The feeling of autumn in Tokyo grew stronger each day.
The old ginkgo tree in the courtyard had begun to shed its leaves, carpeting the bluestone path with golden, fan-shaped foliage.
One o'clock in the morning.
Inside the study of the Saionji Main Family Residence, the overheated fax machine finally fell silent after its long, grating buzz. Shuichi picked up the paper cutter and snipped the warm thermal paper. The sheet was unusually long, trailing all the way to the carpet. Dense lines of English text and figures covered it like a swarm of ants.
S.A. Investment (Cayman) Ltd.
Account Summary – October 22, 1987
Shuichi's eyes moved quickly across the complex transaction details until they settled on the bolded total at the bottom.
Total Equity: $685,000,000
Six hundred and eighty-five million U.S. dollars. At the current exchange rate, this amounted to nearly one hundred billion yen.
His fingers trembled slightly.
Only a week earlier the figure had stood at around five hundred million. In just four days the family's assets had grown more than thirty percent while the average net worth of the world's wealthy had shrunk by twenty percent. Countless people were now standing on rooftops in despair. Yet the Saionji fortune had swelled against the tide.
"This is simply…" Shuichi swallowed, his throat dry. "This is like picking gold from a pile of corpses."
The red secure telephone on the corner of the desk rang.
Shuichi took a deep breath to steady his heartbeat and lifted the receiver.
"Hello."
"Boss! Did you see the report?!" Frank's voice crossed the ocean. This time there was no terror of impending doom, no gambler's frenzy—only hoarse exhaustion mixed with deep reverence, as if he had just witnessed Moses parting the sea.
"I saw it," Shuichi replied, keeping his voice calm. "Well done, Frank."
"No, I didn't do this. I was only the monkey pressing the keys." Frank gave a nervous laugh. "It was Miss Satsuki… she is like a god. No, a witch. How did she know Greenspan would issue that statement on Tuesday morning?"
Two days earlier, on Tuesday, the ruins of Monday's crash still lay across Wall Street and panic continued to spread. Yet Satsuki had issued her second command: close all put options and go all-in on Microsoft, Intel, and Cisco.
Frank had thought he misheard. Buy now? Wasn't that catching a falling knife?
Less than an hour later the new Federal Reserve Chairman, Alan Greenspan, released a brief but powerful statement: "The Federal Reserve stands ready to provide liquidity support to the economic and financial system."
The words acted like a stabilizing anchor. Banks began lending again, listed companies started buying back shares, and the U.S. stock market stopped falling on Tuesday and surged on Wednesday. The Dow Jones index rebounded more than ten percent in two days.
S.A. Investment had executed a flawless shift from short to long at the absolute bottom. First, a small amount of option capital had harvested dozens of times its value from the crash. Then, using those profits plus the original principal, the firm bought high-quality technology stocks at bargain prices—the very same stocks it had sold at the peak. The number of shares now held was thirty percent greater than before the crash. A perfect double play.
"Frank," Satsuki's voice sounded from nearby. She sat in a high-backed chair, holding a glass of warm milk. "Do not make me sound like a fortune teller. This is only basic logic."
She took a sip, her tone matter-of-fact. "The crash was a technical collapse caused by mechanical failures and overlapping panic. The fundamentals of the U.S. economy were never broken. There was no real recession and no war. In such a situation, as soon as the central bank injected liquidity, the market was bound to rebound sharply. Greenspan is intelligent. He understood that failing to act now would risk repeating the Great Depression of 1929. He could not accept that historical responsibility."
Frank remained silent for a long moment on the other end.
"Logic… yes, logic," he muttered at last. Everyone could see the reasoning, but only a few could suppress raw human terror at the moment when the entire world was screaming in fear and calmly follow that logic. That was the difference between gods and mortals.
"Boss," Frank continued after drawing a deep breath, "everyone on Wall Street is now asking who S.A. really is. George from Goldman Sachs invited me for a drink yesterday and tried to fish for information. I said nothing. But they have already put us on their radar. They are calling us 'The Ghost from the East.'"
"Let them call us whatever they like," Satsuki replied, setting down her glass. "Keep a low profile. We have enough chips now. Clean up the junk bonds and hold some cash in reserve. You can take a vacation this week. Buy a Ferrari or go soak up the sun in Hawaii."
"Yes, ma'am."
After Frank hung up, silence returned to the study.
Shuichi stared at the long report still lying on the floor. "One hundred billion yen…" He rose, walked to the window, and pushed it open a crack. The cold night air rushed in, cooling his heated mind. "Satsuki, this money is too hot to handle. Earning this much in the United States will surely draw attention—from the SEC or from Japan's Ministry of Finance."
"Do not worry. The money sits in the Cayman Islands," Satsuki answered, picking up her Rubik's Cube and twisting it with soft clicks. "Besides, it will not stay there long. Soon it will return to Tokyo and turn into steel, concrete, and the very land beneath our feet."
October 25, noon. Otemachi.
This district, home to Japan's most powerful financial institutions, still wore a surface of solemn busyness. Although aftershocks of the crash lingered, bankers' lunches continued as usual.
