A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook Chapter 124

The news of Alia’s death ca as a shock.

But it wasn’t sorrow.

She was rely soone who had briefly passed through my life—not close enough to mourn.

If anything, this shock stemd purely from a selfish emotion.

Her fate, mirroring my own illness, felt like a forewarning of what lay ahead for .

As I stood there in a daze, David cautiously spoke.

“There’s no need to push yourself. I’ve heard investnt banking has a tight schedule.”

“…Pardon?”

It took a mont to grasp his aning. He was offering a considerate way out—saying he’d understand if I chose not to attend the funeral. I forced a faint smile and replied.

“No, it’s fine. I can take a half-day off.”

“Are you sure?”

For an ordinary analyst, this would have been unthinkable. Taking leave for the funeral of soone who wasn’t a family mber, a relative, or even a close acquaintance?

But I was an exception.

Thanks to Goldman’s unwritten rule:

—Those who generate profit are granted everything.

At present, I was the most profitable analyst in Goldman’s history. A sudden half-day leave wouldn’t be an issue.

The real problem lay elsewhere.

My mind had gone completely blank.

There was a crucial question I needed to ask at this mont, yet I couldn't rember it.

But after desperately grasping at my consciousness, I finally managed to pull out the question.

“What was the cause of death?”

Yes, this was it.

Alia’s death could have been due to one of two causes:

A fatal side effect of the dication.

Or a Castleman seizure.

“Unfortunately, it was a seizure.”

The mont I heard those words, reality blurred again.

Alia had been administered rapamycin, the second treatnt.

And yet, she suffered a seizure… aning the drug had failed her.

She had needed a third-line treatnt.

Just like .

“I’ll send you the address by email. See you there.”

With that, David left.

I, too, took my half-day off and headed ho to change into funeral-appropriate attire.

Even after reaching ho, the sense of reality remained faint.

It wasn’t just my head that felt blank.

For the first ti in my life, an unfamiliar discomfort seeped under my skin.

‘I expected this…'

I had known all along.

The weight of gambling with human lives.

Plunging myself into this trial to find a cure was entirely different from standing safely on the sidelines while pushing others into the abyss.

I wasn’t particularly virtuous, but even I couldn’t shake off this revulsion.

I had anticipated so level of discomfort.

But now, faced with the reality of it, the unease was far more overwhelming than I had imagined.

‘It’s not like I did anything wrong…'

Alia had voluntarily participated.

I had rely provided the funding.

I could fra it as granting a terminal patient’s final wish.

And in return, I obtained valuable data.

Yet no matter how I tried to justify it, the disgust wouldn’t leave .

I turned on the shower, but even after standing under cold water for over thirty minutes, my mind refused to clear.

No matter how much I washed, the filth clung to .

‘Just… think of it as a transaction.'

A necessary trade for my survival.

A win-win deal where both parties got what they wanted.

But even that reasoning failed to ease my conscience.

So…

I decided to let this discomfort remain.

If soone who willingly played Russian roulette could sleep peacefully at night, that would be the true act of shalessness.

But then, as I accepted this reality, a far colder, more selfish thought erged.

‘What a waste…’

Alia had been a candidate for the third treatnt.

Yet she passed away before she could even attempt the necessary drug.

Had she tried a different treatnt instead, it wouldn’t have felt so futile.

I had overlooked sothing critical.

‘I need a system to filter candidates in advance.'

A way to identify Russian roulette participants before the ga even started.

Right now, there was only one way to distinguish them:

Administer rapamycin, then observe for seizures.

If they remained stable, they were second-line treatnt candidates.

If they suffered a seizure, they needed the third treatnt.

But a Castleman seizure ant they were already at death’s door.

Which ant those needing the third treatnt had to survive a brush with death just to get their shot at a real cure.

How many would actually make it through?

Most would likely die like Alia—before even getting the chance.

‘I need to fix this first.'

Developing a better screening thod was urgent.

And to do that, I needed Alia’s data.

Her CRP, ESR, serum creatinine, BUN levels… every PET/CT scan taken throughout her treatnt.

I had to comb through it all to identify the distinct patterns of third-treatnt candidates.

Alia was already gone.

