November 4, 2002 — New York Mercantile Exchange (NYMEX).
As news broke that fifteen wells in the Rumaila oil field in southern Iraq had been set ablaze by arson, international oil prices surged, plunging the trading floor into utter chaos.
With spot crude oil skyrocketing by more than 25% in an instant, futures prices were also climbing steeply, as if the ceiling had been blown wide open.
"Buy! Just buy no matter what!"
"Scrape together everything we've got! Grab every available lot the moment it appears!"
"29—no, make that 30.10! Buy 100 contracts!"
"Damn it! How high is this thing going to go?"
The voices of brokers, clad in vests of various colours, shouting themselves hoarse as they screamed at the top of their lungs, were already ragged.
As hand signals drawn with their fingers chaotically filled the air, everyone strained their necks, shouting only one thing—buy, buy, buy.
But with news spreading that Iraqi forces were attempting to set all the southern oil fields ablaze to halt the advance of the U.S.-British coalition, anyone looking to sell crude oil had completely disappeared.
Instead, only the desperate cries of those trying to buy filled the exchange.
Jerry Fisher, a veteran broker with a thick beard, was also on his feet, drenched in sweat, shouting at the top of his lungs with two phone receivers wedged between his shoulders.
"Right now, this place is a complete war zone. Ever since footage of those lunatics setting the oil fields on fire hit the television, everyone's gone mad trying to buy crude!"
Then, lifting his head, he looked up at the monitor installed above the booth—where numbers on the crude oil futures order book were changing in real time—and continued speaking rapidly.
"January futures have already surpassed $33 per barrel. Even then, there's no supply—orders aren't getting filled because there's nothing to buy!"
[This is driving me insane. I don't care about the price—just secure 160 contracts for December!]
But no matter where he scanned the order book, there wasn't even a shadow of sell orders left. Letting out a small sigh, Jerry spoke.
"Alright. But you should be prepared to pay at least $31."
[Damn it. This is insane.]
After hanging up the receiver, Jerry swept back his sweat-soaked hair and scanned the surroundings as if searching for someone.
Soon, he spotted a subordinate employee mixed in among the other brokers, shouting like a madman and gesturing wildly, and called out loudly.
"Hey, Michael!"
At that, Michael—tall with thick brown curly hair—turned to look this way and came running toward the booth, his face flushed with excitement.
"Yes! You called for me?"
Leaning forward, Jerry covered his mouth with his palm so others wouldn't see and spoke in a low voice.
"Go buy 160 December WTI contracts at the current market price right now."
Hearing this, Michael immediately showed hesitation.
"Right now, sell orders have completely dried up. Forget 160 contracts—it's hard even to buy 16."
"So are you just going to stand there and do nothing? If an order comes in, you should do whatever it takes to fill even a single contract."
At Jerry's frown, Michael read the room and nodded.
"Y-Yes, understood."
Then he turned and went back toward the crowd of other brokers.
"Tch. Kids these days—unless you spell out every little thing, they just don't get it."
Clicking his tongue as he watched Michael's retreating figure, Jerry picked up a bottle of water and gulped it down.
After shouting nonstop, his throat felt completely parched, as if it were burning dry.
Just then, the sharp ringing of the phone pierced the air. With an irritated expression, Jerry set the water bottle down.
"Damn it. They won't even give me a moment to rest."
Muttering under his breath, he picked up the receiver.
"Yes, this is Jerry Fisher speaking."
[Dan, it's me.]
At the calm voice—so starkly contrasted with the chaos of the trading floor—Jerry's expression instantly grew tense, and he tightened his grip on the receiver in his hand.
It was only natural. The caller was the Chief Investment Officer of Eldorado Fund—the biggest client among his accounts, a massive whale capable of shaking the entire market on its own.
More than anything, Jerry knew through direct dealings that Eldorado Fund was holding an enormous volume of crude oil futures. The thought of what they might be planning this time made him tense up without even realising it.
[We're looking to sell the crude oil futures options we're holding.]
The moment he heard that, Jerry frowned and asked back, puzzled.
"Did you just say you want to sell futures right now?"
[That's right.]
With Middle East instability only just beginning to send oil prices soaring like a rocket, the idea of selling futures was difficult to understand.
However, since his job was to broker the trades, Jerry didn't press further with questions.
[It's quite a large volume—will liquidity be sufficient?]
At Dan's question, Jerry lifted his head.
Brokers were still tangled together, shouting at the top of their lungs, all trying to buy even a single additional contract.
Amid that chaotic frenzy, he could even spot Michael, who had run off earlier.
"There aren't just fewer sell orders—they've completely dried up. If you put volume out there, people will fight over it, so there's no need to worry about that."
[Then we'll put all the positions we bought last time on the market, so we'll sell everything.]
In that instant, Jerry's eyes widened.
"W-What did you just say?"
As if he had expected that reaction, Dan spoke calmly from the other end of the line.
[I'm asking you to sell all the positions we're holding. Of course, don't dump them all at once—break them up and sell at the highest prices possible.]
"No, wait—are you really going to sell everything? All of that volume?"
[Yes.]
Jerry drew in a sharp breath, unable to hide his bewilderment.
If they had held on, their money would have multiplied rapidly—yet they were planning to sell everything at the early stage of a surge. It was enough to make him wonder if they'd gone mad.
But only for a moment.
Whatever Eldorado Fund was planning, the sheer size of the position meant he could earn a hefty brokerage commission, and he'd also be able to fill buy orders coming in from elsewhere. So there was no real downside for him.
Having reached that conclusion, Jerry quickly nodded.
"Understood. I'll take care of it right away."
