A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 82

Epicura Headquarters.

In the conference room, a CNBC broadcast was playing.

— Whitmer's actions defy common sense. At this point, his immediate dismissal is certainly an option!

—No way, not without a successor lined up. But with how things are going, it might actually be better to leave the leadership vacant than to have a crazy CEO like him at the helm!

—Still, Whitmer has been considered a stable figure until now. What could possibly be driving him to make such absurd moves all of a sudden?

—Desperation. He’s likely lashing out as a last act of defiance, thinking he has nothing left to lose now that his fall is inevitable. But when you consider the damage shareholders will suffer because of this…

Click.

The broadcast was abruptly muted.

Unable to bear it any longer, Whitmer had pressed the mute button.

"They seem to be spending quite a bit of money over there…" he murmured, almost to himself.

The massive trove of data and evidence the experts on the broadcast had presented—it was undoubtedly supplied by the Great White Shark.

The other side had already launched their media offensive.

As a result, negative reports about Whitmer were flooding the airwaves.

"Shark Capital has plenty on the line too. By going after all 12 seats, they’re committing to a real fight," Pierce remarked.

"A real fight…"

Whitmer smiled bitterly at Pierce's comment.

Ever since the Great White Shark announced they were targeting all 12 board seats, Whitmer’s face had been clouded with anxiety.

Clearly, he hadn’t expected them to take such an aggressive stance.

"Is this the final version of the report?" Whitmer asked, holding up a set of documents.

"Yes, it is."

The documents detailed the brand they were planning to acquire.

In other words, it was the evidence they’d use to claim: "Epicura rushed the Harbor Lobster sale because they were preparing to acquire the next big thing, equivalent to the next NPL."

As Whitmer carefully examined the report, he hesitated before asking, "When do you think we should release this?"

There was a trace of impatience in his voice.

With this report, Whitmer could transform from a “crazy CEO” into a “visionary CEO selling dreams.”

It was obvious he was eager to make that transformation as soon as possible.

But now wasn’t the right time.

It was Pierce’s role to explain why.

"The best time to use this is when Shark Capital speculates about the reason for the sale. That’s when it’ll have the most impact."

"Do we really need to wait that long?"

"If we reveal it now, people will start questioning the legitimacy of the acquisition."

Shark Capital will pounce on those doubts relentlessly, and since public opinion is already in their favor, most people will side with them.

"But if we wait until they’ve made reckless assumptions about the reason for the sale and then counter with this, they’ll already have been proven wrong once."

Whatever they say afterward will come across as desperate attempts to cover up their earlier mistake, and their credibility will drop significantly.

"That’s when public opinion will swing in our favor."

Pierce’s confident explanation led him straight to the main point.

"More importantly, there’s a reason I asked for this private meeting. If there’s even the slightest issue they can exploit, we need to prepare for it in advance."

A board election was still an election, after all.

If the opposition found any dirt, they’d use it without hesitation.

It was up to them to uncover their own vulnerabilities before the other side did.

"I’ve run a transparent operation," Whitmer protested.

"But no one’s perfect. Lately, Sharks often latch onto issues like the personal use of corporate jets."

Using a private jet meant for business travel to go on a personal vacation?

If exposed, it would be devastating.

"I’ve never done that," Whitmer declared.

"Are you certain none of the other executives have, either?"

"Also, as a service company, immigration issues could come under scrutiny. For example, accusations that we hired undocumented workers to save costs could be extremely damaging."

"To my knowledge, that hasn’t happened."

"Not even a single case?"

"…"

"Assuming they haven’t found anything would be dangerous. It’s wiser to operate as if they already have evidence and prepare a response accordingly."

"Fine, I’ll have it thoroughly investigated."

Whitmer gave his response, but then fell into a contemplative silence.

After some hesitation, he cautiously asked, "Could… ‘that’ become an issue?"

No explanation was needed to understand what "that" referred to.

It was the ticking time bomb behind the Harbor Lobster sale—the real reason Whitmer had rushed to sell.

In other words, the truth that Whitmer had been eager to offload the brand quickly to rid himself of unprofitable Black clientele.

