Adam Smith, thirty-nine years old.
For the first thirty years of his life, he had been a textbook example of an ordinary person rising through the ranks.
He had excelled in school as a child. Though his family had not been well-off, he had still gotten into a decent university in New York State through sheer talent.
It had not been an Ivy League school, but it was good enough.
With loans and the occasional scholarship, Adam had paid the expensive tuition, completed his studies, and successfully landed a job at a securities firm on Wall Street.
That had probably been the second proudest moment of his life. His parents had invited the entire neighborhood to a hotel for a lavish feast.
For someone from an ordinary neighborhood to produce a Wall Street elite was an event worth remembering.
After entering the workforce, Adam Smith gradually realized that neither his IQ nor his emotional intelligence was enough.
Back in college, he could still rely on hard work to catch up with classmates smarter than him. But once he entered Wall Street, this "elite concentration camp," he was surrounded by Ivy League graduates, every one of them polished and socially adept.
His ordinary family background offered him no help whatsoever in this arena of fame and fortune. Even if he mobilized every friend and relative he had, the funds they could scrape together were not even a fraction of what his wealthy colleagues had.
Yet Adam Smith had relied on sheer recklessness and outrageously good luck to earn his first fortune in his first year on the job. Using the money pooled by friends and family, he rampaged through the market as if blessed by the gods, multiplying his capital more than tenfold.
An unknown rookie had plunged headfirst into the financial tide. Not only had he avoided capsizing, but he had also kept reaping rewards with his "beginner's luck." Though he made the occasional mistake over the next few years, his performance and wealth continued to grow steadily.
If America was a world ruled by capital, then Wall Street was the heart of capital. Here, money could do anything!
On this street, brokers who could make money were kings everyone fawned over. All they saw were smiling faces, and all they encountered was goodwill.
At thirty, Adam Smith reached the brightest moment of his life.
Not only did he make eighteen million dollars in just three minutes, creating a new myth of wealth, but he also met the love of his life: a sexy, intelligent blonde.
Certain that she was his lifelong partner, Adam launched a fierce monetary offensive against the blonde. In less than a month, they were walking hand in hand into a church.
Their married life was happy and sweet. Before long, they had an adorable daughter, and Adam Smith had once believed himself to be the happiest man in the world.
Unfortunately, luck did not stay with anyone forever. Adam was thriving in love, but his career had fallen into crisis.
After getting married, Adam's performance declined. Several failed investments in a row had ruined his reputation as a "gold-medal broker."
Though he had held on for another two years with his savings, his luck only got worse. Everything he bought lost money. Sometimes, even when victory seemed certain, a major player would dump their holdings and wipe him out completely.
In the end, no one was willing to let Adam manage their money anymore. He could only wander the streets, scraping by by sweet-talking a few unfamiliar rookie investors.
As his income plummeted, his marriage was no longer happy.
The fiery wife he had won through his financial offensive could not stand the change in circumstances. She gave Adam nothing but cold looks every day, and eventually began openly cheating on him.
Today had been another fruitless day.
After spending the day pitching on the streets, Adam Smith dragged his exhausted body back to his workstation. He did not even have time to sit down and rest before his supervisor came looking for him.
"Adam, you should understand the rules. The company has limited space in the securities hall. Starting tomorrow, you will lose this workstation."
"But I earned this workstation with my performance back then!" Adam Smith growled. "This workstation belongs to me!"
"That was then. Now you've been at the bottom for three consecutive months. If not for your past contributions, the company would have kicked you out last year."
The supervisor sneered, then turned and pointed toward the alley across the street beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
The alley was filled with rookie brokers without connections. They were not qualified to enter the trading hall and could only sell stocks on the street. Even if they found clients, they had to ask the traders inside the hall to execute the transactions.
Naturally, they had to pay a certain commission to the traders in the hall.
"Now you're merely returning to where you belong. I'm sure you're already used to it there."
After mocking him, the supervisor delivered his final ultimatum with a cold face.
"After work, I don't want to see any of your things at this workstation."
When things were going well, goodwill was everywhere. Once life fell into a trough, the people around you became vicious and terrifying.
"Bastard!" Adam Smith slammed a fist onto the workstation, fury blazing in his chest.
But in the end, it was only impotent rage.
Wall Street was cruel. From the moment his performance began to decline and showed no sign of recovering, Adam had foreseen this outcome.
This place did not believe in tears. Not even crocodiles would shed tears on this street, because there were no philanthropists here.
Carrying a large cardboard box and a briefcase, Adam Smith walked home.
The setting sun dyed the horizon in dazzling colors.
Bent over with his head lowered, Adam Smith had no time to admire the evening glow. He silently walked back to his home.
It was a street-facing apartment building in Manhattan.
The apartment was not tall, only three stories, with its own small yard. Adam Smith had bought it back when he was at the height of his success.
As life worsened, one of Adam's greatest comforts was that he had bought this house outright.
Back then, when he had been dominating the stock market, he had wanted to invest every cent he had. It was only because his parents repeatedly urged him to leave a place for himself and his wife to live, and because he had been enchanted by his beautiful wife and wanted to give her a wedding gift, that he had pulled money out of the stock market and bought the house in full.
When he pushed open the door and entered, the wooden ceiling creaked as though it were bearing some kind of force.
Adam Smith froze for a moment, set the large cardboard box and briefcase on the table, picked up the baseball bat by the wall, and climbed the stairs.
The bedroom door on the second floor was slightly ajar. Violent panting came from within, along with the sound of a wooden stick slapping water.
Adam Smith pushed open the bedroom door, gripping the baseball bat tightly in both hands with such force that veins bulged on his arms.
"Can you get off my wife?"
A cold voice interrupted the slapping sounds.
The two busy people turned to look at him.
"Heh heh, Adam!" The fat man wore an awkward yet mocking smile. "Wait a moment. Mrs. Smith is just too passionate!"
Mrs. Smith, beneath him, glanced at her husband and sneered. "Now that you're back, get into the kitchen and cook."
Then she urged the fat man, "Ignore him. Let's continue."
Adam Smith tried to raise the baseball bat in his hand, but ultimately lowered it, turned around, and left, closing the door behind him.
Because the fat man was his boss.
After losing his workstation in the securities hall, Adam could still barely make a living by hawking stocks on the street. If he brought down that bat, he would lose his job completely and face bankruptcy.
His wife would then have grounds to sue for divorce. He would first lose half his property, then have to pay child support for a daughter who was not his, leaving him with nothing.
The silent man walked toward the kitchen downstairs. Watching the evening glow disappear beyond the horizon, he welcomed the darkness.
The most despairing thing in the world was that the sun set every day.
The darkness seemed endless.
Half an hour later, the fat man left with a satisfied expression. Adam Smith, who had finished dinner early, carried his briefcase to the study on the third floor.
He casually tossed down the briefcase, and a black videotape flew out.