A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 285: The Invisible Hand (20)

9 PM, at the Morgan Library on Madison Avenue.

On a normal day, this place would have closed at 5 PM and stood empty. Tonight, however, black sedans began arriving one by one. Members of the Triangle Club had rented this venue for the evening.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

“Seven years, I think…”

Originally, this library was the personal study of the legendary financier J.P. Morgan—a kind of sanctuary steeped in Wall Street’s long history.

Whenever the Triangle Club welcomed new members, they would ceremonially rent this venue. That alone hinted at how they saw themselves. To them, the Triangle Club was more than just an investment circle or social network—it was a kind of “bloodline” carrying on the major legacies of the financial world.

In that sense, members entering here usually wore expressions of pride—except tonight. For some reason, many faces looked unusually somber. Tightly pressed lips, chilly, hardened expressions. These were figures from the macro-investment faction who had tried to oppose Hasiheon—but had ended up humiliated.

“Looks like you lot are looking quite bruised.”

At that moment, White Shark addressed the pale faces of the macro faction with words of consolation—but his tone betrayed concern, even as his mouth curved into a wide grin beneath his ears.

“Heh, how many times did I warn you never to appear on screen with that Hasiheon bastard? But back then, my warnings from this old fossil probably sounded like nonsense to you. Tsk tsk!”

Though inwardly fuming, the macro-faction members couldn’t retort. They had once rallied to expel White Shark from the club over the Epicura incident, yet now they’d suffered public disgrace in front of the entire nation over this issue.

“Well, I may have been caught off guard, but you guys—not just me—weren’t you paying attention to the Arco incident and the yuan war as well? Hmm, I still can’t understand. What were you thinking?”

As White Shark persistently reopened their wounds, Akrmann couldn’t help but chime in:

“I’m truly curious too. We didn’t even lose in a one-on-one bout—with six of us ganging up, yet we all fell flat…?”

But White Shark’s and Akrmann’s taunts were merely the prelude. What followed was true ridicule—from none other than Hasiheon himself.

Hasiheon entered and mockingly addressed one member of the macro fund:

“Oh, you’re all here. Did you enjoy the meals I had delivered?”

The person he spoke to immediately turned pale.

This was the very member who during a public debate had claimed, “A restaurant that once caused food poisoning might actually be safer, since they’re extra careful.” Hasiheon continued:

“You said you preferred ‘safe restaurants,’ so I’ve been having 50 meals delivered to your hedge fund’s office every Friday from eateries flagged for hygiene issues.”

The named macro-fund individual's face drained of color.

Before he could recover, Hasiheon moved on to another target:

“Ah, you’re here too. How are you enjoying the smartphone I sent?”

This one had once debated with Hasiheon whether “AI is safer than smartphones.” Hasiheon had gifted him thirty of the same model that had been known to explode.

Instantly, that person’s expression also hardened. For long-established figures, being mocked face-to-face like this was unprecedented.

Then the club’s president finally spoke up:

“Let’s move to tonight’s agenda: a decision on admitting Hasiheon to the club.”

He proceeded briskly:

“Hasiheon’s investment strategy—capitalizing on sector growth from the AI war between Stark and Gooble—was projected to yield a 64% IRR within six months. But the actual result was…”

A projector switched on, displaying an astonishing 649% return.

Silence. Even seasoned investors were stunned.

“I can’t argue with the results. A club this size, managing substantial capital and typically investing in large-cap stocks, doesn’t see such extreme returns. Even during the dot-com bubble, few funds went beyond 400%.”

Hasiheon responded modestly:

“I can’t take credit. I expected 64%, but thanks to help from existing members—and perhaps interference from those who doubted me—the returns were far beyond expectations. It was unexpected.”

His humility was actually another dig, implying the doubters had indirectly boosted his returns.

The president declared:

“He’s certainly delivered more than promised. Does anyone oppose his admission?”

Just then, a macro-fund member cautiously raised his hand:

“We’re about to enter sensitive territory. It would be better if outsiders stepped out for a moment.”

Hasiheon, as an external candidate, was asked to leave while they discussed in private—everyone knew what was coming.

A macro investor turned to the rest and asked:

“Do we want to admit someone who uses MESH?”

MESH.

This was the enormous shadow fund operated by the Triangle Club. If Hasiheon were to become a member, he would gain the right to manage that capital.

A member of the macro camp spoke seriously, attempting to persuade the others:

“Visible funds always come with restrictions. Yet even while shackled by public oversight, Hasiheon created a global AI cold war. If someone like that were granted control over MESH—money he could wield freely in the shadows—what do you think would happen?”

A heavy silence fell over the room. No one could quite articulate why, but an unmistakable sense of unease settled in.

“What if giving Hasiheon such immense capital is tantamount to releasing an uncontrollable monster into the financial markets?”

But then came a rebuttal—from Ackermann.

“That’s a rather strange argument. So you’re saying he’s too capable, and therefore should not be admitted?”

White Shark followed up:

“Let’s say you’re right, and admitting him is dangerous. But what if we reject him despite passing the test? Do you think he becomes less dangerous?”

Another silence.

The members had seen enough to know—Hasiheon was not one to take rejection lightly. He remembered every slight. Denying him rightful entry could very well turn that “monster” loose with a personal grudge against every member in the room.

“Meeting with him regularly, listening to his thoughts, might at least give us some insight. Maybe we can brace ourselves if he stirs up another storm. But cut him loose with a reason to target the entire club...?”

No one spoke, but the implication was clear.

