The Greedy Fisherman and the Wolves in the Shadows

Midtown Manhattan. Towering glass curtain walls slice the afternoon sun into countless sharp beams, projecting them onto the gleaming marble floors. The air is thick with the scent of money, power, and a chilling, almost sterile efficiency.

The office of Allen Derrick, head of global equities at Goldman Sachs (or Morgan Stanley, either one of the top banks), is located on the 48th floor of this tower, offering stunning views overlooking Central Park and part of the Midtown skyline.

The office interior features a minimalist modern luxury style. Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows is a breathtaking view, while inside are Italy furniture with cold, hard lines, abstract artworks, and a mahogany desk that can be used as a small conference table. The air is filled with the rich aroma of fine cigars and the scent of high-end leather care products.

Allen Derrick sat in his ergonomically designed high-backed chair, worth as much as a luxury car, leaning back slightly, a third of a Cuba Cohiba cigar between his fingers.

He had just ended a satellite-encrypted call, and a carefully calculated, just-right "gratitude" and "concern" still lingered on his face. But deep within his grey-blue, sharp, hawk-like eyes gleamed a calm, almost pleased light, as if he were sitting on a fishing platform.

On the other end of the phone was Old Walton. His voice was hoarse, filled with suppressed panic and rage as he recounted the "nightmare" NLG was experiencing—drivers were being threatened, the logistics network was on the verge of collapse, and the stock price was about to face another round of avalanche.

Walton practically roared at Derrick, demanding that he use Goldman Sachs ' influence to immediately, at all costs, stabilize the supply of NLG securities in the market, prevent any further short selling, and assist in finding liquidity support.

Derrick's response was exemplary. His tone was somber and sympathetic, repeatedly emphasizing, "We understand the difficult times you are going through," and "Goldman Sachs and the Walton Family have been partners for many years," and he made a firm guarantee.

"Rest assured, Richard, we will use all available resources to stabilize market sentiment and will not provide any additional 'ammunition' to those malicious short sellers." He even "revealed" that he had "sternly warned" several brokerage firms that were trying to lend stocks to unknown short sellers.

The call ended with Walton feeling a mix of gratitude and skepticism.

Derrick put down the specially encrypted satellite phone, and the "gratitude" on his face receded quickly like a tide. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and let out a long, slow sigh. There was no tension in his breath; instead, it carried a sense of relaxation after shedding a performance, and even a hint of mockery.

He picked up the internal phone and pressed a shortcut key.

A few seconds later, the office door was silently pushed open, and his senior assistant, Jennifer, a young woman with perfectly styled blonde hair and exquisite makeup, wearing a custom Armani suit, walked in, holding a tablet computer as thin as paper.

"Mr. Derrick?"

"Jennifer, my dear," Derrick's voice returned to its usual magnetic and composed tone as he took a puff of his cigar and slowly exhaled a smoke ring, "How has our 'mysterious friend' in Seattle reacted to the new offer?"

He was referring to the inquiry from "Mofeng Capital" regarding short selling of NLG stock. Just before his call with Walton, he had instructed his subordinates to quietly raise the already ridiculously high interest rate offered to the other party by another 5 percentage points, reaching an astonishing level of a 45% premium over the market price.

Jennifer glanced at the data on the tablet and quickly replied, "The account manager reported that they were 'surprised' by our new offer, but didn't immediately reject it. They requested some time to 'reassess the cost of capital and risk-return.' Their tone sounded... very calm."

"Calm?" Derrick raised an eyebrow, a playful smile playing on his lips. "Interesting. Either they're truly flush with cash and don't care about this cost, or... they have an unimaginable, absolute confidence in NLG's decline." He paused, tapping the table lightly with his cigar. "Panic, Jennifer, is the best price setter in the financial markets. When everyone is afraid, those who hold scarce resources can set any price they want."

He gazed out the window at the bustling Manhattan skyline, his eyes deep. "Tell our account manager that the price... isn't non-negotiable. But we need to see 'sincerity.' For example, their follow-up action plans? Do they have any 'little secrets' about NLG that we don't know about? Appropriate 'information sharing' helps build... mutual trust."

