A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 301: Side Story, The Marquis (7)

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Desmond ultimately decided to postpone his decision. He didn’t want to make a hasty choice in a situation where the risk was too great.

“That’s exactly why you’ll never make it! Always so timid—tsk, tsk—don’t even know how to seize an opportunity when it comes your way...”

“Jumping in without proper risk analysis isn’t courage, it’s recklessness.”

“You sure know how to dress up your fear in fancy words.”

Rupert kept provoking Desmond, trying to push him into acting immediately, but Desmond wasn’t foolish enough to fall for such childish taunts.

“If you’re leaving, it’s best you go now. Before the weather gets worse. There’s no room here for you to spend the night.”

After sending Rupert away like that, Desmond was finally left alone. Then he calmly began calculating.

‘It’ll be difficult to get Gerard dismissed over this incident alone.’

Even if the scheme worked perfectly, trying to fire him just because of a single failed party would be a stretch. Since becoming CEO, Gerard had built a record of success that was hard to criticize.

Still—

‘A blunder of this scale... it could at least block other paths for him.’

For instance, the new product launch Gerard had been pouring his energy into lately. Desmond understood Gerard’s ambitions perfectly. A product line combining molecular gastronomy techniques. It wasn’t just a new product—it was a bold attempt that could completely overturn Marquis’s traditional image.

And Gerard even planned to tie the launch into the <Willy Anka> film series, exploding it through a massive PPL campaign.

But—

What if that plan actually succeeded? Gerard would instantly become “the new face of Marquis,” a symbol of a new era. That was a huge risk.

‘The chances of success are slim... but even a tiny possibility must be eliminated.’

Yet, to stop the product launch directly, he needed a convincing reason. That’s why this gala became such an important link in the chain.

If Gerard were to make a critical mistake at such a public event—Desmond could emphasize that “his judgment is severely flawed,” and use that to argue that Gerard shouldn’t be entrusted with any major marketing or public events again.

In short, it was the perfect chance to clip Gerard’s wings. Even if it didn’t go that far, the damage to Gerard’s public image alone would still be valuable.

“Not bad,” Desmond murmured.

He had made up his mind. He would set the trap. But there was one condition.

“If I’m going to ruin it... I’ll ruin it completely.”

***

Desmond’s trap was simple. Let Rachel invite a bunch of uninvited guests and ruin the party, while putting Gerard forward as the host—and making him take the blame. In the end, Gerard would have to stand at the center of the criticism for failing to manage the situation.

The problem was that things weren’t nearly chaotic enough yet.

‘This level of trouble... is far too mild.’

Rachel’s unwanted guests numbered barely ten. That might make a few VIPs frown for a moment, but nothing serious. Some generous guests might even laugh it off, saying, “The young hostess is still learning.”

‘If there’s going to be an incident, it should be a disaster.’

Something so outrageous the VIPs would be left speechless. To do that, the solution was clear.

“Add more uninvited guests.”

Desmond acted immediately. He bribed one of Rachel’s staff members to send gala invitations to everyone on her “potential guest” list—all two hundred of them. With only about fifty VIPs invited, there would now be two hundred extra guests—turning the elegant ballroom into utter chaos.

Desmond personally confirmed that the invitations had been sent.

“How’s the situation?” he asked.

“It’s bad, sir. Many of them already sent RSVPs. It’s too late to cancel—it would look like an even bigger mistake...”

The uninvited guests were all officially invited now. There was no way to take it back. The gala was guaranteed to descend into a mess.

Only then did Desmond go to see Gerard.

“You’ll be in charge of the event,” Desmond said evenly, as if granting him a special opportunity.

Gerard looked surprised for a moment. “Me?”

He must have already known—the party was doomed from the start. Still, after a brief pause, he nodded.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Desmond saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. A confident expression. Gerard seemed to think of this as a test—that if he managed to salvage this disaster, he’d be acknowledged as the rightful successor.

‘Smart, but still immature,’ Desmond thought.

Because this truly was a test. And there was only one correct answer—refusal. Accepting the role in a rigged situation like this already disqualified him as a successor.

And if, by some miracle, Gerard did pull it off? That too could be twisted: “Taking such a reckless risk shows poor judgment; he only succeeded by luck.” There would always be room to attack.

Besides, there was no chance Gerard would actually save the party. Desmond would make sure of that. He wasn’t careless. From the moment Gerard accepted the assignment until the day of the gala, Desmond monitored his every move.

‘So he never thought to split the event, huh?’

There was one possible countermeasure Desmond had been wary of. Two separate parties. A decoy event for the uninvited guests, and another private one for the VIPs—a dual arrangement. Desmond had even prepared countermeasures just in case.

But Gerard took an entirely unexpected route. Not only did he expand the event, but he rebranded the entire gala as a festival for the citizens. He even adjusted the sponsorships, the title, and all distributed materials to fit that theme.

‘So he’s planning to turn the scandal itself into the event’s message...’

But such a strategy could never work. Sure, the VIPs might nod politely at the “noble cause,” but once they experienced the chaos firsthand, their reactions would be very different.