Beyond the legion of retail investors backing him, Hasiheon had become a symbolic figure—an icon—during the recent U.S. election. He was frequently referred to as a “national treasure.”

Would excluding such a figure on vague concerns be wise?

“Let’s proceed with the vote.”

The result came swiftly.

“By a vote of 12 to 6, Hasiheon is officially a new member of the Triangle Club. A rare new admission. Please welcome him with applause.”

After the decision, Hasiheon returned, and the club began briefing him on MESH. He didn’t look surprised—Ackermann had already given him a rough idea. His focus was singular:

“When can I expect to start managing MESH?”

“As it stands now, likely in 2021.” 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Hearing that, Hasiheon frowned.

“I’d prefer to move it forward by about two years.”

Then came a strange series of questions:

“Is there any chance the MESH management schedule could be reshuffled or expedited?”

“Not unless a current member steps down or is removed.”

“So if a current member resigns or is forced out, my turn would move up?”

Hasiheon nodded thoughtfully and continued:

“For example, if the current manager’s fund suffers a sudden massive redemption crisis and is shut down, or if they get embroiled in a national scandal... Would that strip them of their club status? And if they were publicly branded a traitor to the nation? Surely in that case, they’d have to leave the club to preserve its reputation.”

His questions were far from casual—each one carried a clear implication. It was as if he was signaling he would systematically make those things happen to advance his position.

Watching him, the members silently questioned themselves once more:

“Did we really make the right decision?”

#

‘The date doesn’t quite match.’

Ackermann had previously told him that MESH’s operating schedule would begin around 2019. He had thought it would be the perfect card to play during the COVID crisis—but now it looked like it was off by about a year.

Still, it wasn’t a major issue.

If push comes to shove, all I have to do is bankrupt a few members ahead of me in line, and I can move up.

In any case, after wrapping up that business, he returned to Pareto Innovation. No sooner had he stepped into the office than someone spotted him and shouted:

“Hey, Sean! You’re back!”

It was Dobby. Sean sighed internally.

‘Here we go again.’

It was only natural—AI stocks were inflating into an enormous bubble, and the folks at Pareto had completely launched their minds into outer space. Not that anyone could blame them, considering the returns. And of course, these guys weren’t going to pass up the chance to celebrate.

Initially, they cut ceremonial ribbons every time returns hit 100%, but now…

“To today’s glory.”

That’s when Gonzales approached and handed him something. A hazmat suit.

“……?”

He was momentarily confused, but after seeing the stage behind Gonzales, he quickly understood.

A black backdrop, dry ice fog all around, and a giant, lumpy white balloon floating at the center. A banner hanging in the middle read:

<AI Moon Landing>

The concept was clearly inspired by the WSB (WallStreetBets) meme of stock prices “going to the moon,” and the ongoing AI war being likened to a space race or tech Cold War.

And what’s the endgame of a space race? A moon landing.

Apparently, Gonzales intended to re-create that moment—using a hazmat suit instead of a spacesuit.

“For the hope of mankind.”

He once again offered the suit to Sean, but Sean politely declined.

“I’ll delegate it to someone else.”

One of the traders eagerly volunteered, and the celebration continued. Amid grandiose background music, the trader—dressed in the hazmat suit—emerged. He walked slowly and dramatically, mimicking zero gravity, as if really on the moon.

Meanwhile, someone else picked up the mic and provided a running commentary:

“This is one small step for man, one giant leap for Pareto Innovation!”

“We act for the peace of global investors!”

“In the name of Pareto, we declare this moon the property of Sean’s global followers!”

Ridiculous? Maybe. But they sure knew how to have fun. Sean’s eyes involuntarily turned to the source of all this madness.

‘Of course, it’s him.’

Gonzales.

There was only one person at Pareto who would come up with this kind of nonsense, go all-in on the production value, and burn money on it. No great detective work required.

‘Should I try to rein him in?’

He considered it for a moment… but honestly, he couldn’t find a reason to. Other firms were holding motivational seminars at their own expense. His employee was spending his own money to boost team morale and company pride. There was no real reason to stop him.

With that settled, Sean headed to the CEO’s office and summoned his secretary—but there was no response. So I stepped out again to look for her in this chaotic crowd…

When she first arrived, Nicole, my secretary, had maintained a professional demeanor.

But now—

“To the moon! No, no, that’s not enough! To Mars!!”

She was shouting slogans with the same entranced look as the others.

However…

“……”

“……”

Upon spotting me, she seemed to snap back to reality, her expression briefly stiffening in embarrassment.

Anyway, I returned to my office.

“Did you set up the meeting with Gooble?”

That was the task I had assigned to her. But she responded with an awkward expression.

“Well…”

“They said no?”

“Not exactly. But they’re saying it’s difficult unless you tell them the reason.”

“The reason?”

“Yes. They’re asking why, after all this time, you suddenly want to meet…”

In this current AI race, I had clearly been on the opposite side of Gooble. Especially with this whole AI bubble essentially turning into a national movement to “protect Ha Siheon and Next AI,” I had widespread public support behind me. LLMs had become the dominant force, regardless of technical superiority.

So now, with a key figure from the LLM camp like me requesting a meeting out of the blue, it was understandable for Gooble to find it suspicious.

But this meeting was born entirely out of necessity.

“Eventually, we’ll need RL too…”

To truly advance AI, a hybrid model that integrates both approaches would be essential. To get there, we needed to build our RL capabilities—and that meant Gooble’s expertise, with its long-standing RL research, would be extremely helpful.

The only issue was whether they’d be willing to help us.

“I have a compelling offer for them.”

Well, convincing them was just a matter of how well I made the pitch.