96-100

Chapter 96: Strategic Genius

The U.S. stock market operates from 9:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. Eastern Time, running for a full 6.5 hours without any breaks.

While most Wall Street institutions, apart from U. Catona, were still investigating the reasons behind the short-selling campaign, Milo's Paladin Investments was the lone team waging the battle.

For the entire trading session, the Paladin team worked intensely, selling a total of 38.42 million shares across various stocks, liquidating $2.65 billion in cash. However, their accounts showed a floating loss of nearly $250 million.

"Nelson, take everyone to rest. If they need anything, let Monica know," Milo said, rubbing his temples as he called Nelson over.

This particular operation was critical. Until it was over, no one could leave the office or use communication devices. Everything—eating, drinking, even personal needs—had to be handled within the trading room.

Fortunately, they had anticipated such a scenario and had set up a living area in advance.

Milo returned to his office next door, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes to rest. He began reviewing his actions for the day.

After reflection, Milo was confident there were no issues with his strategy or Nelson’s execution. The real problem lay in their current lack of influence and resources.

If a major Wall Street powerhouse were to undertake such an operation, they would undoubtedly employ additional tactics beyond shorting the market.

For instance, they could leverage media outlets like The Wall Street Journal or The New York Times to sway public opinion, with “international relations experts” penning op-eds to cast doubt.

Such actions would not only influence retail investors but could also shake institutional sentiment.

If that didn’t suffice, they could escalate further—perhaps involving a senator to speak publicly or, in more extreme cases, exerting pressure on Capitol Hill to lend them support.

However, while many could manage the first step, far fewer could achieve the second, and only a select few financial behemoths could deploy all three tactics.

What? You say that’s market manipulation and illegal?

Well... it’s only illegal if you get caught. And those who get caught? They’re usually small fry.

In some cases, if the stakes are high enough, even the President could be nudged into action.

Of these strategies, Milo realized he could only attempt the second, and even then, it would come with significant risks and repercussions. The third step was entirely out of reach for now.

After weighing his options, Milo concluded that the first tactic was the most feasible.

“Sigh, it seems I need to have my own media outlet,” Milo muttered as he returned from his thoughts.

Leaning back in his chair, he let out a sigh. The chair creaked under the weight of his contemplation.

Glancing at the screen showing a floating loss of over $200 million, he picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, only to grimace. The coffee had long gone cold.

Placing the mug down, he leaned forward to open his email.

The first email, from Wendy, contained updates on some subtle moves by Yahoo.

David Filo and Jerry Yang had yet to sign the agreement they had discussed last year, leaving Milo’s shareholding in Yahoo unchanged.

However, Yahoo’s website had introduced several new features over the past few months, many of which were outlined in the proprietary documents Milo had previously exchanged for benefits.

It was clear—Filo and Yang wanted the advantages but were unwilling to part with more stock.

Milo should have been angry at this realization, but instead, he smiled.

“They’re digging their own graves. Now, I don’t even need to feel guilty,” he thought, closing the email.

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, stretching his muscular frame as he gazed at the Wall Street skyline.

“Boss, it’s time to call it a day,” Monica said as she entered the room.

Milo nodded and replied, “Do you like spicy food?”

“Most Italians aren’t into spicy dishes. But my hometown, Calabria, is an exception,” Monica replied with a graceful shrug. “A few years ago, we even established a chili pepper academy there.”

“Let’s head to Chinatown for some hot pot. I think you’ll like it,” Milo said, smiling as he unplugged a USB drive from his computer and packed it away.

---

Later, at the hot pot restaurant, Milo chuckled as he watched Monica gulp down water from a chilled bottle. Her once-pink lips were now slightly swollen and red from the spice.

“Their sauce is delicious, but the chili oil combined with the spicy broth is something else. Monica, didn’t you say you could handle spicy food?” he teased.

“Cough… We eat spicy food, but not this numbing spice! Still, it’s delicious,” Monica replied, taking another sip of water.

Milo shook his head with a laugh.

