A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 314: The 100-Billion Race (10)

$20 billion was by no means a small amount. Perhaps because of that, the National Pension Service CIO, whom we had coaxed so far, showed signs of hesitation at the last minute.

So now it was time to wave the carrot more vigorously.

“Do not worry. When I say ‘act alone,’ I do not mean become isolated. Quite the opposite.”

“……”

“Soon the public will be loudly demanding that someone step forward. Of course the committee will stall with one excuse or another. That’s when you—wearing the mantle of the people’s representative—should ‘act alone’ and stand up to the committee.”

After roughly ten minutes of back-and-forth, at the end of it Pyo In-hwan finally nodded.

“I understand. I will do it.”

Well, it was the obvious outcome. He was with a government on the brink of impeachment; one wrong move and his career would be finished, so of course he would grasp at this lifeline. Besides, if things went well, he might even pick up the title of “national hero.”

“That’s a wise choice. The signal flare will go up soon. Have the necessary funds ready by then.”

With that, the pre-roadshow schedule was complete. Back in New York, I spread the chessboard out and inspected each piece.

‘Okay, the betting side is sorted for now...........’

The early backers were on standby: Canada $12 billion, Singapore $15 billion, and Korea as well. Of course, this was only the opening bid. If the pot set before the game was this size, it wasn’t bad.

Now the thing to focus on was the main event. Namely, the race between Masayoshi Son and me. What mattered here was how dramatically the showdown could be staged...........

‘If the opponent throws himself in wholeheartedly, the game gets more interesting.’

From the spectator’s perspective, the more Masayoshi Son gave it everything, the more compelling the situation would become. The question was how to pull that motivation out of him.

One method came to mind.

“Has Saudi come through yet?”

At my prompting, Pierce shook his head.

“They’re still telling us to wait.”

Saudi Arabia was the biggest titan in global finance. They were also the largest backer who had poured as much as $45 billion into Masayoshi Son’s fund. This was the counterpart we absolutely had to meet before the race began...........

Surprisingly, that meeting was not coming together easily.

“Goldman’s network should handle meeting a sovereign wealth fund official without trouble,” I said, assuming a single point person could be arranged, but an unexpected snag had caught us.

Pierce bristled at that and immediately retorted as if his pride had been wounded.

“This is actually a good sign. If they make us wait this long, it means it’s not just a routine administrative meeting—they’ll be following higher-level procedures.”

“So there’s a chance we’ll meet someone more senior than expected?”

“That’s highly likely.”

If the Saudi sovereign wealth fund was going through such elaborate protocol, only one figure came to mind.

“The Crown Prince.”

The person who effectively moved the Saudi sovereign fund. Someone at the center of Saudi power. If he wanted to see me in person, that would certainly be significant.

Still…….

‘How long do they expect us to wait?’

Just sitting around waiting made my stomach twist. Of course, there were plenty of pressing tasks to handle right now, so I wouldn’t be idly wasting the time, but for the moment the most urgent matter was selecting investment targets.

The moment $100 billion flowed in, I needed a blueprint for where to allocate how much. But once I dug into that, it turned out to be more complicated than I had anticipated.

“The biggest problem is governance resistance.”

Dobby sighed as he opened a report.

“Most of the core technology companies we’ve targeted are extremely reluctant to sell equity. And if there’s even a hint that management intervention will be part of the terms, they’re almost automatically prepared to say no.”

Founders tend to fall into two broad types. The first are “exit” founders. These are serial entrepreneurs who sell their companies for a high price at the right moment and use the proceeds to build the next venture.

The second are “control” founders. They treat their companies like their own kingdoms and plan to rule them until they die. Those founders reject outside interference outright.

The problem was that a large portion of the companies holding the technologies I needed belonged to the latter category.

“To put their stance in one line…… ‘We’ll take the money, but thanks, no interference.’”

What they wanted was “dumb money.” Investors who simply put capital in quietly, never meddle in management, and patiently wait for returns. But I had no intention of accepting those terms.

“If you take the money, you have to move it.”

Why would anyone just take the money and run? My capital came with clear conditions. Put WFOXO3A gene research at the top priority list, and begin clinical trials immediately for Castleman patients.