This is blatant extortion and espionage. They want to earn exorbitant interest while also trying to uncover the other party's true intentions, and perhaps even get a share of the profits in the future.

Jennifer quickly took notes, then hesitated before speaking, "Boss, we just promised Mr. Walton we wouldn't ship it, and now... and isn't this price really too high? Won't it scare him away?"

Derrick turned to look at Jennifer, a smile that was almost one of pity, as if he were looking at an innocent child.

"Jennifer, my dear," his voice was soft, but each word was like an ice bead falling onto a jade plate, crisp and cold, "A promise? On Wall Street, the value of a promise depends on how much collateral it's backed by, and... whether it's still in the best interest of the party when it's needed to be cashed."

He stood up, walked to the French windows, turned his back to Jennifer, and looked down at the endless stream of cars and people below, like ants.

"As long as the majority of NLG's vouchers remain firmly in the hands of us, Morgan, JPMorgan Chase... and a few other companies,"

Derrick's voice was calm and even, yet it carried a cold, all-encompassing control. "So, whether it's that old bastard Walton who wins through years of hard-won gains, or that arrogant young Asian from Seattle who succeeds with this... well, rather creative, violent method, or even the most likely outcome—mutual destruction and the collapse of NLG..."

He turned around, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming with a shrewd, greedy light.

"We are all the biggest winners."

He walked back to his desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the smooth surface, as if reciting a familiar story:

"We can lend the bonds to short sellers at exorbitant prices, earning astonishing, risk-free interest. We can also 'reluctantly' find some 'long-term value investors' or 'white knights' to take over when Walton is most desperate and needs to support the stock price, charging staggering financial advisory fees and success fees. Even if NLG's stock price really falls to an attractive range, far below its net asset value... we can also quietly buy at the bottom using our own funds or funds we control. Once this storm passes and the dust settles, whether we split up and sell quality assets or wait for the industry to recover, it will be a wonderful investment."

He sat back in his chair, sighed comfortably, as if he could already see that glittering future.

"Look how flexible and wonderful this is. We don't need to take sides. We just need to make sure we're always on the side with the most money, or on the side where we can make the most money."

Jennifer listened quietly, her face expressionless, though her fingers gripping the tablet turned slightly white. She was used to her boss's way of thinking, but every time she heard it, she still felt a chill.

"What if Mr. Walton asks?" she asked in a low voice.

Derrick chuckled, picked up a cigar cutter, and leisurely trimmed the ash from his cigar. "Tell him we're 'working our best,' 'the market has its own rules,' and 'liquidity needs time to recover.' Let him 'stay patient and confident.' After all, we've been 'old friends for years,' haven't we?"

When he used the word "old friend," the sarcasm in his tone was almost undisguised.

"Yes, Mr. Derrick." Jennifer asked no further questions, bowed slightly, and left the office.

The door closed gently.

Derrick sat alone in his enormous office, smoking a cigar and gazing out the window at the urban jungle that symbolized endless wealth and power. His face showed no moral burden or unease, only the pure pleasure of a chess player overlooking the board, awaiting the harvest.

When the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman benefits. And he, Allen Derrick, is happy and confident to play that greediest and most patient fisherman who ultimately wins everything.

Almost simultaneously, in Lower Manhattan, inside "Oak Hall," a private club with a secluded entrance that requires a member's introduction for entry.

The heavy solid wood doors shut out the noise of the outside world. The interior is softly lit and decorated in a classic British style, with dark wood paneling, genuine leather sofas, and old nautical charts and oil paintings hanging on the walls. The air is filled with the aroma of aged whiskey, cigars, and a sense of old-fashioned wealth.

Three men sat in a highly private room. There were no waiters, and the door was locked from the inside.

Seated at the head of the table was David Hendricks, CEO of PacRim Logistics, a man in his fifties with silver hair and a granite-like face. Opposite him was Michael Rosenthal, CEO of Global Freightways, a slightly overweight man with a perpetually warm, businessman's smile, but sharp eyes. The third person was rather quiet; he was the Chief Strategy Officer brought by Hendricks.

