initially believed the Nasdaq would turn downward in December of last year—or, at the latest, in January. Thus, even without the instigation of Richard Mellon Scaife, he had been prepared to bet everything Tiger Fund had for a shot at victory.
But December 1996 came and went. So did January 1997. Now, it was already February.
Since the U.S. presidential election ended on November 6, 1996, the Nasdaq had risen from 5,426 points. Far from reversing, the index reached a new all-time high of 6,437 points this past Friday, despite the relentless efforts of bearish capital forces to bring it down.
In three months, the Nasdaq had climbed 18%.
Tiger Fund had started building its short positions after the election and completed them by late December, leveraging $120 billion in capital with an average leverage of three to five times. By Friday, the fund's portfolio of short contracts, worth nearly $500 billion, had accumulated paper losses of $7.3 billion—over 60% of its initial capital.
With more than half its capital wiped out, Robertson had been forced to liquidate some positions to maintain the necessary margin requirements.
Now, this hedge fund titan, who had risen to prominence alongside George Soros in recent years, faced a critical decision: Should he cut his losses and fully liquidate, conceding defeat, or take one last gamble?
Julian Robertson was convinced that no matter how resilient the bubble appeared, it would eventually succumb to economic fundamentals. It was clear to everyone that the Nasdaq bubble was dangerously inflated and could burst at any moment. Even if the vested interests led by the Westeros system mobilized the full weight of federal power to sustain it, the result could not be changed.
Perhaps the collapse would come tomorrow.
But the real question was, how many more tomorrows could Tiger Fund survive?
New York.
Despite it being Sunday, Julian Robertson spent most of his day at Tiger Fund's downtown Manhattan headquarters, anxiously dealing with restless investors.
The late winter day was sunny but bitterly cold.
Around 4:00 PM, Robertson left his office and headed to the Upper East Side, where he met his longtime friend and fellow hedge fund magnate, George Soros, at a café.
After some pleasantries, the two sat down. When the waiter left them with their coffees, Soros looked at Robertson, who was staring out the window at the slanting sunlight on a nearby building, and asked, "So, how's it going?"
Robertson snapped out of his thoughts, took a sip of his steaming coffee, and, after a pause, said, "I've decided to wait one more month."
Soros didn't pry into Robertson's losses—he could guess they were significant, likely exceeding 50%. After a moment of silence, he said, "Or, you could liquidate now and join me in betting on Southeast Asia. If all goes well, you might recover most of your losses this year."
Robertson shook his head with a bitter smile. "George, you know as well as I do that if I liquidate now, my investors will demand a full redemption. I won't have the chance to pivot to Southeast Asia."
Soros nodded quietly.
Robertson's predicament was a harsh reality. Hedge funds were inherently high-risk ventures—everyone understood that. But if losses were too great, investors would inevitably pull their money out.
If Tiger Fund couldn't hold out until the Nasdaq turned, the only outcome would be liquidation and closure.
Soros, who had been quietly positioning himself in Southeast Asia since last year, had avoided betting on tech stocks but had been closely monitoring the Nasdaq's movements. Friday's close of 6,437 points struck him as absurdly high. After all, at the start of this decade, in 1990, the Nasdaq was just around 300 points. In seven short years, it had skyrocketed by a factor of 20. No normal stock market could sustain such growth.
Yet, despite its absurdity, it had happened—and was still happening.
Soros was increasingly convinced that Egret Corporation might become the first U.S. company in history to reach a market value of $1 trillion. Unlike many smaller, second- or third-tier tech companies, Egret was genuinely successful. Even at Friday's market cap of $773.1 billion, its price-to-earnings (P/E) ratio was "only" 221 times.
Granted, 221 times earnings was a lofty figure, but compared to many Nasdaq companies with P/E ratios exceeding 500 or even 1,000 times, it was relatively healthy. Reaching a market cap of $1 trillion would only require a P/E ratio of around 280 times.
Given Egret's ability to maintain an annual growth rate of over 60% even after surpassing $30 billion in revenue, a P/E of 280 wasn't unreasonable.
This casual weekend meeting between the two old friends wasn't about Robertson seeking help from Soros. Soros made a suggestion, but when Robertson declined, he didn't press the matter.
The conversation soon shifted to lighter topics.
"What do you think that kid is doing right now?"
Soros smiled mischievously at the mention of this. "He's definitely in New York. You've probably heard—he got that Lande girl pregnant. While he doesn't seem inclined to marry her, he's been responsible enough to visit her every week."
Robertson chuckled. "It seems you're not fully informed. She's not the only one who's pregnant."
Soros simply smiled.
Of course, he knew.
But to Soros, the child with the Lande girl was the most significant. That child, once born, would have another important identity: Jewish.