If this were exposed, it would be catastrophic.

"Is there any documentation regarding that issue?" Pierce asked.

"Of course not."

"Then you don’t need to worry. Without evidence, such claims will be dismissed as conspiracy theories."

"But still, if by any chance they bring it up, we’ll need a plan."

Despite Pierce’s reassurances, Whitmer’s anxiety refused to dissipate.

Soon, his gaze shifted to me.

"What do you think?"

This had been happening often lately.

After hearing Pierce’s advice, Whitmer would inevitably seek my opinion.

Now, too, he was looking at me with earnest eyes, hoping for an answer.

I shook my head.

"I haven’t come up with anything yet."

"Not a single idea?"

In truth, I knew how to handle that ticking time bomb.

But now wasn’t the time to reveal it.

"I really don’t have anything. I’ll give it some serious thought starting now."

As I said this, I caught sight of Pierce grinning from the corner of my eye.

Apparently, he could read my expression.

For someone who trained with a CIA special agent, it was unsettling how easily he saw through me.

"Then let’s brainstorm a bit," Whitmer suggested, clearly wanting to delve deeper into the topic.

But there was nothing to be gained from that, at least not for me.

Bzzzz.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

It was a text notification.

The sender was unexpected.

<Raymond Mosley>

Mosley, an attorney—Rachel’s father.

The text was short.

<It’s begun.>

***

"Excuse me, I need to take a call," I said, leaving the conference room and heading to a quiet corner outside the building.

I glanced at the message from Raymond again.

<It’s begun.>

The subject was omitted, but I knew what it referred to.

Theranos’s private equity round.

They had begun recruiting new investors.

The process would wrap up within six months.

Which meant I had only half a year left to intercept that money.

Still, I needed more detailed information.

Just as I was about to press the call button—

Bzzzz.

A call came in.

The caller was another unexpected figure.

<Prescott>

‘Why is he calling?'

Prescott was the owner of Heritage Group, the family office I was consulting for.

A Theranos investor, and also a True victim

Previously, Prescott had told me to stay out of it, claiming he’d handle things himself…

As soon as I pressed the call button, the man on the other end skipped pleasantries and got straight to the point.

[Theranos has entered a private equity round.]

“Yes, I just heard about it.”

[Fast.]

I didn’t bother to voice my opposition to the investment. The last time I met Prescott, his attitude had made it clear that resistance wouldn’t be welcome.

But then, an unexpected proposal came out of his mouth.

[There’s an investor presentation this Friday. Care to join me?]

An investor presentation—an event where potential investors are invited to hear about the business plans.

It was the perfect opportunity to meet Holmes.

[They’ll also be showcasing Newton’s demo for the investors this time…]

Theranos was planning to unveil their product—the device with the fraudulent technology built in.

“Is it being held at headquarters?”

[Where else would it be?]

“Couldn’t they come directly to New York instead?”

[No, they’re hosting it at headquarters, doubling as a facility tour.]

A tour of Theranos’s headquarters?

This was an extraordinarily rare opportunity.

Theranos was running fake equipment in their headquarters' research labs.

In that sense, their headquarters was essentially a crime scene. Normally, they’d never invite outsiders in, but desperate for new investors, they had no choice but to open their doors.

I had to go.

If I missed this chance, I might never set foot inside again.

However, I was in the M&A department, and traveling required Pierce’s approval.

So, during the flight back to New York, I cautiously broached the subject.

“I’ll need to go on a business trip for the Asset Management team. It’s for Friday through Saturday.”

“Until Saturday?”

The Theranos investor presentation was only on Friday.

I could’ve managed it as a one-day trip, but I needed an extra day to handle various matters while I was there.

However, Pierce, who I thought would easily approve the trip, frowned.

“This is not a good time for you to leave.”

A surprisingly direct rejection.

“You know how unpredictable things are right now.”

We were in the middle of a war with the Great White Shark.

There were still 75 days left, and no one could predict where or how the next attack might come. Me being absent for two days clearly didn’t sit well with him.

“That’s why I’ll go over the weekend,” I explained.

“If there’s going to be a revelation, it’s more likely to happen over the weekend.”