---

As they were heading back to his apartment, Milo’s phone buzzed.

It was Nelson. Despite being confined to the trading room, Nelson, as the general manager, was allowed limited external communication.

“Nelson?”

“BOSS! The carrier fleet retreated!”

“Huh? Oh!”

Nelson quickly explained the situation. On the other side of the Pacific, things had escalated. They had “shown their big stick,” figuratively speaking, and Washington’s reaction was predictable.

Even though Washington might look down on the opponent’s “big stick” as outdated, it was still enough to scare the carrier fleet’s commanders, who decided to retreat without waiting for orders.

By the time Washington was informed, the fleet was already nearing Guam.

“Phew…”

Sitting in the car, Milo exhaled as Nelson continued praising his foresight.

“Just standard operating procedure. No need to get excited,” Milo replied calmly, though the tight grip of his hand on the car door handle betrayed his excitement.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 97: The Storm Is Brewing*

New York, Manhattan.

In the master bedroom of an Upper West Side apartment building, the central heating kept the room at a comfortable 68°F (20°C), even as the chill of late spring lingered outside. A slightly ajar window allowed a cool breeze to flutter the white gauzy curtains.

“Cough... ugh...”

Monica, fair-skinned and unclothed, threw off the covers, her delicate face flushed red from exertion.

The famed Italian beauty shot a look of grievance as she grabbed a tissue to suppress her gagging and coughing.

"Ahh..."

Milo finally relaxed, his previously tense toes unclenching as he exhaled contentedly. Mornings really did spark a certain fire in him. Thankfully, Monica was around to help with that—what would he do otherwise?

“Hey, hey, what’s with that look?” Milo winced under Monica’s glare, sharp enough to pierce him a hundredfold.

“Seven o’clock, boss! Seven! And now it’s eight! Can’t a person get more sleep?” Monica snapped, her cheeks puffed out with frustration. “I’ve been in New York for so long, and I’m late for work every single day! I don’t even make it to the office until noon!”

She wiped her mouth with a tissue and tossed the balled-up wad onto the carpet. Her venting came in bursts, punctuated by exclamations:

“God! Only God knows how much I want to get to work on time! Only God knows how much I hate being late! It’s not like I want this!” Monica huffed. “We should’ve dragged Zeta-Jones or Jolie into this too!”

Milo, watching Monica fume, knew he might’ve gone overboard. Clearing his throat, he offered, “Why don’t you sleep a bit more…”

With that, he strode off to the bathroom.

“Ugh!” Monica, caught between frustration and embarrassment, tugged at her hair in exasperation. She dared not lose her temper at Milo directly—he was, after all, the boss. Instead, she fumed silently to herself.

In the bathroom, Milo smirked as he heard Monica’s muffled complaints. Whistling a tune, he turned on the shower.

The duties of a secretary, he mused, weren’t they all about:

When it’s not that time of the month, you can’t close your legs; when it is, you can’t close your mouth.  

Still so many complaints… Clearly, more “training” was in order.

Milo chuckled wickedly to himself as he finished his shower, dried off, and donned a robe. Heading to the living room, he asked Mrs. Solly, his live-in housekeeper and Wendy’s sister, to prepare breakfast. Settling on the couch, he flipped on the TV.

“Ah, nothing like the daily parade of chaos.”

After two news segments, Milo couldn’t help but smirk.

Last night in Utah, a gunman opened fire at a shopping mall, leaving several casualties. Eyewitnesses reported hearing about 20 shots.

Coincidentally, on the same day—March 2nd—Philadelphia experienced another shooting, claiming five lives.

This frequency of shootings, Milo mused, was why even foreign military medics came to train in the U.S. With so much clinical experience in treating gunshot wounds, few places in the world rivaled the States—except maybe active war zones.

Just then, Milo’s bodyguards, Kenny and David, walked in.

These two were his closest security personnel.

Over breakfast, Milo turned to David. “The news says over fifty people were shot dead yesterday.”

David and Kenny exchanged knowing smiles. Kenny replied, “That’s perfectly normal. The real number’s far higher.”