The problem was that this would upend the companies’ existing roadmaps and reorder their priorities. To do that, I would have to demand effective control over corporate strategy........

So it was no wonder founders were wary of me.

“Especially, we’ve narrowed down companies where gaining control is particularly difficult.”

I scanned the list Dobby slid across, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The names I expected were lined up.

For example..........

Moderna. A company that could become the game-changer for mRNA technology. It was the firm that commercialized an mRNA vaccine first during the COVID pandemic and altered the pharmaceutical industry’s landscape. Of course, at this point it was still only a startup that hadn’t even gone public, but the problem was that they knew exactly the value of the cards they held.

The CEO’s dictatorial temperament was notorious in the industry—so sensitive to external interference he was almost allergic to it. There was no way someone like that would hand over control willingly.

CR Therapeutics. A leader in CRISPR gene-editing technology. It was founded by Nobel-level founders. The issue here was that the founders were essentially the company. Their charisma, technical prowess, and reputation were the backbone of the firm, so if you tampered with the governance prematurely, you risked core talent walking out en masse. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

There were also several global pharma giants on the list. In short, none of them were easy targets.

‘Not a single easy one.’

The moment the $100 billion was secured, I would have to wage war with them. A war over control. Win those fights one by one, bend their arms, and force them to cough up the therapeutics.

“Let’s set priorities. Start with the places most likely to yield.”

I gave the order, but anxiety gnawed at me for no reason. The immediate problem wasn’t just winning the battles.

‘Time...............’

Even with realistic calculations, the schedule was tight. No matter how quickly we fought for control, it would take at least half a year. After that, even if we shifted research direction and accelerated drug development, it would take another half year for meaningful results to appear.

In other words, even if we sprinted flat-out, the next clinical phase would take at least a year. Moreover, all this assumed we could start immediately. In reality, I hadn’t even secured the ammunition yet.

‘Saudi is still radio-silent.’

As I toyed with my smartphone, wondering whether prodding Pierce would speed things up, my phone buzzed.

Bzzzz!

Bzzzz!

The caller was an unexpected person: Rachel. Normally Rachel only called with work updates about Castleman patients’ progress or interview clips. But today was different. This was a very personal matter. It was an unfamiliar pattern.

“I meant to give it to you on the day itself, but you were on a business trip the whole time… so it’s late, but here’s a birthday present. Jessie insisted I hand it over.”

When Rachel handed me the box and I opened it, there was a pillowcase inside.

“It’s a bedding set. The rest I shipped to Sean’s place — it’d be a hassle to carry it all around.”

I accepted it, but didn’t expect much. Of course — it was Jessie.

“A bedding set picked by Jessie…”

I checked it out without much enthusiasm, and then...

“…!”

Surprisingly, a pleasant texture lingered at my fingertips. It wasn’t merely soft or smooth. When I rubbed it a little harder, the fabric didn’t press into my fingers so much as it flowed along my fingertips. Looking closely, the weave was almost invisible. A dense layer of microfibers interlocked, producing a compressed smoothness like silk with no sheen...

“What is this…?”

<Egyptian Giza cotton, 1,020 thread count>

By my taste, this was the third-most preferred spec. Though it was cotton, the high-density weave made it feel silk-like. It fell without weight, and because the friction was minimal it didn’t retain body heat; it didn’t hold sweat or warmth, so it maintained a pleasantly cool feel at all times.

An excellent choice. ‘Did Jessie have this kind of sense?’

At that moment, Rachel sheepishly produced another box and smiled awkwardly.

“Oh, and this one Jessie bought on their honeymoon. She wanted me to pass it along too…”

The moment I opened that box, my eyes involuntarily narrowed. A fluorescent-pink T-shirt. A skull wearing a Mexican sombrero staggered while holding a bottle of tequila, and beneath it printed was the line: [tequila: because therapy is too expensive].

Yes — exactly the kind of thing I’d expected. This was pure Jessie. Throwing it away would make me seem heartless, and keeping it would only take up space and be utterly useless…

There was also a card tucked into this box.

