A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 310: The 100-Billion Race (6)

Judging by the look of things, the representatives from the Canadian sovereign wealth fund were already nearly persuaded.

However, their organization’s conservative regulations were holding them back. Therefore, those shackles had to be removed first.

The first shackle was “risk.” In other words, the fear of losing principal.

So I played the “principal protection” card...

But a subtle look of caution flickered across the representative’s face.

“You must have significant venture exposure, so how is principal protection even feasible?”

Venture capital is synonymous with high risk and high return. Ordinarily, the very idea of guaranteeing principal in such an investment would be absurd.

But this wasn’t some reckless promise I couldn’t keep. I calmly explained.

“This fund is structured a bit differently. First, Pareto will be investing $20 billion of its own capital. Based on that, we will offer investors priority repayment rights. It functions as a loss buffer. As long as losses don’t exceed $20 billion, your principal will be fully protected.”

My $20 billion goes in first. If there’s a loss, it gets deducted from my money before touching theirs.

“So you’re saying Pareto will cover losses up to $20 billion?”

“That’s correct.”

“Strictly speaking, that’s not a full principal guarantee...”

“Of course, if losses exceed $20 billion, principal will also be affected. But in a $100 billion fund, losing more than $20 billion... based on our past performance, that’s highly unlikely.”

Pareto boasts the highest returns on Wall Street. We’ve never recorded a loss, so the idea that we’d burn through 20% of capital?

“It’s practically a theoretical risk.”

“......”

“If you don’t agree, we can end the discussion here.”

“...N-no, I understand that point.”

The first shackle was released. I raised one finger and moved to the second.

‘The next issue is predictability of returns.’

The reason sovereign wealth funds are reluctant to invest in venture capital is because they cannot predict when or how much capital will be returned.

So, I had prepared a solution.

“We are introducing a priority distribution structure. We plan to pay a fixed annual return of 8%.”

“Eight percent every year?”

“That’s correct. You can think of it as a high-yield bond disguised as a venture fund.”

Whether the fund succeeds or fails, 8% per year is guaranteed. This was an unprecedented, shockingly generous condition in the market.

But—

“There must be a price for that kind of certainty.”

“Of course. In exchange for absorbing the risk, Pareto will keep all excess returns. Aside from principal and the annual 8%, all profits go to us.”

At this, the other party’s expression hardened.

“So you’re saying if the fund succeeds, you’ll monopolize the gains?”

“While if it fails, we take the loss alone.”

A heavy silence followed. It wasn’t the same silence as before—it was sharper, more charged.

After a moment, the Canadian side spoke again.

“You want to invest using other people’s capital, but keep the upside to yourself? That’s not easy to accept.”

The displeasure in his voice was unmistakable. It was understandable.

In essence, the situation was this: I gather investors’ money and buy land. Every year, I pay them 8% returns, and after 10 years, I return the principal. All remaining profits go entirely to me.

At a glance, it might seem like an acceptable trade for both sides. No principal loss, and returns several times higher than bank deposits. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

However—

What if that land were “Pangyo”? What if land prices skyrocketed tenfold, yet investors only received 8% annually and nothing more? Even though it was their money that made the purchase possible?

“Your fund has a structure where, if it succeeds, the value will skyrocket exponentially. That potential is the only reason we’re here. But now you’re telling us to settle for bond-like interest and call it a day? Why should we accept such an unfair deal?”

His voice grew increasingly heated. The friendly tone from earlier had vanished, and his eyes now held the sharpness of someone facing a con artist.

Still, I replied confidently, without a tremor.

“You’ll be getting something far more valuable—reputation.”

A short but weighty silence followed.

“Canada will be recognized as the first nation to invest boldly in the most rapidly emerging and promising sector. That single fact will brand your country as a pioneer in technological innovation. And that’s precisely the kind of prestige you’ve been seeking, isn’t it?”

There was no reply, but I could tell. Canada needed that prestige desperately. And not simply for pride.

In the investment world, “reputation” is the most powerful weapon of all.

‘The best deals never appear on public markets. The real core deal flow always goes first to those with name recognition.’

The most important thing in startup investment is discovering future unicorns before anyone else. But how are such unicorns found? It’s not like their names are listed anywhere. They’re in small warehouses, modest workshops, or huddled around café tables scribbling business plans. How does one find and approach them?

The answer is simple. The founders come to the investors themselves, desperate for capital. In the industry, this is called “deal flow.”

That’s why reputation matters. Future unicorns knock on the doors of the most reputable investors first.