Having worked with both the CIA and Secret Service, Kenny was well-versed in how official statistics often understated reality. It wasn’t a matter of fewer incidents but of concealed numbers.

“That’s just America,” Kenny thought. “True Americans grow up adapting to this from a young age.”

Of course, Milo, born into privilege and sheltered in the safest neighborhoods with top-tier security, was bound to find this shocking.

David added, “Boss, with the four of us—me, Kenny, Das, and George—we’re more than enough for your safety. If something comes our way that we can’t handle, doubling the team won’t help anyway.”

“I understand,” Milo acknowledged. Still, he refused to compromise. “The security company deal is almost done. Once signed, I want you guys to help me pick out the best talent.”

Kenny and David nodded in agreement.

With security arrangements settled, Milo turned his attention to his breakfast—cutting his steak into bite-sized pieces while opening a copy of The Wall Street Journal.

It was Monday—the stock market’s reopening day.

Scanning the finance section, Milo’s gaze narrowed as he spotted a familiar photo: himself, leaving Paladin Investments’ skyscraper, flanked by bodyguards as he headed toward his car.

The picture captured only his rugged, handsome profile and the imposing figures of his guards. Against the backdrop of Wall Street’s steel jungle, the shot had an almost Godfather-esque vibe.

The headline? “Superstar Director? Genius Author? No, a Financial Mogul!”  

The article began innocuously, highlighting the success of The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons—one a bestselling novel, the other a box-office hit. It even promoted his upcoming book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, set to release on the 1st.

But the bulk of the article shifted to a “praise-laden” yet subtly critical analysis of how Milo had made $1.34 billion in the stock market over the past month.

This scrutiny made Milo uneasy.

On Friday, he’d shorted military and industrial stocks, anticipating a plunge due to a weekend black swan event: the sudden retreat of an American aircraft carrier fleet.

With global markets reopening today, these stocks were bound to plummet.

Coincidentally—or not—the media was now plastering his financial gains everywhere.

Closing the paper, Milo smirked.

A storm was brewing.

*Chapter 98: I Have Three Things to Say*

A new week began. As the U.S. stock market opened, the trading environment remained as fervent as ever.

However, compared to the relentless rise of defense stocks in the past month, today painted a different picture.

As the market opened, nearly all stocks related to the defense sector plummeted.

Without a daily 10% limit like in some other markets, the U.S. stock market allows shares to rapidly complete their rallies during favorable news or sharply decline in the face of unfavorable developments.

In just one morning, stocks in the defense sector, which had risen consistently for over a month, lost half their value.

That said, because defense stocks don't constitute a large portion of the Dow Jones Industrial Average, this dramatic fall didn’t trigger the circuit breaker mechanism introduced in 1988.

But Milo no longer cared about such matters.

After the "Black Swan" event on Saturday, as one of Wall Street's major short-sellers, he was left with only two outcomes: raking in massive profits or an even more massive fortune.

Due to the rushed timing of his short positions, however—barely a day and a half—Milo was aware that this round of profits would likely be less than the previous one.

And that turned out to be the case.

As Milo signed his name on a contract to purchase a near-bankrupt private military company (PMC) called "United Global" for $15 million, he received a call from Nielsen.

Nielsen informed him that Paladin Investments had completed its stock buyback operation. This marked the end of Milo's latest short-selling campaign.

After returning the borrowed shares and capital to the bank, deducting interest and fees, Paladin Investments netted a profit of $450 million—a third of their previous earnings.

“Well done, Nielsen. Just like last time, each trader gets a $20,000 bonus, administrative staff get $5,000 each, and you get $1 million.”

It was noon, but Milo had already left New York City.

Now, he was in the Empire State—or rather, New York State.

Milo was in the Appalachian Highlands region, specifically in Ulster County's Kingston, the county seat about 91 miles from New York City.

Kingston, once the state capital, was burned down by the British during the American Revolutionary War.

The headquarters and training base of United Global Security, the company Milo had just acquired, were located here.

