After the Divorce, I Could Hear the Voice of the Future-Chapter 76: Malice Like a Tide [Subscribe Requested]

"Just $6.2635 million?"

When daylight broke, Lu Liang had finished closing his positions.

After careful calculations, the total profit was $6.289 million; deducting $25,500 in handling fees, he netted $6.2635 million.

With an investment of $10 million, in less than a week, the profit had soared to 62.63%, but Lu Liang still felt it was a bit meager.

This earning was unworthy of the grand spectacle, after all, witnessing the entirety of a nation's leader rise and fall.

Economically and politically pressured, after this episode, Anshan would probably change from a rain of tough men to a rain of eggs.

Lu Liang suddenly felt a sense of sorrow like a rabbit mourning a fox, "The capital was too little after all."

If he had tens of billions of dollars like the Quantum Fund, he could have been a protagonist in this international incident.

Unfortunately, with only $10 million in capital, he could only watch others perform on stage and feast while he had to pick up scraps from the edges.

"That year, on the stage of thirty nations, standing like a supporting character~"

Humming a tune, Lu Liang stepped out of his office to wash his face in the restroom, his face oily and grimy from staying up all night.

He ran into Tang Caidie who was astonished, "Mr. Lu, were you at the company all night?"

Lu Liang nodded, "Just finished with things, getting ready to head back."

"Will you be coming in the afternoon?"

"Is there something up?"

"The business registration documents should be delivered by noon, and there's also the financial audit report, they both need your signature."

The beginning of every month was the busiest time for Lu Liang, with payroll, expense tracking, and capital audits for investments.

Tang Caidie was only in charge of inspection; these documents all required Lu Liang's personal signature for authorization.

"Then I'll come by later this afternoon."

Lu Liang knew these documents couldn't be delayed; without his signature, the process would grind to a halt and projects would come to a standstill.

Once he got home, he had barely lain down for a few hours when his phone, on silent mode, vibrated non-stop like a buzzing bee.

Suppressing his anger, Lu Liang answered the call, and Meng Changkun's excited voice came through, "Brother, you're just too awesome!"

"Huh? What are you raving about?" Lu Liang was groggy, his mind foggy, not fully booted up yet.

"Oh, right, right, sorry, you should be resting now, I'll call you later."

Almost instinctively, Lu Liang hung up, his half-closed eyes shut again, but within minutes he sensed something was amiss.

A quick glance at his screen had showed numerous missed calls and unopened messages, which seemed unusually high.

And how did Old Meng know he was resting?

Lu Liang suddenly woke with a start, all traces of sleepiness gone, and hurriedly called Meng Changkun back, "Mr. Kun, what did you mean just now?"

Meng Changkun asked with a laugh, "Did you short sell the yen last night?"

Lu Liang hesitated for a moment but admitted, "That did happen."

"Those Japanese guys have been praising you as the Speculation God."

Meng Changkun's excitement was palpable, a proud sense of shared glory, "Check WeChat, I've forwarded the news to you."

If he had to choose between two girls, one a Maozi and the other a Sakura Girl, he would decisively pick the Sakura Girl without hesitation, not for any other reason but to avenge the enmity of a hundred years past.

Lu Liang, embodying the short-selling tycoon, had fiercely reaped the wealth of the Japanese nationals. If Meng Changkun had personally managed such an affair, it would merit its own page in the family records back in his hometown.

For a Chaoshan person, this was the supreme honor, second only to building ancestral halls.

Meng Changkun sent four or five articles in a row, and as Lu Liang read on, his expression darkened, like he had swallowed a fly.

[Eastern Soros]

[China's Speculation God]

[Making tens of millions of dollars overnight]

[A catastrophic event in the US-Japan Forex Market]

[This man's name is Lu Liang…]

"Bro, you've become famous overnight!"

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The phone was on speaker, and Meng Changkun's hearty laughter came through. Lu Liang took a deep breath, his expression solemn, "Mr. Kun, do you believe I didn't make that much?"

He felt a malicious force, like a tide, rushing towards him, vowing not to rest until it drowned him.

If he really had made that much, it would be a different story, but he hadn't. Those news reports— they were clearly including leveraged funds in the calculation, treating it as his profit.

Meng Changkun was stunned, then chuckled awkwardly, "You're right, those journalism students do like to exaggerate."

Lu Liang sighed, hearing the disbelief in Meng Changkun's voice, and said, "I'm at home, do you have time to come over?"

"Tangchen B Building?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there."

Meng Changkun's face turned serious, realizing that something was amiss.

Lu Liang sat on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette until it burned down to the stub and his fingers felt the burn before he reacted. He pinched out the cigarette and went to the bathroom to wash up. Brushing his teeth, his thoughts began to clear.

This was clearly a set-up, using flattery to divert attention.

Lu Liang dressed and left the bedroom. The housekeeper, Aunt Liu, had already prepared a sumptuous lunch.

She smiled, handing him a cup of warm water, "Mr. Lu, you're awake. Have a sip to soothe your throat."

"Aunt Liu, you can go back for now. I have a friend coming over shortly."

Lu Liang held the cup and walked to the balcony. He called Zhao Haisheng, his voice cold, "Which bank did you commission?"

Closing out the position at just past seven in the morning, news leaked by nine—such a brief interval meant only two forces could accomplish this.

First, as his broker, Guotai; second was the bank Guotai helped him connect with.

The former could use the backend to check his account; the latter might find out his positions through the lent funds.

"Mitsui Sumitomo."

Zhao Haisheng had been trembling with fear all morning, waiting for Lu Liang's call.

When he saw the news, he was shocked; Lu Liang had only taken out ten million US dollars—how could he possibly have made seventy or eighty million?

He had also been watching the foreign exchange market last night, the trading can only be described as reversal upon reversal.

To earn seventy or eighty million from ten million US dollars in capital, one would need to use at least 100 times leverage.

If Lu Liang had used 100 times leverage, given last night's fluctuating market, no one knew how many times he would have been margin called.

As someone semi-informed, Zhao Haisheng felt a bad premonition; clearly, someone intended to frame Lu Liang.

But his calls went unanswered.

"Mitsui Sumitomo..."

Lu Liang narrowed his eyes, thinking to himself 'as expected,' and had a basic understanding of the sequence of events and the deeper implications behind them.

He glanced at the foreign exchange rates; the US dollar to yen rate had dropped to 128.

A 20 point drop in a week, a -18.5% fall.

Japan Central Bank had a total currency issuance of 485.5 trillion yen; evaporating 89.72 trillion from thin air, someone had to be held responsible.

Anshan wouldn't take the blame; he couldn't bear it. If he accepted this responsibility, he would be impeached in an instant.

Moreover, his economic policy was all about monetary easing. Admitting a mistake would mean slapping his own face.

Wall Street in the United States was the beneficiary, but they couldn't be held accountable either. Anshan didn't want the public's resentment to turn anti-American.

After all, having offended Lucian with the new security laws, Anshan hoped to ease US-Japan relations.

Local tycoons couldn't take the blame either, even though they contributed to the containment by preventing public foreign exchange conversion, and might even be part of the short-seller coalition. But Anshan didn't want to shoot himself with eight bullets.

Anshan needed a target to deflect public fury, just like Soros and the Quantum Fund in '97.

Back then, the 'West Poison' Soros was known the world over, but he didn't make much. He was just pulled out to be the scapegoat. The real money-makers all hid behind the scenes, their prowess and names unknown.

The target would be best from a major country, excluding Maozi, because their financial industry was virtually nonexistent.