So the best way to honor her death… was to make it aningful.

I felt like a looter scavenging corpses on a battlefield.

But—

Soone had to survive.

And ultimately, this system would help prevent unnecessary sacrifices in the future.

Convincing myself of that, I quickened my pace.

***

A modest funeral ho in the New Jersey suburbs.

David and Jesse had already arrived, and amidst them, I spotted another familiar face.

“You’re here too, Sean.”

It was Rachel.

She must have received the obituary as well.

‘Of course, the princess is here.’

Being able to take a half-day off on a weekday for sothing unrelated to performance—it was a luxury few could afford.

Inside, Alia’s husband, Joel, approached with a sorrowful smile.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

His bloodshot eyes filled with gratitude as he gripped my hand firmly.

He was thanking for covering the $1.5 million in hospital bills.

“Because of you… Alia was able to fight bravely until the very end.”

His words tangled my emotions once again.

The truth was, from the very beginning, I had secretly hoped the second treatnt would fail.

I had wanted Alia to beco a test subject for the third treatnt—and that was the sole reason I had paid such a hefty sum.

And just as I had wished, she turned out to be the sa type as … and ultimately, she died.

What could I possibly say here?

Suppressing my discomfort, I glanced at David.

I had the urge to pull him aside imdiately to discuss patient selection thods, but this was neither the ti nor the place.

After the funeral—that would be the right mont.

‘How long will this take? An hour, maybe…’

My estimate was off.

In reality, it lasted an hour and a half.

For that entire ti, Alia’s family and friends took turns reminiscing about her.

Sotis, they wiped away tears; other tis, they smiled faintly at the mories.

For , soone with no personal connection to her, it was an uncomfortable experience.

Because I wasn’t sad at all.

I felt regret, shock, and a vague fear—but not the deep, genuine sorrow that welled up from within.

I glanced around discreetly.

I assud David, Jesse, and Rachel must have felt the sa.

But to my surprise, they were all genuinely grieving.

Rachel, in particular, was biting her lip, hurriedly wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Am I the odd one out?’

A phrase suddenly flashed through my mind—Wall Street is full of people with psychopathic tendencies.

Given that only those who could thoroughly exploit others survived in this industry, it wasn’t entirely unfounded.

Did I possess those traits as well?

Even if I did, it wouldn’t be wise to show it.

So, I put on the saddest face I could muster.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the funeral ended.

Suppressing my impatience, I cautiously suggested,

“If everyone has ti, how about we have a drink in Alia’s mory?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Thankfully, everyone agreed, and we moved to a quiet bar nearby.

I was eager to start discussing plans with David, but that, too, wasn’t easy.

Everyone was still deeply imrsed in their grief.

“She was so young… It’s heartbreaking. And Michelle is still just a child…”

Rachel bit her lip, ntioning Alia’s daughter.

Barely ten years old.

At that age, losing a mother ant experiencing the pain of loss in its rawest form.

It was a cruel burden for soone so young.

Jesse, eyes red with emotion, added,

“But still… Alia was incredible. She never gave up hope. Even in her final monts, she never lost her sense of humor.”

anwhile, David’s expression was subtly different.

Rather than sorrow, there was a quiet sense of pride.

“Alia had no regrets. She made her own choices.”

Unlike , he showed no signs of guilt.

Instead, there was a bond—like that of comrades-in-arms.

‘Well, his situation is different.’

David was also risking his own life.

He wasn’t just using others—he had thrown himself into the fray as well.

Unlike , who stood safely on the sidelines while pushing others into the fire.

But that wasn’t the point.

What mattered now was discussing the patient selection thod.

Yet finding the right mont to bring it up was proving difficult.

“Outsiders may pity them, but for those who take on the challenge, their perspective is entirely different. So might think they’re drowning in despair, but in reality, it’s quite the opposite. At least they’re leaving knowing they tried.”

“Joel, too, probably feels pride rather than just sorrow. There’s grief, of course, but beneath it, he must be proud of Alia.”

David and Jesse spoke as if they were voicing Alia and Joel’s thoughts. Then, they turned to Rachel and , their gazes suddenly serious.

“We’re in this, so we understand… but the two of you are really remarkable. To willingly join such a difficult journey…”

I forced a wry smile.