With the contract signed, United Global was now Milo's private company.

Given this, Milo wasn’t in a hurry to return to New York City, even though Nielsen had called and it was his birthday.

Instead, he went to inspect the training base in Kingston's outskirts, guided by Jones, the former training field manager and deputy director of United Global's business department.

“Boss, we’re almost there. Just around this bend is the outdoor training ground,” said Jones, a man in his 40s with a balding head and evident British ancestry. He smiled as he glanced back at Milo in the rear seat.

“Alright,” Milo replied, surveying the surroundings.

United Global’s training ground was located along U.S. Route 9W, flanked by lush birch forests with little traffic passing by.

Soon, the convoy reached the back of a small hill. Sure enough, a group of people was training enthusiastically, leaping like frogs in sequence.

Although they noticed the convoy arriving, the trainees remained focused and continued their exercises.

As the cars came to a stop, Milo and his entourage, including Jones, disembarked.

Jones led them toward the training ground.

“Fall in!” Jones barked sharply.

All trainees immediately halted their exercises, quickly assembled three meters in front of Jones, and instinctively lined up.

“Dress right, dress!”

The trainees turned their heads to the right and shuffled into alignment.

“Eyes front!”

“Bang!”

“Snap!”

At Jones's next command, everyone turned to face forward simultaneously, standing motionless and perfectly synchronized—a display both impressive and disciplined.

Observing their upright posture and alert demeanor, Milo couldn't help but smile with satisfaction. It seemed his carefully chosen acquisition among over a hundred available security companies had been worth it.

Even if nothing else, the professionalism and physical condition of these individuals were already exemplary.

“Count off by rows!”

"1!"

"2!"

...

"115!"

“Report! Both the Combat Unit and Security Unit are at full strength—115 present and accounted for!” Jones nodded slightly, then turned to Milo with a formal salute and reported loudly, “Sir! Combat Unit and Security Unit: 115 present, 115 accounted for! Report complete!”

Milo, slightly unaccustomed to the military formalities, maintained his composure and responded calmly, “Good!”

He then mimicked the demeanor of leaders inspecting troops, standing with his hands behind his back, facing the assembled personnel.

Everyone wore U.S. military-style camouflage uniforms and combat boots, though it was unclear whether they were modeled after the Air Force, Army, or Navy.

Standing before these tough, well-trained personnel, Milo began, “My name is Milo Blackburn. I don’t care if you know me or not—that’s irrelevant.”

“I want you to know three things today.”

“First, I’m extremely wealthy.”

“Second, I’m incredibly wealthy.”

“And third, I’m unbelievably wealthy.”

“Therefore, every bullet aimed at me is worth a fortune—at least $2 million. If anyone takes a bullet for me, congratulations. You’ll earn more in a moment than a Secret Service agent makes in 20 years.”

“Even if nothing happens, your annual salary will still be twice that of a Secret Service agent.”

“And if anyone dies protecting me, their family or designated beneficiary will immediately receive a $10 million check.”

“Money is the only thing I can give you. Keeping me alive is the only thing I ask of you.”

*(End of Chapter)*

Chapter 99: Pros and Cons

Spring weather in New York was as unpredictable as ever. One moment, the sun shone brightly; the next, dark clouds loomed ominously.

Above Manhattan, low rumbles of thunder hinted at an impending downpour.

Yet, the unsettled weather didn’t faze Milo, who had recently returned to the city.

Seated at his apartment’s desk, he was quickly scanning through the relatively light stack of reports that had arrived.

Film Company Updates

First came updates from the film company.

 Shakespeare in Love* was set to premiere soon.

 The Da Vinci Code* was in the final stages of preparation.

* Three other films were in various stages of pre-production.

Meanwhile, the first two tranches of returns from Angels & Demons had finally arrived, amounting to nearly $50 million.

If Milo didn’t count his Wall Street exploits, this was by far his largest payday.

Making movies could indeed be lucrative—as long as they didn’t flop.