On the table in front of them lay nearly untouched delicate snacks and three half-finished glasses of single malt whisky. But clearly, the food and the drinks were not the main focus.

"The news is confirmed." Hendricks ' voice was deep, carrying an undeniable certainty. "NLG's logistics network, at least its core interstate land transport segment, is experiencing a systemic collapse. Drivers are being threatened with widespread absenteeism, and key hubs are operating at less than half their usual capacity. This is not a technical malfunction, nor is it due to weather; it's a deliberate, targeted attack."

Rosenthal picked up his glass, gently swirling the amber liquid inside. His usual smile took on a meaningful glint. "And, coincidentally, it happened right when their stock price was being heavily shorted by mysterious funds. A financial attack combined with physical paralysis... a classic ' Butcher ' tactic. Clean, brutal, and effective. Walton has really messed up this time."

"Have you found out who it is? That ' Mofeng Capital ' in Seattle?" Hendricks asked.

"It's vague. The funding channels are complex, but they point to Seattle. It's inextricably linked to Lin Feng, that young Chinese-American who recently bought Eagle Creek Ranch and is supposedly connected to the ' Blood Spear ' mercenary group," Rosenthal's strategist added. "The methods are very... Eastern. They don't care about short-term rules and go straight for the heart of the matter."

"Blood Spear?" Hendricks frowned. "No wonder. But for us, this is an opportunity." He looked at Rosenthal. "David, what do you think?"

Rosenthal put down his glass, leaned forward, and lowered his voice, but with barely concealed excitement. "An opportunity? This is a feast! NLG has dominated the Northwest market for so many years, like a stubborn, stinking rock. Now, the rock has cracked open!"

He quickly said, "First, immediately activate the 'emergency response' plan. Contact all of NLG's core customers that we know, especially those large customers whose goods are currently stuck and who are extremely anxious. Tell them that PacRim and Global Freightways have readily available backup capacity and contingency plans that can immediately take over their urgent shipments, ensuring an uninterrupted supply chain. Price? We can offer 'discounts' as appropriate. The goal isn't to make money immediately, but to win over customers!"

Hendricks nodded. "At the same time, have our people make private contact with NLG's middle management, excellent dispatchers, and... those drivers who are currently too scared to come to work. Offer high salaries, signing bonuses, and better job security. Shake their morale and poach their talent. Especially those drivers and teams with special route permits and expertise in special cargo (such as dangerous goods or cold chain logistics)."

"Secondly," Rosenthal's eyes gleamed, "In the stock market, we don't need to go all out like that ' Silent Wind ' and dump shares. But we can quietly establish some short positions in NLG, or, to be safer, buy call options on our PacRim and Global Freightways. If NLG falls, market funds will naturally flow to our competitors like us. If the stock price rises, we can also get a share of the profits."

"Third," Hendricks's fingers traced a line on the smooth tabletop, as if slicing a cake, "And most importantly, we need to start assessing which parts we'd most want if NLG really couldn't hold on and was forced to sell assets or seek bankruptcy protection. Would it be that dedicated berth and warehouse at the Port of Seattle? That chartered rail line to Canada? Or their key transshipment hubs in the Middle East?"

The two men exchanged a glance, both seeing undisguised ambition and greed in each other's eyes. Years of rivalry had temporarily formed a tacit alliance because of their shared prey.

"However, we must be wary of that ' Silent Wind '," the strategist cautioned. "They are ruthless and their motives are unclear. What if they swallow up NLG and then turn against us?"

Hendricks sneered, "Swallow it? NLG is such a behemoth; even if its stock price hits rock bottom, digesting it won't be easy. Internal integration, union backlash, customer loss... that'll be a nightmare for them. Besides, after all this turmoil, NLG's valuable assets have depreciated, and its brand has been damaged. In the end, whether it becomes a weak giant needing bailouts, or is broken up and sold off, remains to be seen."

