Chapter 2
2
ADRIAN
Many months earlier
The city blurs past in a hazy mosaic of lights and shadows as I recline in the plush leather backseat of the town car, lost in thought. The first rays of sunlight glint off the gleaming skyscrapers, piercing the tinted windows and forcing me to avert my eyes. I check my watch—6.47a.m. Right on schedule, as usual.
My driver glances up at me in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright back there, Mr. West?”
“Fine, thanks. Just getting ready for another day in the trenches,” I reply with a wry smile. Sam chuckles and returns his eyes to the road.
I take a sip of steaming coffee from my Thermos, savoring the rich aroma and mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. The Calloway deal needs to be closed by the end of the week, and there are still a few sticking points to iron out. I also need to finalize the quarterly report for the board meeting and touch base with our legal team about the new compliance regulations.
As the car weaves through morning traffic, I pull out my phone and scan my inbox, firing off a few quick replies. The familiar motions center me, pulling my mind into work mode.
Ten minutes later, we slow to a smooth stop in the shadow of the imposing glass office tower where my office is. Another day, another battle. Time to enter the fray.
I tuck my phone away. “Thanks, Sam. See you tonight.”
“Of course, Mr. West. Good luck today.”
I flash him a confident grin as I step out onto the curb. “Won’t need luck. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
I stride past the spinning doors, my steps echoing through the luminous lobby as I cross the wide space, nodding at the security guard.
“Good morning, Mr. West,” he greets me with a hint of deference.
“Morning, Reggie.” I flash him a grin.
I check more emails as I ascend sixty-six floors to nearly the top of the building. With a chime, the doors open on my reign: the trading floor—the business core of any hedge fund. I emerge into the expansive space, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a magnificent view of the sun rising over the cityscape. Dozens of eyes flick up from glowing Bloomberg terminals as I enter the trading pit. The cacophony of loud chatter and clacking keyboards fades to a hush.
My traders, already hunched over their desks reviewing the latest market news and pre-bell indicators, shoot furtive glances my way before hastily dropping their gazes. I allow myself a small satisfied smile, basking in their respect and slightly intimidated dispositions .
“Good morning, team,” my voice slices through the quiet. “Let’s go make some money.”
As if broken from a spell, the floor springs to life once more in a frenzy of activity and catcalls. I nod to the junior traders and enter the glass-walled office in the corner, where Sarah Lopez, my head of trading, is already waiting for me. Shutting the door, I turn to her.
“Alright, Sarah, what do we have on deck for open? I want to hit the ground running today.” I loosen my tie as I slide into my chair.
“Futures are pointing to a higher open, but that employment report on GGY is going to be key.” She swipes on her tablet. “If it beats expectations, we could see a rally…”
I nod along, ready to plunge into the deep waters of high finance where I’m the deadliest shark. There are millions to be made or lost in the blink of an eye. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m built for this game.
Bring it on.
The market bell rings and the trading floor erupts into its usual frenzy. Lights flash, phones ring off the hook, and a hundred conversations begin at once. I roll up my sleeves and dive right in.
As Chief Investment Officer, my day is a whirlwind of monitoring markets, adjusting positions, meeting with analysts, and strategizing. I’m glued to my Bloomberg terminal, watching the numbers dance across the screen. One minute the Dow is up, the next it’s down. It’s like trying to tame a wild beast.
“Adrian, Vanguard is on line two,” my secretary, Wendy, calls out. “They have questions about that pharma stock.”
I nod and pick up the phone, ready to explain our bull case and PE ratios. It’s one call after another with high-profile clients. Between discussions of alpha, beta, short interest, and EBITDA, I barely have a moment to breathe. But I thrive on the rush, on the rapid-fire pace.
I stop only when my stomach starts growling like a caged lion. It’s two thirty already and I forgot to eat lunch. I ask Wendy to put in my usual order at the sushi place downstairs.
I eat at my desk, eyes still glued to the terminal. The market waits for no one.
I’m just polishing off the last salmon skin roll when Wendy appears in my doorway, looking tense.
“Mr. Fulton wants to see you in his office. Right now,” she says grimly.
My chopsticks freeze in midair as an uneasy feeling slithers up my neck. In all my years here, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been called to the CEO’s office without notice. It’s never been good news. And I don’t like surprises.