In the loft of Blue Bottle Coffee in Midtown Manhattan, Clara raised her martini glass, her diamond earrings flickering under the chandelier: "Sophia, cheers! Congratulations on getting rid of that gigolo!" She was wearing a Tom Ford leopard print coat, her curly hair flying with her movements, "A man like Michael should have been thrown away and fed to the dogs long ago."
Sophia forced a smile and sipped her ice-drip coffee - she had quit drinking a long time ago, but she needed caffeine to calm her nerves at this moment. "Clara, I'm a little worried about him."
"Worried about Michael?" Clara almost dropped her glass on the walnut bar, "Worried about him starving to death in Queens? He has all his limbs and can still deliver food for Deliveroo."
"No..." Sophia stirred the ice, "He mortgaged Robert and Mary's brownstone apartment and borrowed $1.5 million to invest in stocks."
"Mortgage the house to invest in stocks? Are you kidding me?" Clara's scream attracted the attention of the Wall Street analyst at the next table, "With his IQ, he still plays the US stock market? What kind of junk stocks did he buy?"
Sophia whispered: "Blue Ocean Tech (BOT)."
Clara took out her iPhone and opened the Robinhood app. The next second, she almost threw the phone into her latte: "Holy shit! Seven consecutive daily limits?!" On the screen, BOT's K-line image soared like a rocket, and the latest stock price was fixed at $32.22 - a 322% increase from when Michael bought it.
Sophia leaned close to the screen, her pupils contracted: this was completely different from the green negative line she saw three days ago. "If he bought all the stocks..."
"1.5 million US dollars became 5 million!" Clara's tone was sour that it could squeeze lemon juice, "What kind of shit luck did Michael have? He could even guess such a penny stock?" She calculated quickly, "But Sophia, this kind of money earned by luck will be lost sooner or later. How many bigwigs on Wall Street died in chasing ups and downs."
Sophia didn't speak, her fingertips unconsciously brushed the Blue Bottle logo on the coffee cup. She remembered the protein bar she crushed when the screen of the Peloton bike pushed the news of BOT's daily limit at the Equinox gym last night.
…
Back in the townhouse on the Upper East Side, Sophia opened the drawer of her Hermès dressing table, and inside lay a photo of her and Michael on the Hamptons beach. In the photo, he was wearing H&M beach pants, a Casio on his wrist, and the light in his eyes was brighter than the sunshine on Long Island. How did it come to this in five years?
Her phone vibrated, and she unlocked it for some reason—it was a text message from Michael's number: [BOT has been cleared, thank you for your concern. ] Before she could reply, Elena pushed the door open, and the smell of Chanel No. 5 perfume made her cough: "Sophia! Mom made an appointment with Alexander Wang for dinner at Per Se tomorrow!"
Alexander Wang, the son of a Manhattan real estate tycoon, drove a customized Lamborghini and gave her a Van Cleef & Arpels brooch at the Met Gala. Sophia frowned: "Mom, I don't want to go."
"Don't want to go?" Elena's pearl necklace almost broke her neck, "He's worth 2 billion US dollars! A thousand times better than Michael, that rubbish! Are you still thinking about him?" She caught a glimpse of the text message on Sophia's phone screen, snatched it and took a look, and instantly jumped into a rage: "Are you still in contact with Michael?! Are you concerned about his stock trading? Sophia, are you out of your mind?!"
Elena pointed at the screen and screamed: "Stock trading? With his poor life, even if he makes money, he will lose it all! It's better to lose so much that he has to sleep in the subway station!" Her voice echoed under the high ceiling, just like the crazy hawking in the NYSE trading hall.
Sophia closed her eyes tiredly and didn't want to argue. When Elena slammed the door and left, she saw the empty ring space on her ring finger in the mirror - the Tiffany imitation that Michael bought with the first month's "soft meal allowance" was thrown at the bottom of the jewelry box by her.
…
At this time, Michael was sitting in front of the iMac in his Tribeca apartment, and the system prompt sounded: [BOT will issue a patent lawsuit announcement at 14:50, and it is recommended to clear the position. ] He glanced at his watch - 14:45, the NYSE bell was about to ring.
His fingers flew on the keyboard, and 170,000 shares of BOT were sold at the upper limit price of $32.22, and were instantly swallowed up by the buy orders of Wall Street institutions. The account balance was fixed at $10,620,000.00 - a net profit of $9.12 million.
When the market opened the next day, BOT really plummeted by 15%, and the CNBC anchor exclaimed: "Quantum algorithm patent lawsuit! BOT myth shattered?" Michael turned off the Bloomberg terminal and ignored the wailing in the stock bar. He changed into a newly bought Brioni suit - bought at a boutique on Fifth Avenue. When the clerk saw him swiping the black card, his eyes were brighter than diamonds.
Walking out of the Ralph Lauren flagship store, Michael raised his hand to call a black Lincoln. In the rearview mirror, he saw the Patek Philippe on his wrist - not the one Sofia gave him, but the Patek Philippe 5270P he bought with his first pot of gold. As the car drove to Queens, he turned on his phone and transferred $5 million to Robert and Mary, with a note: "Dad, Mom, buy an apartment with an elevator, and expand the hardware store into a flagship store."
At this moment, Sofia was in Per Se restaurant, Alexander Wang was showing off the newly acquired Monet paintings, and Elena was grinning from ear to ear. Sofia was cutting Wagyu beef, but she remembered the pan-fried salmon Michael made - it was their wedding anniversary, and he fried the most delicious fish she had ever eaten in a small kitchen in Queens with IKEA pots.
The phone vibrated in her bag. It was a text message from Lily: "Mr. Chen, Michael bought a full set of Brioni on Fifth Avenue today, and also picked up a Lincoln Continental." Sophia paused with her knife and fork cutting the steak. The Manhattan skyline outside the window flickered in the sunset, just like the light that once existed in Michael's eyes.