Soros had attended one of the Lande family's gatherings.
In Western society, ethnicity was never irrelevant. Groups like the Jewish community, as a minority, placed great importance on such matters.
While Simon Westeros's ethnicity remained a mystery to most, the addition of a Jewish child to the Westeros family—especially a boy, based on recent rumors—meant significant future advantages for the Jewish community within the Westeros system.
Robertson noticed Soros's knowing smile and chose not to comment further.
Taking another sip of his coffee, Robertson couldn't help but express some grudging admiration. "George, tell me—how did he do it back in '87?"
"Who knows?" Soros shrugged at the mention of Robertson's infamous failure. "Honestly, I'm more inclined to believe he's clairvoyant. Otherwise, how could he have made such precise predictions?"
Without the massive windfall Simon made during the 1987 market crash, he might have remained just a Hollywood director—albeit the very best.
Then again, even without the crash, had Simon invested early in the internet, he still might have built Egret.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate.
Egret's meteoric rise was only possible thanks to an entire ecosystem advancing in unison: AOL, Cisco, personal computer upgrades, and Tinkerbell's internet peripheral products. Without this synchronized development across the industry, Egret could never have achieved its current scale.
The capital required to advance an entire industry was immense.
Take the recent media reports about Egret's Amazon division losing $1.7 billion last year. Without the ability to burn $1.7 billion in a single year—and the resources to sustain such losses—Egret's e-commerce business could never have reached $10 billion in revenue in just five years.
All in all, Simon had, in essence, single-handedly accelerated the internet industry's development to where it was today. Without him, the internet might still be in its infancy.
And the foundation of all this was his windfall in 1987, which gave him the capital to make it happen.
Soros shook his head slightly. "Regardless, Simon has completely transcended the level we operate on. The recent Nasdaq battle should have shown you how massive the disparity in strength is. And this is with Simon playing by the rules. If he chose to break them—and the Westeros system certainly has the power to do so—you wouldn't even be in the mood to sit here and have coffee with me."
Robertson wanted to argue but ultimately had to admit the truth.
Manhattan's Upper West Side.
While the two older men discussed Simon over coffee, he was spending the evening preparing dinner with Chen Qing and Lin Su.
It was a rare experience—domestic and comforting.
With Chinese New Year approaching, Chen Qing had no intention of returning to China. Lin Su, pregnant and understandably anxious, also chose not to return to celebrate with her family this year.
Simon hadn't initially thought much of it, but noticing Lin Su's low spirits, he quickly realized the significance.
So, he did his best to comfort her.
After spending the afternoon and evening together—and sending Chen Qing away to enjoy some alone time with Lin Su—Simon awoke the next morning to find tear stains on her face. Only then did he realize how deeply troubled she had been.
A heartfelt conversation revealed her concerns.
Pregnancy had made Lin Su more sensitive. Despite her usual composed and capable demeanor—especially in her competitive dynamic with Chen Qing—she couldn't help but feel vulnerable. As a woman raised with traditional Chinese values, the lack of a formal marriage or recognized status left her feeling insecure, even though Simon had promised their child would carry the Westeros name.
Originally planning to return to Los Angeles on Monday, Simon decided instead to fly with Lin Su to China to celebrate the New Year—and handle some other matters along the way.
It was February 3, Monday, just three days before Lunar New Year's Eve.
When Lin Su learned of Simon's decision, she hesitated, worried about the timing. The Nasdaq battle had just unfolded, and media discussions were still intense. What if something urgent happened while Simon was away and unable to respond?
Simon dismissed her concerns.
"If I can't afford the freedom to leave when I want, then what's the point of everything I've built?"
Later that day, they departed.
Chen Qing, however, was left behind.
Some matters in China, after all, were not suitable for her involvement.
She personally saw Simon and Lin Su off at the airport. Watching their Boeing 767 disappear into the sky, she feigned a look of grievance but secretly felt a spark of anticipation. Simon had promised she could have a child of her own after turning 30. At 28, that moment wasn't far off.
Surely, when the time came, Simon would treat them all equally.
Thinking of this, Chen Qing felt a hint of nervousness. She wondered if her father would come after her with a feather duster, ready to chase out her and Simon as a pair of unruly scoundrels.
Then again—no, probably not.
Her father had always worried she'd go astray. In her childhood, he'd even taken her to witness public executions during a crackdown on crime, hoping to scare her straight.
And yet, those vivid scenes hadn't frightened her—they'd only exhilarated her.
Her parents' expectations for her were, in hindsight, quite low. If she were to bring Simon Westeros home one day and declare, "This is my man," surely that would be enough to exceed their modest hopes—even if she were merely wife number five, six, or seven.
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