Taking advantage of Run Lola Run and The Butterfly Effect still riding high in theaters, Disney announced the very next day its upcoming distribution partnership with Daenerys Films on When Harry Met Sally.
At Daenerys Films.
Though displeased with Simon's pledge of a $6 million minimum fee to Disney, Orion Pictures head Dennis O'Brien—bound by the original agreement granting Daenerys full control over distribution—could only grumble about it verbally.
After several days of negotiations, on May 5, Daenerys Films formally signed the distribution contract for When Harry Met Sally with Disney.
With distribution locked in, Daenerys could now focus solely on producing its three films. Simon, meanwhile, began shifting some energy to his other plan.
May 6, a Wednesday.
In his Century Tower apartment, Simon hadn't stepped out that morning.
For secrecy's sake, two Lehman Brothers managers came in person to handle his futures account setup.
Nearing eleven, Lehman senior vice president Jeff Robertson double-checked the paperwork, carefully stowed the documents in his briefcase, and rose. "Mr. Westeros, for anything next, you can reach out to Noah directly. Of course, if you need help with something, feel free to call me anytime."
Simon shook his hand politely, saw him out, then turned to the thirtyish white man who'd stayed behind. He matched Simon's height, with brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and an impeccably tailored white shirt over black slacks.
This was Janet's classmate she'd recommended: Noah Scott, currently a vice president at Lehman's Chicago branch, specializing in futures brokerage.
To land Simon as a major client, Noah had flown in from Chicago.
They resettled on the living room sofas. Simon eyed the man across from him, probing: "Noah, if I'm not mistaken, you and Janet weren't in the same class, right?"
Noah Scott shook his head, appraising Simon in turn. "Sorry to say, Simon—we were classmates."
Simon raised a brow slightly. "Then you must be sharper than I figured."
If classmates with Janet, Noah might be just twenty-seven this year. Making VP at Lehman by twenty-seven? That exceeded Simon's expectations.
Investment banking hierarchies differed from other firms.
In banking's early days, to negotiate on equal footing with corporate execs, firms bestowed titles like managing director, executive director, senior VP, VP, associate VP. Those stuck around.
Thus, on Wall Street, any sizable bank boasted hundreds of VPs.
But that didn't make becoming a VP at a venerable outfit like Lehman easy. A top business school grad started as an analyst, climbed to associate VP, then VP—typically grinding seven or eight years.
Facing Simon's surprise, Noah Scott was candid. "Actually, Simon, my father's a senior exec at AmEx. But I've got the confidence to handle the role—your funds are safe with me. So, what's your next move?"
Simon vaguely recalled AmEx acquiring Lehman a few years back, though details were fuzzy. He knew big banks teemed with elites—and nepotism.
Trusting Janet, he didn't dwell on it.
But at Noah's question, Simon had no intention of laying out his full plan. They weren't there yet; Wall Street backstabbings were legend.
"Noah, $75 million hits Westeros Company's account this afternoon. Back in Chicago, over the week's last two days, buy 1,000 long contracts for September S&P 500 futures."
Noah nodded faintly, pressing: "And then?"
Simon was terse: "Wait. For my next instruction."
Noah pondered, then ventured: "Simon, you're going long-term?"
"Maybe," Simon replied noncommittally, fixing on the man. "Noah, understand this: I don't need advice. My rule's simple—I say, you do."
Noah met Simon's suddenly sharp gaze, then shrugged after a beat, shifting on the sofa. "Of course, Simon—client's God. But you don't seem to trust me much."
Simon countered: "If we switched spots, would you trust me on first meet?"
"If I were nineteen? Maybe," Noah teased lightly, then added: "Since we're on business, maybe not much to discuss. So, how'd you snag Janet? Plenty of us tried back then—all struck out."
Simon didn't want to delve into his and Janet's private life; he shook his head and stood. "Sorry, Noah—no lunch today. Maybe next time."
Noah didn't push, rising to shake hands. "Looking forward to building some trust by then."
Once Noah left, Simon grabbed a recent S&P 500 chart from the coffee table and headed to the study.
At the broad whiteboard on the wall, he held up the chart through yesterday against the one he'd sketched from memory.
To avoid biasing his recall, he'd ignored recent indices until now. But the pre-May 6, 1987, line matched his board's corresponding segment closely.
So, memory held true.
Simon relaxed mostly—despite his 'butterfly' effect, he doubted he'd disrupt the S&P 500 futures' billion-dollar daily volume much.
From gathered intel, 1987 was futures' 'wild west.' Brimming with opportunity—and pitfalls. Riches overnight, or ruin in a flash.
Unlike century-old commodities, the first stock index future debuted in the US in 1982—just five years back.
That year kicked off a new bull market.
From 1982, the Dow climbed from 800 to near 2,300 lately; Simon knew it'd peak above 2,700 soon.
Booming stocks masked futures' flaws.
Anyone with basic futures knowledge knew of daily limits, circuit breakers, cash settlement, position caps—for market protection.
But in 1987?
None of that.
Dow futures weren't out yet; S&P 500 was king. Trading was straightforward.
Recent S&P around 270; Simon recalled it topping 330 by late August.
Say 300 for round numbers: Contract multiplier then was $500 (later 250). So each contract: index times multiplier = $150,000 value. But traders needed just 10% margin—$15,000 per.
Each point swing: $500 profit/loss per contract.
$500 seemed small—but times 10,000 contracts? A point meant $5 million.
At $15,000 margin each, 10,000 needed $150 million. Against that, $5 million was peanuts.
From '82 on, North American indices rose steadily, rarely volatile. With such calm, S&P's minimum tick was 0.1 points.
No major shocks in five years; feds imposed no curbs.
No price limits, no breakers, no daily settlement, no position limits...
Then October 19, 1987, crashed down.
In his memory, S&P plunged from Friday's 281 close to under 200 open.
80-point drop.
What that meant.
For 10,000 longs at 281: Total margin ~$140 million. Per contract loss: $500 x 80 = $40,000.
Overall: $400 million loss. Nearly 300% of margin.
Indeed, '87's crash claimed such a victim: George Soros, future mogul, betting huge longs—lost $800 million.
His Quantum Fund, just over $3 billion, shrank a quarter in days.
Now.
In the Century Tower apartment.
Simon gazed at the board's upward S&P curve through late August, fingers tingling at the months-ahead plan.
The line: Early May's 270 to August's 330. 60-point rise, crash-scale volatility. Per long: $30,000 profit. Over 200% return.
Volatile September.
Skip.
October 19.
281 to 200: 80-point crash. The real one.
Soros had his reflexivity theory: Markets and participants endlessly, unpredictably influenced each other.
Simon had weighed his 'butterfly' altering the path.
But.
With all expected chips: Just over $100 million.
If he lost?
Start over.
But if he won.
In scaling the pyramid, Simon would leap countless steps at once.