161: Chapter 161 Only the Dead Don't Need Interest

The signature pen traced a parabola through the air, hitting the edge of the trash can with a crisp sound.

Stevens looked as if that sound had drained the last bit of his strength, and he slumped into the mahogany chair.

The newly signed equity transfer agreement lay quietly on the desktop, black and white, the red ink seal not yet dry.

Ares Industries, the military-industrial giant that had been throwing its weight around The Pentagon for half a century, had officially changed hands at this moment.

"If I were you, I would hurry home right now."

Chen Mo picked up a wet wipe from the table to wipe his hands, not even glancing at the priceless contract.

"While the news hasn't been announced yet, transfer your yacht and mansion to a trust fund. That is the only thing you will be able to keep."

Nightingale walked forward silently, her fingers in black leather gloves picking up the contract and skillfully packing it into an explosion-proof briefcase.

"Mr. Chen..." Stevens' voice was hoarse, as if his throat were filled with gravel, "You will face retribution. The people on Wall Street won't let you go; they will come the moment they smell blood."

"Then let them come."

Chen Mo stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the brilliant night view of Manhattan, "I happen to be short a few burial companions."

The next day, at 9:30 AM.

The opening bell of the Nasdaq exchange had just rung, and a major announcement was pushed to the screens of all traders worldwide via the Reuters terminal.

[Ares Industries announces it is entering a "major asset restructuring" process, suspending all dividends, and will divest 40% of its inefficient assets.]

This was by no means good news.

In the context of Wall Street, "asset restructuring" usually means cutting off an arm to survive, or even a polite term for bankruptcy liquidation.

Jack Martin sat in the leather swivel chair of the safe house, empty Red Bull cans piled up by his feet.

He stared at the three monitors in front of him, his fingers clattering on the keyboard, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Boss, the fish has taken the bait! And it's a school of great white sharks!"

On the screen, Ares Industries' stock price line looked like a snake with a broken spine, plummeting 15% at the opening. Red sell orders poured down like a waterfall.

"Check who is shorting it." Chen Mo swirled half a glass of red wine in his hand.

It was looted from Lieutenant General Hamilton's private wine cellar, a Romanée-Conti.

Dead men's wine always has a unique flavor.

"Does this even need checking?" Jack sneered, clattering away as he pulled up a set of data.

"Morgan and Goldman Sachs seats are both moving, but the main force is BlackRock Fund. That is the white glove of Lockheed Martin. They want to loot a burning house, completely dismember Ares, and swallow those production lines."

Chen Mo took a sip of the wine, the mellow liquid dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

"Quite an appetite."

He put down the wine glass, walked behind Jack, and watched the numbers jumping frantically on the screen.

The stock price had already fallen below $8. Panic was spreading; retail investors were cutting losses, and institutions were trampling each other.

In everyone's eyes, Ares Industries was already a corpse, and the vultures were rushing to feast on the carrion.

"That's enough."

Chen Mo glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist, "Lieutenant General Hamilton hated it when people touched his cake while he was alive. Now, let us use his money to teach these uninvited guests a lesson."

"Activate the Legacy account. Buy in with the full position."

Jack took a deep breath and slammed the Enter key.

"Received! Two point three billion dollars, dead man's funds, entering the market!"

In an instant, the trading situation changed dramatically.

The previously one-sided selling pressure suddenly hit an invisible wall.

A $500 million buy order appeared out of thin air, like a giant hand, forcibly holding up the falling stock price.

Followed by a second order, $800 million.

A third order, $1 billion.

Those institutions that were frantically shorting were dumbfounded.

They sold as much as they could, and the other side ate it all up. This wasn't just market protection; this was a whale swallowing its prey.

"What is going on?!"

In a skyscraper on Wall Street, a fund manager roared into the phone.

"Where did this money come from? Ares has been out of money for a long time! Didn't that Chinese man named Chen spend all his money abroad?"

No one could answer him.

Because in terms of capital flow, the source of this money was heavily encrypted, and the only tag was—The Pentagon special approval account.

"It's rising! It's rising!" Jack was so excited he almost jumped out of his chair.

"Boss, we are squeezing the shorts! Those short sellers borrowed stocks to sell, and now that the stock price is rising, they have to buy them back at a high price to repay their debts! We are going to strip them down to their underwear!"

The curve on the screen began to reverse frantically.

$8, $12, $15...

In just twenty minutes, Ares Industries' stock price not only recovered its losses but also soared by 30%.

Those short-selling institutions were completely panicked. For every dollar it rose, they lost tens of millions.

This was a massacre, only it wasn't blood flowing, it was US dollars.

Chen Mo watched this scene with no expression on his face. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

The phone was answered after two rings.

"Hello?" A middle-aged man's voice suppressing anger came from the other side, "I am Garrison, Vice President of Raytheon Dynamics. Who are you? How do you have this private number?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Garrison."

Chen Mo toyed with the lighter in his hand, making a crisp metallic clinking sound.

"I am Chen Mo. I heard that your finance department is urgently selling off Ares Industries bonds? Don't bother; the market liquidity has been locked down by me."

The other end of the phone fell into a dead silence.

After several seconds, Garrison's voice sounded again, carrying a hint of teeth-gritting chill.

"Mr. Chen, you are playing with fire. Do you think you can manipulate the market with a sum of money of unknown origin? The SEC staff are already on their way."

"Let them come."

Chen Mo laughed, his laughter chilling.

"However, before they audit my accounts, I think you should first worry about that Tulip Trust you have in the Cayman Islands. Your illegitimate son who is still in college seems to have bought a Ferrari recently?"

"You... what do you want to do?!" Garrison's breathing instantly became heavy.

"Don't be nervous, I'm just in the security business."

Chen Mo looked out the window, "I think we need to talk. About... patent transfers. Since the stock price is hurting so much, why not sell some technology to stop the bleeding?"

"In your dreams!" Garrison roared.

"Beep—"

Chen Mo hung up the phone and threw it back onto the table.

Jack turned back and pushed up his glasses: "Boss, it seems Raytheon Dynamics is getting desperate. If they really use their connections with the regulators..."

"In Washington, connections are just like toilet paper."

Chen Mo picked up the glass of red wine again, his eyes gloomy.

"It's crucial when you're using it, but once you're done, who cares what brand it is? Lieutenant General Hamilton may be dead, but the 'toilet paper' he left behind is enough to ruin these people's reputations."