<This is our team uniform! Everyone has one — wear it to the year-end party no excuses!>

Really? Aside from being tasteless, the idea of draping that dishcloth texture against my skin was unbearable. I should at least say thanks out of politeness, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words.

Just as I was forcing my lips into a stiff smile, Rachel hurriedly pulled out a third box.

“And… this is from me.”

Inside the small velvet box was a Cartier cufflink. A matte platinum base with a subtly gleaming onyx at its center in a restrained, clean design. Not showy, sparely elegant — a calm balm to the shock left by the fluorescent-pink T-shirt.

‘This is a proper gift.’

When I looked closely along the edge of the cufflink, a small inscription had been engraved.

-Dared to fight.

“That’s… I just wanted you not to swallow everything inside and keep it to yourself when things get hard… I think there’s meaning in the fighting itself, regardless of the outcome.”

Rachel continued awkwardly. It seemed to be a condolence intended for the Castleman patients who had recently passed.

‘I’m not really struggling…’

It felt more like Rachel projecting her own feelings than commenting on my state. Then her gaze lingered briefly on my wrist before rising to meet my eyes, and there was something in it that couldn’t be reduced to mere consolation.

‘Could she possibly know…’

Could she know the names stitched beneath this sleeve?

“Thank you. I really needed this…”

To avoid the conversation drifting in that direction, I quickly pulled the cufflink from the box and fastened it to my wrist. I liked the design immediately. A restrained luxury, perhaps. Not flashy, but its presence was unmistakable.

‘It looks… like a tombstone.’

Beneath my shirt, several names slept quietly. Amelia, Dylan, Milo... A white shirt lay over them like a shroud, and the platinum cufflink settled above like a headstone. The small inscription on that little tombstone read: -Dared to fight.

To be honest, the phrase was a little cheesy for my taste, but… it surprisingly didn’t feel wrong. Usually, when memorializing the dead, you see phrases like “Here rests” or “Rest in peace.” Those are gentle words of comfort, wishing for peaceful rest after pain.

But what was engraved on this cufflink was different. It kept them from being pitiful victims and remembered them instead as warriors who fought to the end — not as defeated souls bowed by illness, but challengers who threw down the gauntlet before an impossible fight.

Maybe that was a more honest memory. They had, after all, fought until the last moment.

“If you don’t like the color…”

“No. It’s perfect.”

“That’s good. It suits you.”

Rachel smiled broadly. Within that smile were many emotions. Compassion and camaraderie, sorrow and pride, regret and respect. And even a quiet courtesy — knowing everything but choosing not to ask.

The gaze felt heavy, so I hurried to change the subject.

“By the way, how have you been lately?”

It was an ordinary greeting, but Rachel’s answer was anything but ordinary.

“Oh, actually I’ve been running an online platform recently. Somehow…”

Rachel smiled a little shyly and launched into her story. Her art gallery had evolved into an online distribution marketplace, and before long even the First Lady had become a client who used the platform to… decorate the White House.

‘When did she even do all this?’

Rachel sometimes surprised me. She seemed quiet and gentle on the surface, but she had real drive and backbone beneath. This case was no exception. In the time it took me to glance away, she’d somehow built a nonprofit platform that even won White House endorsement.

‘Of course family background helped a bit…’

Still, reducing these accomplishments to mere connections would be an understatement. But the surprise lasted only a moment. My mind began turning rapidly.

‘The White House… plus the First Lady’s network…’

Why had I recommended the gallery to Rachel in the first place? I’d wanted her to build her own upper-class network. And now the seeds I planted a few years ago had returned results far beyond my expectations.

‘I didn’t expect this much.’

Rachel said she regularly hosts gatherings attended by high-society figures and even the First Lady. This was a networking platform far beyond the original concept of an art gallery.

Moreover...

‘This could be a good alternative.’

If I ever needed to call on presidential power later, communicating through the First Lady’s line would be much better than dealing with the unhinged Tranton. That alone earned Rachel big points in my book.

“How interesting.”

I meant it. Scenarios for how to use this raced through my head, and at that precise moment my phone buzzed.

Bzzzz!

Bzzzz!

The caller was Pierce.

[Saudi just contacted us. Can you leave right away?]

At last. It was time to set the race alight.