Chapter 305: The 100-Billion Race (1)
Year-end, for most people, is a season of reflection and gratitude. A ti to look back on the year, thank those by your side, and plan for the one ahead.
But on Wall Street, things are different. Here, the end of the year can be sumd up in a single word.
Bonus.
People say all humans are equal. But on Wall Street, performance is value. That value is asured in bonuses, and those numbers decide one’s rank and class.
The biggest bonus ans you’re “core talent.”
If you’re average, you’re “replaceable.”
Below that are the “at-risk.”
And those who don’t get a bonus at all— “Dead man walking.” They’re as good as gone. Within weeks, they’ll get the termination notice, pack quietly, and disappear.
That’s the law of Wall Street. But this ranking system isn’t a one-way street. Just as companies rank employees, employees rank companies too.
“Deutsche numbers out yet? Roughly how much?”
“Second-years got between 100 and 120. How about you guys?”
“About the sa.”
“Really? Heard Goldman hit 150…”
When the year ends, old colleagues and classmates who barely text all year suddenly start comparing bonuses. A natural hierarchy takes shape. And at the very top of that ranking—the firm that pays out the biggest bonuses—resus pour in.
Of course, this year, there was no debate about who held the crown.
“Pareto Innovation, obviously.”
“They jumped on the AI bubble before anyone else.”
This year’s AI frenzy in Arica made the old dot-com boom look like child’s play. And the firm that rode that massive wave first—was Pareto. No outsider knows exactly how much they invested or where. But even the public filings painted a clear enough picture.
“They’re the biggest shareholder in Envid, right? Just that stake alone—how much do you think it’s worth now?”
“Judging from the 13D filings, up more than 300% easy.”
And the bonuses reflected that scale. Rumors confird it.
“Even the analysts hit seven figures. Rember Lanton? He’s been bragging he got six tis base pay.”
“That loudmouth always exaggerates.”
“No, this ti it’s real. He bought a Patek and a McLaren.”
A Patek Philippe costs at least $200,000. A McLaren sports car, even at base spec, is $300,000. To splurge on both? Even if it was showboating, that’s high-class showboating.
Their voices carried a mix of envy and awe.
“They hiring more people?”
“Heard the waitlist is years long.”
Pareto was the fund everyone on Wall Street wanted in on. No matter how good you were, there just wasn’t an opening. Everyone was gunning for that seat.
And not just for the money.
“Apparently, just working there is a dopamine rush.”
“Not surprising. Everything they touch turns into legend.”
On Wall Street, war stories are weapons. Saying, “I was there when Soros broke the pound,” is enough to make your résumé golden for life.
But Pareto—in just two years since its founding, had already created countless “Soros monts.” The Ebola prediction. The Ant Revolution. The Yuan Wars. And now, the AI bubble.
That wasn’t all.
“They say even the work environnt there is insane—in a good way.”
“Really? I’d think it’d be brutal.”
“Nope. They’ve got a full-ti entertainnt director who’s an absolute lunatic, makes work feel like play.”
“A lunatic?”
Naturally, that “lunatic” could only be Gonzalez. Pareto’s official party planner.
As his na buzzed all across Wall Street, Gonzalez himself was busier than ever at Pareto HQ. This year was far more hectic than the last. The usual year-end chaos of overlapping events was bad enough, but this ti, he was also designing special commorative gifts by hand.
The gift? Pareto: The Legend — a board ga. At first glance, it looked like a fancy version of The Ga of Life, each space filled with Pareto’s greatest hits.
But the real shock lay in the details.
“You made the dice… out of real gold?”
The gold dice were only the start. The player pieces were hand-carved from rare ivory, and every “achievent” space featured a miniature diorama cast in pure silver. Each detail—shark-tooth texture, the sharp blade of the Yuan guillotine, even the microscopic letters on the WSB manifesto—was recreated with obsessive precision. It was a fusion of craftsmanship and money—almost a work of art.
“How many of these did you make?”
“Five hundred.”
“That many? You’ll have plenty left after handing them out to employees and investors.”
A colleague voiced concern but quickly realized— there’s nothing more pointless than worrying about a billionaire’s kid’s wallet.
And then—
Ding-ding-ding-ding!
A sharp bell cut through the air. Every conversation stopped, all eyes turning toward the sound. Another of Gonzalez’s infamous “events” was about to begin.