Of course, that was an obvious statement. Any business was profitable as long as it didn’t tank; the difference lay in how much profit it made.

Capital Company Updates

After reading the film company’s report, Milo turned to updates from his capital company.

The Silicon Valley stocks he’d originally held personally had all been transferred into his newly established Paladin Capital Company.

Over the past six months, based on valuation alone, his initial investment of a few tens of millions had ballooned to nearly $1 billion.

However, Milo was well aware that pre-IPO valuations were meaningless without a buyer. Until someone was willing to take them off his hands, those numbers were as insubstantial as blank paper.

Having skimmed through these updates, Milo set them aside and reached for the newly arrived report from United Global.

At that moment, a knock at the door drew his attention.

His new secretary, Megan Ferguson, stepped into the room.

Megan Ferguson

Megan was a 40-year-old blonde woman with a composed demeanor. A native of Plymouth, she had once worked at Harvard University.

Ten years ago, she had joined Boston’s First National Bank and later worked for Raytheon and other companies. After taking a year off for maternity leave, she had recently returned to the workforce.

Megan’s husband had been Milo’s grandfather’s chauffeur for 15 years. Through his recommendation, Megan was brought on as Milo’s professional secretary.

Her arrival had effectively replaced Monica Bellucci, who now served as Milo’s lifestyle assistant.

This change made perfect sense. Monica, while offering excellent emotional support and addressing Milo’s personal needs, lacked the necessary skills for professional responsibilities.

Even Monica acknowledged this. Having left college early to pursue full-time modeling, she knew her strengths didn’t lie in administrative work.

Megan’s presence, however, had been a welcome relief for Monica, as it gave her a capable mentor and freed her to focus on personal development while handling Milo’s lifestyle needs.

Press Coverage

“Sir, I think you should take a look at these,” Megan said, handing Milo a stack of newspapers.

Glancing through them, Milo noticed they were all midday or evening editions.

The headlines struck him immediately:

- *“The New Soros?”*

- *“Wall Street’s Speculative Genius!”*

- *“Blackburn the Big Short: A Billionaire in a Day!”*

- *“The Truth Behind the Defense Stocks Crash”*

- *“This Man Is Milo Blackburn”*

Milo skimmed the articles and felt a wave of hostility directed at him.

The stories all focused on his recent gains during the defense stock crash, claiming he’d earned tens of billions of dollars in just a couple of days.

The truth was, Milo had only made $450 million. These articles were exaggerating by including leveraged funds, clearly trying to stir controversy.

He set the papers down and looked at Megan. “What does the advisory team think?”

His advisory team—a newly formed group of five experts, including public relations and image consultant Karen Hughes—was already convening an emergency meeting.

As Megan finished speaking, Milo’s phone buzzed.

It was Shabbatai West, a former IMF actuary and banking expert who Milo had recruited from K Street to join his team.

Analysis

West summarized the advisory team’s initial conclusions: the situation had both pros and cons.

*The Pros:* Milo’s reputation in financial circles was rapidly growing. Regardless of whether the attention was positive or negative, his influence was undeniable.

*The Cons:* Wall Street already had a poor reputation among the American public. Ordinary citizens, who often bore the brunt of financial turmoil, despised the financial elite.

Now dubbed the “King of Shorts” and “Speculative Genius,” Milo risked alienating the very people who had once admired him as a genius writer and filmmaker.

As Milo listened, he couldn’t help but draw parallels to George Soros during the Southeast Asian financial crisis. Soros had been scapegoated, taking the blame for events orchestrated by larger forces.

Much like Soros, Milo was being pushed into the spotlight, absorbing the public’s anger to shield the true players behind the scenes.

Setting down the phone, Milo contemplated his next move.

*Chapter 100: The Date*

The advisory team weighed the pros and cons and concluded the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

But Milo felt somewhat frustrated.

This time, they were using him as a scapegoat, like a modern-day Soros, to divert attention.

What about next time? If others attacked him in the media again, what then?

Clearly, he needed his own platform to speak.

Initially, Milo hadn’t felt the urgency.

