1988 - Diana(1)
1988 - Diana(1)
A woman getting out of a taxi comes into view.
Neat office attire.
Blonde bob cut, around 170cm tall—a pretty impressive height.
It was Diana, whom I hadn't seen in nearly a month.
She'd tried to cover it with heavy makeup, but her slumped shoulders screamed exhaustion.
Her ample chest and the stockings accentuating her curves stood out even more today.
"Long time no see."
"Hello."
"......Do you live here?"
"Yes."
I'd called her to Trump Tower.
Since it's a mixed-use complex, pretty much everything gets handled right here.
The restaurant quality isn't half bad either.
"Uh, um—. Looks like you've landed yourself a solid investor."
Diana said with a small gasp of admiration.
Isn't that a bit over the top?
She showed up before I'd even sold the Sterling Drug call options.
"I got in on the starter check."
"Ah! That letter of credit from back then......."
"Yeah. That one."
Things went smoothly thanks to Diana pulling some strings.
Must've stuck in her mind since it was such an unusual request.
"I see. So Trump Tower isn't as pricey as people think? What was the limit again?"
"Only about $50,000 a year."
"That's 25% of my salary."
She pouted her lips.
A typical trader at an IB gets a base salary of around $20,000 pre-tax.
The rest comes from incentives—you fend for yourself.
Factor in New York's murderous cost of living, and base pay alone leaves you with zilch.
Considering retail folks rake in $180,000 in incentives, she's gotta be seriously skilled to pull that off.
The other employees probably scrape by with 50-80k in bonuses?
Seeing this really drives home just how massive Ara's paycheck is.
The amount Diana twists herself into knots to squeeze out over a year? That's Ara's two months' salary.
And I'm the one footing the bill—nice.
"Shall we head in?"
"Hehe! I'll cover it. Got the corporate card approved."
She flashed a bright smile and waved a card.
"Ooh—."
Corporate cards are the best.
But I'd already settled the bill when I made the reservation.
Even with a corp card, I'd have paid anyway.
"Sorry, but I've already taken care of the check."
"Eek!"
No need to skimp on that anymore.
Gotta farm coins, so spending doesn't faze me.
As long as I'm not getting played like a sucker, overspending's no issue.
Plus, looks like Diana and I are both angling for some mutual interest—better if I pick up the tab.
"Then next time, I'll get it."
"Sounds good?"
See that?
She's naturally locking in the next date.
We probably won't hook up tonight, but it ain't far off.
"Shall we?"
"Yes. Trump Tower's a first for me—kinda thrilling."
"First time?"
"Too busy. I'd just pass by on my commute and envy it."
I get that feeling.
Back before regression, I'd pass here and swear to myself a million times.
"You probably can't even imagine that feeling, Arthur-ssi."
"No way."
I know it better than anyone.
"I lived in Harlem until I profited off Sterling Drug. On 103rd Street, even."
"......My God."
Diana blinked rapidly, mouth agape.
Can't blame her.
That's a legit danger zone.
Come to think of it, Hank's locked in the site and scouting machines now.
Time to prep those cup sleeves.
Gotta give him some sales guidelines.
"Sorry. Uh, wait a sec."
"What's up?"
"So even on the day you opened the account, you were crashing in Harlem?!"
"Yeah."
"Damn!"
She smacked her forehead.
Feels like she got duped.
My outfit back then screamed affluent Asian investor.
"I got some help from a fund investor."
"Ah! So that's why....... Huh? Wasn't it a family office? Did you raise funds and merge?"
"Let's chat over dinner. No point standing here."
Her fretting over my living situation makes sense.
Every scrap of info like this is money in the bank.
Squeezing cash from casual chit-chat.
That's Wall Street's hyenas for you.
"......So you're from Harlem."
"Not from—lived there a few months."
"And before that?"
"LA. Koreatown."
Just like any Korean.
Came to the States holding my parents' hands, studied hard, then they passed suddenly.
Being a minor without citizenship back then? Rough memories.
"You seem way too at home here."
I shrugged.
Nothing to say to that.
I'd been here plenty before regression.
And so we started chatting over dinner.
"How'd you become an investor?"
"Raised funds. $60 million."
"60 million?!!!!!"
Diana let out a shrill scream, shot up from her seat, then glanced around and sat back down gingerly.
"60 million, you say."
"Decent size for a fund, no?"
"Is it private equity?"
"Yeah. Can't disclose investor info, obviously."
Clink.
Her appetizer-eating got a tad more ladylike—probably my imagination.
"So you switched the family office to private?"
Eyes of a predator spotting prey.
Family offices have flexible capital management, so she figures she can siphon some to retail.
"Nah, that's separate. Fund's run as an offshore GP through their investment committee."
"Ah......."
This is fun.