“Isn’t that exactly why Canada set up an office in San Francisco? To secure deal flow?”

They wanted reputation—deal flow. But despite their national wealth, Canada’s global presence was negligible. In that sense, this was an enormous opportunity.

“The moment you become my anchor investor, Canada’s name will instantly spread throughout Silicon Valley. Not as just any investor, but as the anchor of ‘Ha Si-heon.’”

I am already a well-known figure worldwide, but in Silicon Valley, my reputation is unparalleled. My career began when I exposed the infamous scammer Theranos here. Recently, I was hailed as “the hero who revitalized Silicon Valley” by propelling the nascent AI industry into the mainstream in a single stroke.

Now imagine: Canada makes a massive investment in a revolutionary fund led by Ha Si-heon. That alone would create tremendous impact. Founders seeking capital would naturally consider Canada as a prime funding source.

“The brand value and promotional effect alone are worth tens of billions of dollars. And you get that without paying a dime—in fact, you receive 8% annually while earning it.”

“……”

“So, what do you say?”

The Canadian side, calling it an “unexpectedly bold proposal,” requested one day to review it. Their cautious nature was on full display.

And the next day—

The number they came back with was…

“We can commit up to $12 billion.”

It was a very reasonable figure. Honestly, it was a bit disappointing. Ideally, I had hoped to secure at least $20 billion. Moreover, their investment came with one condition.

“However, we would like to participate only on the premise that other anchor investors are sufficiently secured.”

“A conditional investment, then.”

“That’s right. Given the $100 billion scale, there are understandable concerns. Since what you’re offering is ‘reputation,’ we trust you’ll understand.”

They didn’t want to be the first investor to jump in. Their reputation could be damaged. If I failed to raise the full $100 billion and the fund collapsed before launch, they would be branded as “the fools who alone invested in an absurd fund everyone else rejected.”

That was a risk they could not accept. I readily agreed.

“Understood. But in return, I need a firm promise. Once another anchor signs on, you will immediately invest the full $12 billion.”

“Of course.”

The next destination was Singapore. There, a similar situation unfolded.

“We are prepared to invest $15 billion—on the condition that another anchor investor is secured first.”

Roughly the same scale as Canada, with the exact same condition. In other words, they would follow if someone else took the lead.

“So, $27 billion is lined up and waiting...”

Once someone jumps in first, a chain reaction will occur. But if no one does, that money could evaporate.

Still, it wasn’t a bad outcome. There was some disappointment, of course...

“But this isn’t the final tally anyway.”

This was just the pre-roadshow phase. The product hadn’t officially launched yet; these were only advance reservations. At the actual investment stage, I could draw in far larger orders.

With that in mind, I took a brief pause before the next meeting. While we were waiting at the hotel, Pierce finally asked the question he’d been holding back.

“Seriously, that structure… how on earth did you come up with it?”

He was talking about the unique fund structure I designed. Pierce looked genuinely impressed.

“Not only did you make them swallow such outrageous terms, you even got them to cough up a full $27 billion...”

“Outrageous terms?”

“You take in a massive investment, and then the upside goes only to you! Selling that—this is truly...”

“Sounds like you’re calling me a con man.”

“A con man? Those idiots break the law. You, on the other hand, made this airtight and legal. It’s practically an art form... and there’ll be no blowback either, right? If you think about it, it’s win-win...”

Pierce trailed off, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

He’s right—it is a win-win deal. Even though I monopolize the excess returns, the investors get a stable annual yield and the image of backing an innovation leader, so there’s nothing for them to lose.

“And the financial engineering under the hood... it’s brilliant!”

In fact, if you take the fund apart, there’s a rather sophisticated mechanism hidden inside. Even the “8% per year” promised to investors is, in the end, paid out using their own capital—a kind of circular flow. If you squint, it’s a bit like rolling over credit cards...

But it isn’t illegal.

“You’ve woven together a structural blind spot in sovereign wealth funds, human greed, and your own reputation into a perfect chimera. This is… a stroke of genius only you could pull off. Even Ponzi would tip his hat!”

He was praising me like I’d done something amazing, but the more he spoke, the more the compliments felt oddly unsettling.

“It’s nothing special. I’m sure someone besides me has thought up the same structure.”

“No way! Who else would come up with a crazy—an idea like this?”

Someone has. My rival, Masayoshi Son. I’m certain of it.

‘Well, the truth is I copied this structure straight from him.’