[Then contact me once the sale is complete.]
"I will."
Jerry put down the receiver and muttered, his brow furrowed.
"Why is Eldorado Fund suddenly doing something like this?"
It wasn't as if he had anything to lose—but still, wasn't the timing far too early?
At that moment, a thought flashed through his mind, and Jerry's eyebrows shot up.
"Don't tell me… they're expecting oil prices to crash?"
If that weren't the case, there was no reason to dump their entire position when futures prices were skyrocketing like crazy.
A chill ran down his spine at the thought. Instinctively, he lifted his head and looked at the monitor installed above the booth. Seeing an order book filled with buy orders, he shook his head.
"There's no way oil prices would crash when the oil fields are burning, and supply is about to shrink drastically."
That was the most reasonable conclusion—and the belief held by most, no, all market participants.
That was precisely why everyone was clamouring like mad to buy crude oil futures.
No matter how hard he racked his brain, Jerry couldn't figure out the reason. Eventually, he just shrugged.
"Either way, all I have to do is get the trade done. Whatever they're planning is none of my business."
After scribbling down the order slip with his pen, Jerry stepped out of the booth and onto the trading floor.
Taking a deep breath, he began waving both arms and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"December at $32 for 750 contracts, January at $34, February at $34.25 for 800 contracts—sell!"
In an instant, the noisy trading floor froze as if time itself had stopped.
All eyes turned toward Jerry, and a suffocating silence fell over the room.
Then, the brokers who had been stomping their feet in frustration—unable to find any sell orders despite desperately wanting to buy crude oil futures—all turned at once and rushed toward Jerry.
"I'll take all the January contracts!"
"Move aside, I'm first!"
"Me too—250 December contracts, call!"
"Here! Sell to me!"
Like a pack of starving sharks thrown a massive chunk of meat, dozens of brokers swarmed around him, charging in like madmen.
"Don't push!"
"100 contracts—no, I'll take even half of that!"
They shoved each other and grabbed at collars, not hesitating to get physical to secure the contracts first.
Amid the storm of curses and shouting, Jerry continued yelling nonstop.
"Line up! There's plenty of volume, so get in line!"
With the help of Michael and other subordinates who had gathered beside him, Jerry waved a stack of order slips high in the air and began dumping the massive volume entrusted by Eldorado Fund, selling it off as fast as he could.
***
Two days later.
Warm sunlight filtered through the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Han River.
Dressed in a neat suit, vest and wearing an Audemars Piguet watch on one wrist, Seok-won stood with his arms crossed, watching CNN news on the television.
[On the third day since the outbreak of war, large-scale bombardments continue today against Baghdad and other major cities in Iraq.
Meanwhile, coalition forces, centred on the U.S. Marines, have crossed the Kuwaiti border and secured the nearby port of Umm Qasr.
In addition, British airborne units, the 16 Air Assault Brigade, and elements of the U.S. 1st Marine Expeditionary Force have advanced to the outskirts of Basra, a key strategic point in southern Iraq, and are reportedly on the verge of capturing it.
Separately, the U.S. 3rd Infantry Division, which advanced through the Saudi Arabian border, has rapidly pushed forward to areas near the central Iraqi city of Nasiriyah....]
Iraqi T-72 tanks, their turrets blown clean off and their bodies charred black, lay scattered along the roadside.
On the television, footage showed U.S. Stryker armoured vehicles and Humvees flying the Stars and Stripes, racing in long convoys across a desert road, passing right by them.
Watching this, Seok-won muttered to himself.
"Advancing all the way to Basra in less than a day after starting the ground war… I knew it already, but the Iraqi forces are collapsing far too easily."
It was clear they were more than just an organised rabble—they seemed to lack the will to fight altogether, as evidenced by the complete surrender of Iraq's 51st Division, which had been defending the border region.
What made it even more shocking was that this wasn't an ordinary infantry division, but an elite mechanised division with 10,000 regular troops and 200 tanks.
As the screen changed, it showed thousands of disarmed Iraqi prisoners of war trudging in the opposite direction of the advancing U.S. forces toward Baghdad, heading to a makeshift POW camp.
"If this keeps up, the midterm election results might turn out very differently from what I knew."
Seok-won stroked his chin with one hand as he thought.
Although voting had already ended and the counting was well underway, from the very first day of the war, the news had been filled all day with scenes of U.S. forces unleashing overwhelming firepower, turning Baghdad and the rest of Iraq into a sea of flames. It was only natural that this would have worked in favour of the ruling party.
"He must have been aiming for this when President Bush set November 4—the day before the vote—as D-Day."
The election results had not yet been fully finalised, but judging by the way things were unfolding so far, it seemed that President Gallant's gamble had paid off perfectly.
"If, instead of a narrow victory as expected, the ruling party secures a landslide win in the midterm elections, not only will the chances of reelection increase, but President Bush's grip on power will grow even stronger than it is now."
If the power dynamics in Washington shifted significantly from what he had anticipated, he would need to seriously consider what kind of impact that would have on him.
Just then, a sharp notification sound beeped from behind him.
He had set his Bloomberg terminal to alert him whenever specific news broke—and this was one of them.
With a glint in his eyes, Seok-won walked over to his desk and checked the Bloomberg terminal. A breaking news alert had just appeared on the screen.
[British government officials have officially stated that the number of Iraqi oil wells set on fire is not 30 as initially reported, but 7. The damage to Iraq's oil fields is expected to be less severe than anticipated.]
At the long-awaited breaking news, a deep smile spread across Seok-won's lips.
"If there's no supply shock, then the surging oil prices will plunge again."