But this time, he decisively instructed his advisory team to start scouting for newspapers, TV stations, or other media outlets worth acquiring.

---

“Boss, during the conference call earlier, Ms. Hughes brought up a suggestion I think you should consider.”

“What suggestion?”

In his study, Milo continued his conversation with Shabbatai West.

“Ms. Hughes suggested that since you’re allied with the Rockefellers through marriage, you could leverage their influence to defuse the crisis—if you don’t mind, of course.”

Milo pondered for a moment before responding, “I don’t mind.”

Why would he mind?

Sure, being used as a pawn in a marriage alliance was frustrating, even if it was with the Rockefellers, and even though Arianna was quite attractive.

She even seemed to have a bit of a fangirl crush on him.

Still, knowing the Rockefellers’ motives weren’t entirely pure made Milo somewhat displeased.

If the Rockefellers intended to use this marriage to extend their reach into the Boston financial consortium, why shouldn’t Milo use their influence to further his own goals?

---

“There’s a golden rule in journalism: to bury a piece of news, all you need is another story that’s more appealing and relatable to the public.”

“We suggest you publicly date Ms. Rockefeller. That surname alone will dominate headlines and divert attention from your other controversies.”

After hearing the suggestion, Milo remained silent for a moment.

He knew this tactic well.

In later years, China had perfected it:

When unfavorable events or scandals involving prominent figures surfaced, how did they handle it?

By throwing an entertainment scandal into the spotlight.

No matter the country or culture, the entertainment industry always grabs public attention.

Shabbatai and his team were proposing a similar strategy.

“Alright,” Milo agreed.

Coincidentally, today was his birthday, and he had already planned to have dinner with Arianna that evening.

---

At 6 PM, Milo showered, freshened up, and applied a light citrus-scented roll-on cologne under his arms, exuding a faint, pleasant aroma.

Dressed in a white shirt with diamond cufflinks, a tailored casual suit, matte black leather shoes, an Omega watch, and an amber bracelet, he added a folded tie to his suit pocket for a touch of formality.

Although dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant didn’t necessarily require such attire, given the circumstances and the presence of reporters, Milo wanted to present himself properly—both for his image and out of respect for Arianna.

As he stepped out of his apartment building, he was met with a barrage of camera flashes.

“Mr. Blackburn! James from The Wall Street Journal! Is it true you made over $4 billion shorting defense stocks?”

“Mr. Blackburn, some are calling you a vampire, claiming you drained the accounts of tens of thousands of investors. What’s your response?”

“Mr. Blackburn, this is The New York Observer…”

In the midst of the reporters’ clamor, Milo’s bodyguards cleared a path for him. Wearing sunglasses, he quickly got into his car.

But the reporters soon realized Milo’s convoy was moving slowly, allowing them to follow.

---

“Boss, about 14 or 15 press vehicles are tailing us,” Kenny said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Let them follow,” Milo replied with a smile. “That’s the point today.”

The customized Cadillac Escalade eventually stopped near Madison Square Park in Manhattan, in front of a building with gray marble exteriors and grand, Greek-temple-style columns.

This was Eleven Madison Park, where Milo was meeting Arianna.

The Michelin three-star restaurant had been entirely reserved—not by Milo, but by Arianna.

As Milo stepped out of the car amidst the reporters' flashing cameras, he entered the restaurant, greeted warmly by the staff in its classically elegant interior.

---

Inside, the New York Times chairman, Arthur Sulzberger Jr., was waiting.

“Mr. Blackburn, Ms. Rockefeller will be here shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Sulzberger, a figure of such stature, acting almost like a butler, warmly welcomed Milo.

Taking a seat at the specially prepared table, Milo found a small vintage-style white box tied with navy cotton string. Curiously, he opened it to reveal three black-and-white cookies—New York’s quintessential sweet treat, as Sulzberger explained.

Milo smiled faintly. He might be a Plymouth man who spent most of his time in Los Angeles, but tonight, he was fully immersed in New York's elite world.

(To be continued)