“Well… I can’t exactly see it as soone else’s problem.”

Publicly, I had lost a loved one to this illness.

That was the role I was supposed to play.

But to my dismay, the group’s expressions darkened even more.

‘Are they expecting to say more?’

Their curiosity was evident.

But revealing my personal history would be a mistake.

Lying about losing a family mber could backfire if the truth ever surfaced.

And fabricating a tragic backstory about a friend or lover? Too lodramatic for my taste.

Silence was the best option.

In situations like this, the smartest move was to shift attention elsewhere.

“Rachel is the truly remarkable one. She had no personal ties, yet she dedicated so much ti and effort.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Rachel had thoroughly studied Castleman’s disease, personally visited Alia, and spent hours explaining the details to her.

Unlike , who had rely crossed paths with Alia briefly, Rachel had stayed by her side for two whole days.

And despite all that effort, Alia had still died.

Given Rachel’s gentle nature, it must have hit her hard.

She was trying to hide it, but her reddened eyes and flushed nose betrayed her emotions.

Jesse, gazing at her with sympathy, said softly,

“If it ever becos too much, don’t hesitate to say so. We understand.”

There was an implicit ssage in her words—If it’s too much, you can step away.

But…

‘That would be a problem.’

I had already fabricated a story that Rachel had pressured into joining the foundation.

If she withdrew, my continued involvent would beco unnatural.

Normally, I would have reminded her of Gerard’s threats to keep her committed, but the atmosphere wasn’t right for that.

While I was contemplating my next move, Rachel offered a faint smile.

“No, I’d never quit.”

“But you don’t have to endure all this pain…”

“This is aningful to .”

Her voice was firm.

But honestly, the rest of us still looked unconvinced.

A privileged heiress, voluntarily putting herself through sothing this harrowing?

Her actions couldn’t be explained by re kindness alone.

And perhaps because it seed so unnatural, it sparked an unsettling thought—What if this is just a passing phase for her?

Sensing our doubt, Rachel hesitated before quietly confessing,

“There’s… actually another reason I’m doing this.”

Her gaze drifted into the distance as she forced a smile.

“When I was little, I almost died once. I ignored the warning to stay inside on a rainy day and went to the lake… I slipped and fell in. Thankfully, the caretaker saved , but…”

Even without finishing her sentence, I could guess the rest.

She had just admitted that soone had saved her.

Most likely, that caretaker had died in the process.

‘So that’s why.’

At last, the lingering question about her motivation was answered.

Jesse gently clasped Rachel’s hand in comfort.

“That wasn’t your fault. He chose to save you.”

But Rachel shook her head.

Then, in a resolute voice, she corrected,

“No, he survived at first.”

“…What?”

“But a few days later, he died from aspiration pneumonia. He was elderly, and the lake water caused an infection in his lungs…”

A heavy silence fell.

Rachel struggled to continue.

“Maybe he didn’t feel the danger when he jumped in. But… even if he had known, would he have still saved ?”

She looked down.

“So when I was offered a patient advocacy role, I thought… This is it. I could warn patients about dangers they couldn’t see… Maybe, in a way, this is what I can do to honor Clifford.”

An unexpected confession.

But now, her determination made sense.

This was her way of atonent.

“…Rachel.”

Jesse pulled her into a warm embrace.

Rachel wiped her tears, embarrassed by the display.

As they comforted each other, I suddenly realized—

Everyone’s eyes were on again.

‘Oh, co on… is it my turn now?’

I could sense their unspoken expectations.

They were ready to hear my own tragic story.

But that wasn’t happening.

So, I quickly changed the subject.

“By the way… doesn’t this increase the likelihood of the third treatnt’s viability?”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

Too cold.

Would they see as another Wall Street psychopath?

But instead, their gazes softened.

‘Wait, what’s with those eyes…?’

They looked at with sympathy.

As if they were silently telling —It’s okay. You can open up whenever you’re ready.

I had inadvertently beco the tragic figure of the group.

A misunderstanding—but a useful one.

“So if that’s the case, we need a proper way to identify third-treatnt candidates.”

And finally—after nearly four hours—

I was able to get to the real discussion.