This one called— *Operation Ha Si-heon: 2017*.
A betting ga to predict what kind of trouble Si-heon would cause next year. The winner got the entire “cash aquarium.”
The current prize pool had reached $80,000—a stack of bills piled inside a man-sized glass tank in the middle of the floor.
This ti’s challenger was Gray, one of the traders. Spreading his arms wide, he declared in the voice of a prophet:
“In Sean’s na, unprecedented capital shall converge! From his hand, a hundred-billion-dollar fund shall rise, and the balance of this nation shall be forever changed!”
It was a grand proclamation—but the reaction was lukewarm.
“So basically… he’s gonna manage a hundred-billion-dollar fund?”
“That’s it?”
Compared to other outlandish prophecies—buying Iceland, starting World War IV, launching his own currency as the new global standard, or being appointed Fed Chair and pegging interest rates to Bitcoin—it was almost boring.
As the room filled with disappointed silence, Gonzalez’s expression shifted.
“Did he hear sothing?”
The number—one hundred billion dollars—felt too specific to be a joke. It didn’t sound like imagination. It sounded like inside info.
After so persistent questioning, Gray shrugged and confessed.
“Actually… I’m kinda friends with Sean’s private jet attendant.”
Apparently, the attendant had overheard a phone call and leaked a hint. Gonzalez frowned.
‘Looks like I’ll have to deal with the crew too.’
Such leaks were unacceptable. But that was a problem for later. For now, the ga went on.
Clack.
Gonzalez opened a drawer and pulled out a thick bundle of hundred-dollar bills. Then he dropped the bundle with a thud into the giant aquarium set in the middle of the trading floor.
The room stirred.
“That’s… way more than ten grand, isn’t it?”
Gonzalez varied his wagers every ti a “prophecy” ca out, based on how fun—or how credible—it sounded. This one wasn’t entertaining, which ant he was scoring it high on the “credibility” scale. In other words, he judged Gray’s tip to be pretty reliable.
“A hundred-billion-dollar fund?”
“Is that even possible?”
“How many funds in the world are even that big…”
As of 2016, most hedge funds were only in the low billions. Cross five billion and you were already treated as a “big player,” so a hundred billion… That would be a monster fund. Of course, if it was Ha Si-heon, even that might not be impossible…
“Hmm, but still…”
For sothing Si-heon would do, it felt short on impact. A little bland, even. Compared to the dopamine parties they’d seen so far, it was hard not to feel underwheld.
Then it happened.
“I’ve got it!”
The one who leapt to his feet and shouted was Dobby. He hurried up to the aquarium, spread his arms wide, and proclaid a new oracle.
“Sean will once again sacrifice a titan and build his empire upon the offering!”
“The heir to Ackman… no—one who will surpass Ackman will bleed, and with that sacrifice, Pareto shall prosper even more!”
People cocked their heads. Ackman was the Wall Street giant Si-heon had toppled back when he founded Pareto, through the Valient affair. So this prophecy predicted he’d bring down another titan the sa way…
“But who?”
“You really don’t know? Just two months ago, soone else made the sa hundred-billion claim!”
“—!”
“—!”
At that, faces around the room changed. The calm office buzzed in an instant, excitent spreading in waves.
“Holy crap.”
“This year… they’re gonna update the legend again, aren’t they?”
***
After a long run of etings in Philadelphia, I finally returned to Pareto Innovation. But the office vibe was off.
What now…?
With employees circled up to watch, three staffers stood with dollar bills stuck to their foreheads. It looked like a ga. It was Liars’ Poker, the ga that had beco legend on Wall Street. Instead of cards, the serial numbers on dollar bills serve as your hand. If classic poker is math and strategy, Liars’ Poker is bravado and reading the room.
Nicole, my assistant, filled in from the side. “They’re playing for priority in assignnts on the new project.”
Sohow, this company keeps drifting further off the rails.
‘Better than the days when everyone panicked and flailed… but still.’
When we first launched Pareto, people jumped out of their skin whenever I said a word. Back then, Dobby jumped the highest; now he’d made the semifinals of the Liars’ Poker tournant.
Tis really do change.
Just then, our COO, Crane, walked up. “Mr. Pierce is here in the office.”
“He’s already here?”
“Yes. He ca over less than fifteen minutes after we called.”
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