Rosenthal nodded in agreement. "We don't need to clash with that ' Silent Wind ' immediately. We just need to seize the most lucrative pieces while NLG is bleeding. Then, we can quietly watch how much of a splash this dragon can make in the waters of Seattle."

The three raised their glasses and clinked them together lightly.

"For the sake of chaos."

"For the sake of opportunity."

"In order to... reap the rewards."

Crystal glasses clinked together, producing a crisp, cold sound. A tacit laugh echoed through the private room. The wolves, already assembled in the shadows, their fangs gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Seattle, on the edge of the financial district, a 15-story operations center in an office building.

The atmosphere here is starkly different from the offices and private clubs of Manhattan. Quiet, efficient, with only the sounds of equipment running and data flowing. On the huge curved screen, NLG's stock price, after a brief resistance in the morning session, resumed its slow but steady decline as news of the logistical disruption seeped into the market through various channels (customer complaints, industry rumors, and sporadic leaks on social media). The decline widened again to -5%.

K stood at the command post, looking at the screen. He had just ended an encrypted communication with the ABZ Team at the front, confirming that the "stress test" on the NLG driver system had been remarkably effective, far exceeding expectations. Thorne stood beside him, reporting on market developments.

"On Wall Street, several major banks have raised short-selling rates to an outrageous 45% or more. Meanwhile, in the secondary market, NLG's bond prices have begun to fall, and CDS (credit default swap) spreads have widened. Some institutions are quietly reducing their holdings," Thorne said quickly. "Furthermore, according to our market surveillance, executives from PacRim and Global Freightways had a secret meeting this afternoon at the Oak Hall in Manhattan. At the same time, both companies activated their 'emergency contact plans' for NLG's core clients."

K listened quietly, showing no surprise. This was all within his expectations, even something he had hoped for.

"The fishermen are driving up prices, the wolves are gathering," K said calmly. "Very good. The more chaotic the situation, the muddier the waters, the more advantageous it is for us."

He turned to Thorne: "Adjust the strategy. Reduce the proportion of direct short selling further. Invest more funds in buying deep out-of-the-money (FAR) NLG put options, with maturities further back, like a month from now. At the same time, buy some PacRim and Global Freightways call options as a hedge and... to make a little extra money along the way."

Thorne's eyes lit up; he immediately understood K's intention. This was a more sophisticated and elegant tactic. It amplified returns using options leverage, while simultaneously using the rise in competitors' stock prices to hedge against the risk of an unexpected rebound in NLG (although the probability was very low). More importantly, this further confused the market, making it impossible for those fishermen and wolves to discern their true positions and intentions.

"Also," K glanced at the corner of the screen where a real-time news summary was scrolling, "It's time for those financial bloggers and independent analysts we've 'supported' to publish something new."

The title could be something like, "NLG's Shutdown Crisis Escalates, Supply Chain Resilience Faces Severe Test" or "Analyst Opinion: NLG's Predicament May Trigger Industry Reshuffle, Who Will Benefit?" The content should be vague, emphasizing 'systemic risk' and 'unpredictability,' and incidentally mentioning the 'sound operations' of PacRim and Global Freightways. Make the situation even more complicated.

"Understood!" Thorne immediately turned around and gave instructions to the trading and analysis team.

K stood alone, staring at the ever-decreasing curve representing NLG's stock price on the screen. His gaze was deep, as if he could see through the screen and see the fishermen scheming in their Manhattan offices, the wolves plotting in their private clubs, Old Walton's desperate roar on the deserted island, the ABZ Team's silent hunt on the highway, and Lin Feng's calm waiting in his lakeside villa.

Everything, like precise gears, is coldly meshing and operating according to a predetermined track.

The hunter is tightening the rope.

The fisherman is weighing his net.

The wolves were licking their fangs.

The storm is far from reaching its most violent moment.

He picked up the intercom and calmly reported to Lin Feng, who was nowhere to be found:

"Boss, the fisherman and the wolf are all in position. NLG's blood loss is accelerating. Everything is proceeding according to plan."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the intercom, then Lin Feng's voice came through, as always, devoid of any discernible emotion:

"Okay. Continue."