Chapter 95: Seeing the Hole Card
The fact that even Hall couldn't uncover the truth only made Bobby more curious.
It had been a long time since he'd encountered something like this—
For the first time, money had lost its power.
In Bobby's world, money had always been the most loyal and reliable tool.
It didn't lie. It didn't hesitate. It didn't care about sentiment.
It only recognized price.
As long as you could pay enough, it would push open door after door for you.
But this time—
it had been stopped at the entrance.
Not because the price wasn't high enough…
but because money simply wasn't a valid ticket.
Of course, Bobby understood what Hall meant in his final warning.
This wasn't just "expensive."
It had been deliberately sealed off from his tier entirely.
And deep down, Bobby knew the truth himself—
He was no longer chasing this for a dying employee.
That had only been the starting point.
What was really driving him now was something else:
He wanted to know.
To know what those who truly controlled power and rules were hiding.
To know what they actually cared about.
And more importantly—
he wanted to stand at the same level as them.
Yet every channel he was familiar with had been shut down.
Markets. Lobbying. Networks. Gray routes.
All useless.
For the first time, Bobby realized—
even after playing all his cards, he still had no way forward.
He had briefly considered going through Wendy.
Her husband was a federal prosecutor—technically, that was a doorway he couldn't access.
But he shut that thought down almost immediately.
He knew exactly where that line was.
Cross it, and not only would things spiral out of control—
the delicate, carefully balanced relationship between him and Wendy would shatter as well.
Bobby never made deals he couldn't control.
Fortunately—
the world didn't make him wait long.
A new opportunity came soon enough.
—
The trading floor at Axe Capital glowed under cold white light.
The market wall looked like a burning battlefield report—red lines snapping one after another, while volume lagged behind.
Liquidity was being drained—fast.
The target company's stock price was breaking through key levels in succession.
This wasn't panic selling.
Someone was deliberately compressing its room to maneuver.
"Dollar" Bill sat at his terminal, leaning forward like a hyena closing in on prey.
"They're exposed," he said, eyes locked on the screen. His voice was low, but the excitement bled through.
"All financing channels are cut. The leverage they piled on at the top is now a liability."
"Margin's down to the last buffer."
He tapped the screen, marking a price range.
"As long as we keep building positions against them and push the price into this zone—"
"The risk will hit their margin first."
He looked up toward the glass office overlooking the floor.
"They'll get margin calls. If they can't meet them, liquidation kicks in."
Dollar Bill licked his lips, like he was holding back a thrill.
"After that… it's harvest time."
He strode over, knocked on Bobby Axelrod's office door, and leaned halfway in.
"Boss, we're ready to harvest."
Bobby sat behind his desk, watching the entire trading floor.
He only asked one question:
"Time window?"
"Twenty minutes," Dollar Bill replied immediately. "Price structure will complete by then. Estimated minimum profit—120 million."
He closed the glass door and left.
Bobby turned back to his screen.
His gaze settled once more on the man in the video window—
A middle-aged man, still calm.
Then the man spoke:
"You've won. At this point, I can't stop it anymore. That hundred-plus million—it's yours."
He paused.
"But you can choose not to harvest."
"I have something to trade."
Bobby Axelrod said nothing.
Was this surrender… or just another form of negotiation?
Time was on his side.
So he waited.
His eyes rested on the countdown timer on the screen, watching the seconds slip by one after another.
A full two minutes passed before he finally lifted his head.
His voice was calm, controlled—almost casual.
"I don't believe… that in the next ten minutes, you can produce anything worth 120 million dollars."
The man on the other end didn't argue.
He fell silent for a few seconds, as if making up his mind.
Then he spoke.
"What I'm offering… is the very thing you've been searching for—yet kept being shut out from."
Bobby's eyes sharpened instantly.
"Go on."
"This information—120 million is already a bargain."
"Because if you don't hear it today… even if you're willing to pay a billion later, no one may ever speak of it."
He paused, looking straight into the camera.
"And I guarantee—after you hear it, you won't think this was a losing trade."
"What is it?"
The man shook his head. "You agree first. Pull out."
Bobby glanced up at the profit projection on the market wall.
$120,000,000
All he had to do was… nothing.
Wait.
And it would be his.
Yet—
he stood up without hesitation and walked out of his office.
He stopped in front of Dollar Bill and Ben Kim's desks.
"Stop the harvest."
Bill snapped his head around. "Boss?!"
Bobby's gaze remained on the market wall, his tone steady—almost cold.
"Close all reverse positions. Break the price structure. Let them recover into the safe zone."
Ben Kim instinctively confirmed, "All of it?"
"All of it."
Just like that—
120 million dollars in profit… gone.
Bobby returned to his office and looked back at the screen.
"Talk."
His voice carried no warmth.
"If what you give me… isn't worth that price—"
"I promise I'll pay any cost necessary to make sure you die faster and worse than you were about to."
—
Ten minutes later.
After the call ended, Bobby Axelrod sat there, momentarily dazed.
What he had just heard sounded like pure fantasy.
And yet—
it fit everything.
He muttered under his breath:
"Rayne Clinic… Ethan Rayne."
A surge of urgency rose in him—an almost overwhelming urge to verify it, to tell someone.
But reason crushed it instantly.
This—
was not something he could share.
With anyone.
He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself back under control.
There were still things to handle. Emotions outside needed managing.
He pressed the intercom.
"Dollar Bill. Get in here."
Thirty seconds later, Dollar Bill stormed in like a gust of wind, confusion and restrained frustration written all over his face—
the kind of frustration that comes from being ordered to retreat after winning a battle.
"Sit," Bobby gestured.
Bill sat, leaning forward. "Boss, can I ask—"
"No."
"But—"
"The look on your face," Bobby cut him off, "is like a kid who just built a sandcastle… and watched it get washed away."
"That was a 120 million dollar sandcastle!" Bill shot back.
Bobby nodded. "It was. But you should know—some things are worth far more than money."
"Like what? Conscience? Sleep? Or some bullshit inner peace?" Bill nearly shouted.
"We run a hedge fund, not a monastery. Our job is to make money—a lot of money—and then use it to solve everything else."
Bobby didn't argue.
He simply said, flatly:
"Money is just a tool."
Bill opened his mouth, still wanting to push further.
But Bobby was no longer looking at him.
His mind had already moved on.
Now that he had seen the hole card—
the next step was figuring out how to turn it into value.
(End of Chapter)