‘There’s no way they actually want to mingle with the commoners.’

Gerard had completely misread their true feelings—and chosen the wrong strategy. Satisfied, Desmond finally allowed himself to relax.

And as time passed—at last—the day of the gala arrived.

Though he couldn’t help but feel a faint unease that something unexpected might happen—fortunately, nothing of the sort occurred. About thirty minutes after the gala began, Desmond stepped inside the venue and smiled with deep satisfaction.

A disaster.

Originally, this was meant to be a quiet, elegant gathering of roughly fifty VIPs, exchanging polite conversation. They were all familiar faces—people who had met at countless similar events. At this point, they knew each other well enough that their chatter was limited to polite updates, thinly veiled boredom hiding behind smiles.

But now? Hundreds of people crowded the hall, and the atmosphere was utterly chaotic.

“Ah, good evening! Allow me to introduce myself!”

Someone approached the VIPs, handing out business cards. His tone and manner were completely that of a marketplace vendor. It wasn’t a polite greeting—it was blatant solicitation. Naturally, the expressions of the VIPs stiffened. Some stepped back to keep their distance; others tried to avoid eye contact altogether.

Then it happened. One of the guests, barely masking a sour expression, recognized Desmond and approached. With an overly refined tone, he smiled as he voiced his displeasure.

“This... feels rather different from the usual atmosphere. Quite unsettling, I must say.”

The meaning was clear—he was not pleased. Desmond seized the opportunity.

“I’m as surprised as you are. I handed this event over to some of the ‘new blood,’ and well...”

“Wait—does that mean a successor’s already been chosen?”

“No. I simply wanted to see how several potential successors would perform when given responsibility. But with results like this...”

“Ah.”

That single word summed it all up. This chaotic, distasteful party was Gerard’s doing.

And Desmond’s subtle comment implied something more: there were several possible heirs, and Gerard was only one of them. The meaning sank in quickly. Everyone’s eyes said the same thing—‘I see how it is.’

‘This will work to my advantage later,’ Desmond thought.

Once Gerard’s reputation was tarnished here tonight, if Desmond later entrusted an event to his own son and that one went smoothly, everyone would naturally conclude that his son was the better successor. If that future gala exuded class and dignity—everything this one lacked—then the choice would be obvious.

Half his goal was already achieved. Desmond smiled in satisfaction.

From then on, he simply observed, savoring the scene as the atmosphere grew increasingly disordered, noting every flicker of disappointment and disdain that crossed the guests’ faces.

‘Not bad at all.’

He took a sip of champagne. As time went on, the situation deteriorated further. Some of the uninvited guests were already drunk, their voices rising. Others began pestering VIPs with business pitches. The dignified, restrained tradition of the Marquis Gala had completely collapsed.

Desmond calmly watched it all unfold, inwardly exultant. Gerard’s downfall was happening before his very eyes.

Eventually—

“I’m terribly sorry, but I must be going. Some urgent matter at home, I’m afraid.”

One of the guests even put on his coat and left. Seeing that, others began to exchange glances, silently debating whether they too should come up with excuses to leave.

‘If they all walk out together... that would be perfect,’ Desmond mused.

A mass exodus would be the ultimate humiliation for Gerard. He was just starting to hum in delight at the thought when—

“Chairman, excuse me for a moment...”

His secretary approached cautiously. “You asked to be notified immediately if anything unusual occurred, sir.”

“Unusual? I’m looking at it right now.”

The gala was already chaos enough. He was enjoying it, so there was no reason to be called away.

But the secretary lowered his voice. “Yes, well... the issue isn’t inside, sir. It’s outside the venue. I think you’d better see for yourself.”

“Outside?”

Desmond paused. He’d been so focused on the chaos inside that he hadn’t paid any attention to what was happening beyond the ballroom. But his secretary’s tone made it clear—something unexpected was unfolding outside.

So Desmond quietly stepped out into the hallway. And what met his eyes was a scene he could never have anticipated.

Men in black suits. A silent but tight security perimeter.

“What... what is going on here?”

One of the guards replied without even turning. “Necessary security protocol, sir.”

“Do you even know who I am?”

The guard finally glanced his way, his expression indifferent—it didn’t matter who Desmond was. “Apologies, sir, but no one is allowed beyond this point.”

A complete dismissal. There was no other way to interpret it.

‘Who on earth could be arriving...?’

Just then, a black limousine rolled to a stop. Security radios crackled to life, and the car door opened.

And then—

The first person to step out was a middle-aged woman. A familiar face. Anyone who watched the news would recognize her instantly.

‘Melody Tranton...?!’

She was the wife of the newly elected President Tranton—soon to be the First Lady of the United States.

‘Why on earth is she here...?’

But it didn’t end there. The next to emerge was a young woman with sleek, neatly tied hair. Yvonne Tranton—the President’s daughter, famous for her beauty and public presence.

And finally, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out. Don Tranton Jr.

Desmond froze on the spot. The entire First Family had arrived.