Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 19 Mr. Potter's Advice

Larry rode his bicycle toward the banks of the Charles River. The moment the wind rushed into his shirt, Larry could feel the sense of speed that he had become accustomed to in his previous life wash over him again.

By this time, it was already dark. A municipal worker in a black uniform was lighting the gas lamps along the roadside one by one. The bright orange light had just cast a long shadow of the worker when a bicycle carrying its rider sped past.

When the worker heard a strange noise behind him and turned around, he found a blond boy riding a bicycle that had disappeared from sight like the wind.

I don't know if it's just my imagination, but Larry's three-mile journey home seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye today.

Thanks to Dunlop's invention of the tire, the new bicycle didn't have much of a bumpy ride on the uneven red brick road.

Larry returned to his front door and saw the lights on in the living room. He proudly rang the bell on his bicycle.

The mother peeked out of the room, puzzled, and immediately spotted the bicycle Larry was riding...

"My God! What is this thing?"

The mother hurried out, looking at the gleaming handlebars still shimmering in the moonlight. She wanted to touch them but didn't dare, and asked again, "Larry, where did you get this thing?"

“Mom, this is called a bicycle!” Larry replied with a smile.

"A bicycle? Oh, I think I've heard that word before... Did you buy it yourself?"

After being bombarded with tuna, oysters, and reindeer meat for some time, the mother had come to accept that her son now earned a good salary and could afford the expensive prices of many strange and unusual things.

Larry nodded, a nonchalant smile on his face.

"How much?" the mother asked again.

Larry looked up and thought for a moment before saying, "That's about what I got for the day, well, not quite..."

Such a big bicycle for only $2?
The mother naturally assumed that Larry's "one day's earnings" meant his daily wage. She had some doubts about the price, which was obviously too low, but she was certain that her son hadn't gotten the money for the car through shady means, so she suppressed her doubts.

"Okay, Larry, put your new toy in storage, and come eat dinner right now!"

The two arrived at the dining table, and Larry noticed that his father's seat was still empty, so he casually asked, "Hasn't Dad come back yet?"

“He went to Holliston, where there’s a small farm for sale. I heard the price isn’t too high. Your dad plans to look around and buy it if the price is right.”

Larry nodded, thinking to himself that he would definitely go and take a look when the farm was bought.
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The next day was December 19th, a Saturday, and the market was only open for half a day in the morning.

After the market opened at 10 a.m., stocks in the arms sector had already entered a period of consolidation, and other sectors in the stock market continued to decline due to inertia.

There weren't many customers at the store. Most customers were not satisfied with the current sluggish market and chose to wait and see, while a small number of customers chose to be absent because of the business before Christmas.

Larry was much more relaxed than usual when the market was open; sometimes he could even sit in front of the price board and have a cup of coffee.

"Larry! Mr. Porter wants you to go to his office!" At that moment, the receptionist came over and said to Larry.

Larry was a little puzzled as to why Mr. Potter was allowing him to go to the office during working hours.

However, Larry didn't have time to think about it. He quickly called Tom over to help him copy down the market information, while he dashed off to Mr. Potter's office.

Before standing at the office door, Larry took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and then knocked on Mr. Potter's office door.

"Come in!"

Larry pushed open the door and saw Mr. Potter sitting behind his walnut desk, bending over to look at some documents.

Mr. Potter looked up at Larry, frowned slightly, and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

"Please sit down, Gambler Boy!" The moment Larry heard the title "Gambler Boy," he felt as if he had been struck by a dozen bolts of lightning, as if he were a lightning rod in a rainstorm.

Larry didn't dare sit down. He forced a smile, his hands instinctively gripping the hem of his shirt, and slowly asked,
"What do you mean by 'gambling gambler'?"

Mr. Potter gave him a deep look and gestured for him to sit down again.

Larry then reluctantly sat down in the chair.

Mr. Potter remained silent, staring at Larry. After a while, he smiled faintly, his mustache twitching, and began to speak softly.

“Son, to be honest, you really surprise me… I’m not referring to your going to the gambling den, I’m talking about what you did.”

Seeing that Larry didn't say anything, Mr. Porter continued, "You actually made $3000 in one go, you know? You really surprised me!"

Mr. Porter already knows everything he needs to know, and Larry has no need to deny it—that would make him look stupid.

He nodded to Mr. Potter and said, "I didn't expect you to know."

“This circle isn’t very big, Larry,” Mr. Porter glanced at him and continued casually.
“Mr. Amon was hospitalized. When I went to see him, he told me himself, ‘That damn kid in your sales department made half a month’s profit.’ Hahaha! You should have been there. He was so angry his eyes were practically popping out of their sockets.”

Mr. Potter laughed, but Larry did not.

Mr. Potter's smile faded, and his expression turned serious. "Larry, I can't interfere in your private life. But as someone who's been through it all, and someone who has high hopes for you, I'd like to offer a few suggestions."

“Please speak, Mr. Potter!” Larry straightened up, all ears.

"First, don't think that good luck will always be on your side. If someone is always fully invested, they are always one step away from death. Understand? When you make a profit, save half of it, or even spend it, because only the money you spend is truly yours. But never put all your money into the stock market!"

Mr. Potter spoke in a very serious and firm tone.

Larry nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Secondly, $3000 is way too much for you right now. You need to understand that having that much money is a hidden danger for a 14-year-old. Be careful, and it would be best to move to a safer area in the city. I don't want to see your name in the criminal section of the newspaper, understand?"

After Mr. Potter finished speaking, he opened the drawer of his desk, took out a pistol, placed it on the table, and gestured to it.

"This thing can save your life sometimes!"

“But according to Massachusetts law, men can only own guns after they turn 18.” Larry had also thought about guns, but the complicated purchasing process prevented a 14-year-old boy from getting his own weapon.

Mr. Potter frowned and said stiffly, "Alright then, when the thugs corner you, you can say to them, 'Gentlemen, I'm not old enough to legally carry a gun yet. Could you please wait until I'm 18 before robbing me?'"

Larry swallowed hard and nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Potter! I understand. I’ll go back… and look for it.”

Mr. Potter took a notepad from the table, scribbled a few lines on it, handed it to Larry, and then said meaningfully,
“Over at the fishing port, there are many new immigrants who have just arrived in Boston. Go there and find an Italian man named ‘Old K.’ When you get there, mention my name.”

Larry quickly stood up, respectfully accepted the note, and bowed to Mr. Potter in gratitude.

Mr. Potter gestured for him to sit down, then held up three fingers and continued solemnly,

"Third, and most importantly, son, if one day you really manage to make a decent amount of money from the stock market, then don't stay here, go to New York! Go to Wall Street... that's where you should be!"

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(End of this chapter)