Inside a discreet high-end teppanyaki restaurant hidden deep within an office building, only six seats had been prepared. The heavy iron plate gleamed under the lights while a chef in white flipped imported Australian lobsters with practiced skill. Butter sizzled at high heat, releasing an enticing aroma.
Shuichi occupied the main seat. Beside him sat a middle-aged man with blond hair and blue eyes—Davis, Goldman Sachs' chief representative in Tokyo.
"Mr. Saionji, the Kobe beef here truly lives up to its reputation," Davis said, placing a perfectly grilled slice into his mouth with an exaggerated expression of pleasure. "Just like the Saionji family's performance in this storm—most impressive."
He set down his chopsticks, fixing Shuichi with his clear blue gaze. "We noticed that S.A. Investment timed every move almost perfectly: liquidating on Friday, shorting on Monday, and buying the dip on Tuesday. That level of precision is something even Goldman Sachs' proprietary trading desk at headquarters could not match."
Davis swirled the sake in his cup. "Headquarters asked me to inquire… is there some friend on Wall Street we do not know about behind S.A.?"
It was a direct probe. The sharks of Wall Street had smelled blood and wanted to learn exactly who this new predator was. Had there been inside information? Or guidance from a hidden master?
Shuichi smiled. He picked up his napkin and elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth.
"Mr. Davis, you must be joking," he replied in the gentle, composed tone of an old-school aristocrat. "S.A. is merely a small vehicle the Saionji family uses to let the children practice. As for the operational precision…" He gestured toward the dancing flames on the iron plate. "Perhaps it is because, to survive in this turbulent world, one must always remain a little timid. When you are timid, you simply run a little faster. That is all."
It was a graceful deflection—neither admitting nor denying insider knowledge, attributing everything to caution and luck.
To Davis, however, the words carried a different weight. A "small practice business" that could move hundreds of millions of dollars? Timid enough to short aggressively on the very day of the crash? This Easterner was unfathomable. Still, in the financial world everyone kept a few secrets. Knowing that the Saionji family possessed real power was enough. Future cooperation might even be possible.
He raised his glass. "In any case, a toast to timidity. In this market, only the timid survive for long."
"To timidity," Shuichi replied.
Amid the clear clink of glasses, representatives of capital from two different continents reached a subtle understanding. Goldman Sachs would no longer pry into S.A.'s background. They recognized another shark swimming in the same waters, and between sharks, cooperation remained possible.
New York, Manhattan.
In an inconspicuous Midtown office that served as the headquarters of S.A. Investment, Frank did not leave immediately after ending the call. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the crowds still hurrying below like busy ants. Only two days earlier many of those same people had wept in despair. Now, with the market rebounding, greed had returned to their faces.
Frank lit a cigarette and took a long drag. His hand still trembled slightly—not from fear, but from excitement. He opened a drawer and took out a photograph Shuichi had sent for document processing. In the background the faint profile of a young girl seated in a high-backed chair was visible. That was Satsuki.
Frank did not know what she looked like or how old she was, but he knew she was his god.
"God bless America," he murmured, blowing out a smoke ring toward the gray sky. "No—Satsuki bless America."
He closed the drawer, picked up his coat, and headed for the Ferrari showroom. Since God had said he could buy one, he would choose the brightest red.
Tokyo, Saionji Main Family Residence.
Satsuki sat on the veranda, the thick asset report resting on her lap. The afternoon sun glared against the paper, making the figures appear almost white.
One hundred billion yen.
In 1987 this sum could buy more than half of Shinjuku's prime commercial real estate or controlling stakes in several large banks. Yet she knew it was not enough. Compared with the coming madness of 1989, when Tokyo land prices would be inflated to the point where people joked about buying the entire United States, this amount was merely an entry ticket.
"Father," she said, closing the folder as Shuichi returned from Otemachi.
He removed his coat, loosened his tie, and sat beside her. "Did you handle Goldman Sachs?"
"Yes. Davis is a clever man." Shuichi accepted the tea a maid offered him. "We have reached a preliminary understanding. For now, Wall Street should not make any aggressive moves against us."
"That is good." Satsuki stood and stretched. "The money has returned and we have built a reputation. Next, it is time for real business."
She pointed into the distance. Beyond the courtyard walls, skyscrapers were rising in the port area. Tower cranes turned slowly in the air and the faint sound of pile drivers echoed.
"How is the takeover of Gondo's Daito Construction proceeding?"
"The paperwork is complete," Shuichi replied. "Itakura has already sent in a financial team. Gondo is still sulking, but he is very obedient now."
"Excellent." Satsuki narrowed her eyes. "Get ready, Father. Soon Japan will enter the most insane year in its history."
Shuichi looked at his daughter. In the slanting sunlight her small figure seemed to stretch taller, casting a vast shadow that covered all of Tokyo.
The windfall earned by the timid was not merely money. It was the only clear-headed control in an era about to spin completely out of control.
A breeze moved through the courtyard. Golden ginkgo leaves drifted down, covering the ground like scattered coins—or like paper offerings for the dead.