81: Chapter 81 Creating Panic

Wall Street has no secrets, only news that hasn't been leaked yet.

At 9:30 AM the next day, the opening bell had just rung.

The fax machine at the Washington headquarters of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) spat out a thirty-page document.

There was no signature, no return address, just a pile of somewhat blurry photocopied account details.

Those numbers were like sharp knives, precisely stabbing into the most sensitive nerves of the regulatory agency—Astor Bank was suspected of using offshore accounts to assist Mexican drug cartels in large-scale money laundering, and there was a massive black hole of bad debt.

Although it was an anonymous tip, every account code on it corresponded to real capital flows.

The FDIC's efficiency is usually very low, but when it came to this kind of "malignant tumor" that could trigger systemic risk, their reaction was shockingly fast.

At 10:15 AM, a red bolded news flash popped up on the Bloomberg terminal:

[Regulatory agencies conduct a surprise inspection of Astor Bank headquarters, suspecting involvement in major compliance issues.]

This line of text was like throwing a piece of bloody meat into a pond full of piranhas.

Jack Martin sat in a safe house in Brooklyn with three monitors in front of him.

He stared at the K-line chart of Astor Bank (AST); that originally stable white curve snapped downward instantly, as if it had suffered a sudden heart attack.

"This is what I want." Jack chewed on some cold pizza, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

"Dump it! Dump it hard! Sell off all the short positions in hand!"

The stock price fell in response.

-3%.

-5%.

-8%.

Panic is a contagious virus, spreading faster than last night's rain.

At 11:00 AM, in Midtown Manhattan, at the Fifth Avenue branch of Astor Bank.

A long line had already formed at the entrance. Originally, it was just a few elderly people who had seen the news coming to withdraw their pensions, but the gathering of the crowd itself was a signal.

Passersby stopped, asked curiously, then turned pale as they took out their phones and joined the withdrawal line.

"Don't push! The bank has enough cash!"

The branch manager stood on the steps holding a megaphone, sweat on his forehead ruining his carefully groomed hairstyle. "This is just a rumor! Everyone must trust the century-long reputation of the Astor family..."

Wee-woo! Wee-woo!

The piercing sound of a siren interrupted his speech.

A patrol car with "NYPD" printed on the side rushed against the traffic, braked sharply, and blocked the main entrance of the bank exactly, effectively obstructing the passage for armored transport trucks.

The red and blue police lights flashed, dizzying to look at.

Chen Mo pushed open the car door and stepped out slowly.

He was wearing his full uniform today, with handcuffs and a sidearm hanging from his belt, half a donut in his mouth, and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

"Officer! Officer!" The branch manager, as if he had seen a savior, scrambled down.

"Please help! Maintain order! These people are crazy, they want to..."

"Back off." Chen Mo swallowed the donut in his mouth and pointed at the manager's nose with the hand holding the coffee. "You, and all of you, don't move."

The manager was stunned: "W-what?"

"We received a tip." Chen Mo placed the coffee on the hood of the patrol car and pulled a crumpled little notebook from his pocket.

"A serious... um, theft occurred in this area. A pink children's bicycle is missing."

"A bicycle?!" The manager's voice went out of tune. "Officer, this is a bank run! Thousands of people are waiting to withdraw money! And you're telling me you're looking for a bicycle?!"

"Everyone is equal before the law, understand?" Chen Mo rolled his eyes, spouting nonsense with a straight face.

"That bicycle is priceless; it was... uh, a gift from some big shot to his illegitimate child. I have reason to suspect that the suspect might be mixed in with this crowd of people waiting in line."

He turned around, waved at the group of anxious depositors, and raised his voice:

"Citizens, please cooperate with the police investigation. Starting now, we are going to conduct identity checks on everyone entering and leaving the bank.

Everyone have your ID ready, line up, one by one. Whoever dares to cut in line, I will handcuff them for obstructing official business."

The crowd instantly exploded.

The line, which was previously moving slowly, came to a complete standstill.

People who were initially hesitant about whether to withdraw money, seeing the police block the doors, had their panic instantly turn into certainty—this bank must be in serious trouble if even the police have come to cordon off the scene!

"My money! That's my pension!"

"Damn liars! Give us back our money!"

Some started pushing, others started banging on the doors.

The manager was so anxious he was about to cry. He grabbed Chen Mo's arm: "Officer, you can't do this! You're going to cause a riot!"

"Take your hand off." Chen Mo's voice suddenly turned cold.

He stared at the manager, his eyes looking as if he were looking at a corpse. "Touching a police officer? Do you want to assault an officer?"

His hand rested on his holster.

The manager recoiled as if electrocuted, his face as white as paper.

Chen Mo sneered and took a sip of his coffee.

He watched the chaotic crowd, watched the terrified faces of the tellers behind the glass doors, and watched the crumbling credit of this building.

"Keep lining up!" he shouted.

"Don't rush; I have plenty of time to wait it out with you."

In the distance, Jack Martin sent a message:

[Stock price has fallen below 15%, Lawrence is going crazy.]

Chen Mo replied with a smiley face emoji.

This was just the appetizer; the main course was still to come.