If he hears this, Masayoshi Son will be pretty rattled. This structure is confidential, known only to him and a tiny handful of investors. It wasn’t supposed to be public until next year or the year after, but I copied it wholesale, so of course he’ll be shocked.

Strictly speaking, I stole someone else’s idea, but I feel no guilt.

‘This isn’t a sport, and honorable play doesn’t matter.’

All I want is money. And a chance to compete with Masayoshi Son. In that sense, this “copycat” move is an excellent provocation. People are naturally enraged when they see their original ideas stolen. If needed, I can even spark a “who did it first” controversy and drag him into the ring.

Everything is going smoothly. My only gripe is this…

“Canada is more conservative than I expected. I thought they were getting bullish on startups lately, but only $12 billion? Saudi offered $45 billion.”

Using the same sales approach, Masayoshi Son secured a staggering $45 billion. Meanwhile, I haven’t even reached half of that.

When I grumbled a little, Pierce gave me a look like I was being ridiculous.

“This much is a miracle already. Besides, you can’t compare this to Saudi. That’s a very special case.”

Strictly speaking, Canada is the normal one and Saudi is the outlier. He’s not wrong.

“They’re that desperate.”

Saudi’s biggest industry is oil. But since 2014, oil prices have been in free fall. For Saudi, already chafing against the global trend toward “clean energy transition,” it was like a fire lit under their feet.

“They realized, painfully, that oil alone can’t sustain the nation anymore.”

They’re pushing diversification at a national level. What Saudi wants most is the “tech” sector. So they took bundles of cash to Silicon Valley, but...

‘The deal flow was thinner than they expected.’

In Silicon Valley, people weren’t exactly seeking out Saudi money. Traditionally, they had the image of being “deep-pocketed but conservative investors.” Promising startups want investors who can take risks—fast-moving and reliable ones—and they didn’t find Saudi particularly attractive.

That’s why Saudi teamed up with Masayoshi Son. To rebrand themselves from “we’re just rich” to “we bet on innovation.” For that, they handed a whopping $45 billion to a man known as a “crazy investor.”

They can afford it.

“But still...”

Pierce interrupted my thoughts again.

“Canada and Singapore—you let them go a little too easily, which isn’t like you. Why didn’t you push harder?”

At this point, he must have realized I wasn’t truly trying to “persuade” them.

“I don’t always push.”

He didn’t buy it.

“If it were you, you’d usually say ‘Decide now or the deal’s gone forever,’ throwing down the gauntlet. In the old days, you’d have already lit the fire and be rolling the fuel drums while humming to yourself, but I don’t see any of that...”

“So I’m a pyromaniac now?”

“If you don’t want to explain, just say so.”

I saw Pierce click his tongue out of the corner of my eye. Then I murmured softly.

“Fire isn’t set like that. If you try to force it, you just fill the air with smoke, and it never really catches.”

Exactly. To start a conflagration, the most important thing is thorough preparation.

“The key is time and care. You place enough fuel in the right spots, make sure everything is organically connected, and when a chain reaction is guaranteed… that’s when you drop the match.”

“So right now you’re laying down the fuel, and once the first investor appears, the blaze will spread at once?”

I only lifted the corner of my mouth in reply.

He narrowed his eyes and asked again.

“The first investor you’ve marked… don’t tell me it’s Korea?”

“We’ll see.”

“Isn’t that a stretch?”

I kept smiling without answering, and Pierce tilted his head.

“Unexpected. I didn’t think you had patriotism in you.”

“Me?”

“Am I wrong? It looks like you want to give that brand-power boost to Korea by making them your first investor.”

Well, he’s not entirely wrong. But...

“It’s not patriotism. Call it favoritism.”

I’m not about to take a loss for the sake of my country, so “patriotism” isn’t the word. Still, if the opportunity arises, I do have enough affection to give my homeland first dibs, even if it’s a little inconvenient.

“More importantly...”

Just then, the door swung open and someone strode in.

“We’re ready. Let’s head out.”

It was Gonzalez. Which meant the next engagement was set.

I turned to Pierce and asked, “Since you’ve come all this way, why not join us? Think of it as sightseeing.”

From here, we’d be touring Singapore’s major landmarks. But Pierce didn’t look thrilled.

“Again?”

Yes. Again. I was asking him to take part in something he’d already done once. We’d done the same thing in Canada. That is, making the rounds of landmarks and “leaving traces.”

Pierce narrowed his eyes and muttered, “This smells fishy... Are you sure this is okay?”

I didn’t bother denying it.

“I told you, right? Sprinkle a little fuel in advance, and the fire catches much better.”