A lie.

“Actually, it’s true,” Pierce said, almost reading my thoughts. “If a bombshell drops on the weekend, journalists have all weekend to dig into it and publish their articles on Monday. It’s a solid strategy to dominate the news cycle at the start of the week.”

Maybe he had a point.

I didn’t have direct experience with board elections like this, but Pierce was a veteran in this field.

Still, that didn’t matter right now.

What mattered was getting my trip approved.

“I can handle work remotely. Other than during the presentation, I’ll be available to respond immediately.”

“But it’ll still be slower than if you were here.”

Why was he suddenly acting like this?

For someone who’d been oddly supportive until now, his strong opposition felt strange.

As I pondered this, Pierce gave a chilling smile.

“What will you do if I refuse to approve it?”

That was a problem.

I absolutely needed to get to Theranos this time.

‘If I delay, I run the risk of becoming too recognizable.’

The “Bread Wars” would erupt soon, and if things went according to my plan, my face would be known nationwide within a few months.

If my face became well-known, Holmes wouldn’t let her guard down around me.

Now was the perfect time to gather intel, while they still saw me as just a lowly analyst monkey.

I looked Pierce directly in the eye.

“So, are you saying you won’t approve it?”

I was asking if he’d actually made up his mind, not just speculating.

If he had, then I could clarify my own position as well.

The number one rule on Wall Street is simple:

I had to get to Silicon Valley this weekend, no matter what.

And any obstacle in my way would have to be removed.

Was Pierce going to be one of those obstacles?

Pierce smirked.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that I’m refusing; I just want to collect a toll.”

“A toll?”

“I have no reason to block you, but I also have no reason to let you go for free.”

In other words, he was deliberately standing in my way to get something out of me.

The fact that he openly admitted this… well, it was what it was.

“What kind of toll are you asking for?”

First, I needed to assess the cost.

It was probably going to be some demand for information or a promise to behave in the future.

If that was all, I could live with it.

I could selectively reveal information and later claim, “I genuinely didn’t know at the time.”

As for behavior, I could always excuse myself with lines like “the situation was urgent.”

But then, Pierce said something unexpected.

“You’ll owe me a favor.”

“Excuse me?”

I stared at him in disbelief, and he shrugged.

“I don’t have anything specific in mind yet. But later, when I do, it’ll be useful to have this favor in hand.”

It seemed he knew that asking for anything concrete right now would only lead to me dodging or giving half-truths.

So, he planned to collect later when I couldn’t wiggle out of it.

“What do you think?”

I hesitated.

On Wall Street, a “favor” carried a heavy connotation.

It wasn’t some casual request like a schoolkid asking for a wish to be granted.

Here, these “favors” were a regular part of high-stakes deals.

Despite how harmless the word sounded, the sums involved could be astronomical.

For instance, a hedge fund could “owe a favor” to a broker and, in return, dump millions of dollars in losses on them.

The hedge fund might later compensate by investing heavily in an IPO the broker struggled to fill.

“Don’t want to owe me a favor?” Pierce pressed when I didn’t answer.

I looked him straight in the eye.

“What if I decide not to repay it?”

“If I thought you were that kind of person, I wouldn’t be making this offer.”

It seemed my assumption about the nature of this favor was correct.

Pierce believed I was going to climb even higher in the future and wanted to secure leverage over me for that time.

If I was right, the favor I owed him would carry significant weight.

But…

Setting aside that potential debt, it wasn’t a bad deal.

Once such a relationship was established, it was likely to continue into the future.

Pierce was not only a rising executive at Goldman but also a veteran in taking down activist investors like the Shark.

He could be a valuable connection.

“Well, what’s your decision?”

“All right,” I said.

“See you Monday, then.”

And with that, I secured approval for the trip, on the condition of one day owing Pierce a favor.

***

Friday Morning

I took the first flight straight to San Francisco, then caught a taxi to Palo Alto.

“We’ve arrived,” the driver announced.

Before me stood a grand glass building, with a small garden in front displaying the company’s name:

<Theranos>

I had finally arrived.

Right in the heart of enemy territory.

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