She's hyping herself up, gets let down, and plays it cool—transparent as hell.
Retail can't handle big volumes, no matter how skilled you are.
Those goddamn fees are brutal.
Compared to jacking off in your room and losing 0.001% per click era.
"Personal office is doing fine, so fund's for macro plays."
"If you're printing money there, toss some orders our way......."
She one-shot her wine and grumbled.
That's expensive wine.
Speaking of, time to stock up on wine.
Just been thinking about it—haven't even looked yet.
Gotta have Ara practice as my secretary.
"Oh my! This is delicious."
"Good?"
"Yeah! Really tasty."
It hits the spot for me too.
She's just hyping it up 'cause she doesn't know better.
"I know retail gets shit done, but fees are steep, right?"
"Tch."
Diana smacked her lips.
She knows it too.
Institutional DMA contracts are near-zero fees.
IBs just skim the spread in the middle.
No contest against retail.
"But stuff like this week's order? Those personal ones pop up now and then."
"Speaking of, why route Corps through us?"
"Too small for the office. Just pocket change for living expenses."
"......A million bucks?"
Hm.
Did I lose touch with reality without noticing?
A million dollars is filthy big money.
Way too much for mere living expenses.
"Yeah, it's a lot."
Dropping a million's no issue.
Asset growth speed and current portfolio can handle it.
But treating it like chump change disconnects me from reality—and that's how you crash or crumble.
Wall Street's littered with those types.
Time for some self-reflection.
"What the hell did you do at the office to stack that much."
"Put calls on Federated and Firestone."
"Pffft!"
Diana sprayed her wine everywhere.
Lucky it didn't hit me.
"Cough! Cough! Fe-Fed, cough!"
"Here."
"Cough! Th-thanks."
I handed her a napkin.
No wonder she's shocked.
Seeing Sterling Drug, she can guess how the assets ballooned.
Firestone's still underwater, though.
"My God. For real?"
"You didn't think I was lying, did you?"
"Well, yeah, but. Holy shit, calls on Federated too? So what's your asset size now?"
Who the hell spills their AUM?
She knows and asked anyway.
"Main course: tenderloin steak."
Right on cue, the server sets down the mains.
She's probing me hard—her goal's sizing me up.
Performance must be tanking lately.
Makes sense post-Black Monday; market's been shit.
No M&A events? Retail's screwed for profits.
Real estate or bonds might've helped, but nah.
Nothing worth investing in right now.
"Any Corps intel?"
She asked cautiously, mid-bite of steak.
That the main play today?
If I leak here, she'll whisper it to clients.
I, with positions locked, ride the retail herd's buy-up for easy gains.
Hedge funds and IBs symbiosis—like crocs and those birds that pick their teeth.
"Dunno. Just guessing M&A from the options flow."
Problem is, even I don't know which company, when, for how much.
That's why stocks instead of options—late to the party.
"......Hmm."
"Seriously."
"But you think it'll print?"
"Accumulation force is real—I'm sure of that."
Banks know it too.
Timing's the bitch.
Options volume's gone across expiries, but no clue on dates.
From two weeks out to months— all scooped up.
That force exercises near-term calls bit by bit, bulking shares to disclosure limits, while I hold through the boring sideways grind.
"Three months. Six tops. That's my read."
"Six months....... Kinda long."
"That's why spare cash."
Max 6 months for 20-30%.
Solid return, but satisfying? Meh.
I know the risk's nil, so I can enter.
Without foresight, those 6 months are torture.
Especially for retail ants.
"Thanks for the intel."
"No sweat. You tipped Federated."
"Hehe. Rare to get back what you give in this game?"
"True. But not us."
"Us? Nice word."
Diana smiled with her eyes and downed her wine.
Us.
Neither of us buys it straight-up.
But it fits.
She pulls info and deposits from me; I build Wall Street presence through her.
Deeper ties? We'll see.
That's guy-girl stuff for ya.
"Another bottle of wine?"
"By all means."
She's on the same page.
Something's brushing between my knee and shin.
Swish—. Swish—.
The faint sound? Stockings rubbing.
"Order done?"
"Yeah. Next time, gimme more notice. Dumping that volume at close nearly killed me."
"Could you handle another million tomorrow morning?"
"Yes?! For real?"
"Thinking about it."
I wet my lips with the fresh wine.
"Damn good. Craving it constantly."
"Next one's on the corp card."
"Too much and they'll bitch."
"Nail the performance, and it'll be fine."
She smiled with her eyes.
Eyes screaming she'll drag in that extra million deposit.
Diana's cheeks flushed from the booze.
Or.
"Haah—. Hot in here."
Maybe on purpose.
Otherwise, why unbutton another shirt notch and slide her foot deeper in?
So bold.
Looks like no need to call another girl tonight.
She's not 'accidentally' losing her heel either.