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

Chapter 48 The Three-Headed Cerberus (Seeking monthly votes and recommendations)
Mr. K was completely unaware of Larry, and was instead trying to negotiate a "big deal" with the security guard at the door, saying that he had excellent distribution channels and wanted to negotiate a large order from Colt, so he had come to see Colt's sales manager.

The security guard frowned, glanced around the reception room, and noticed the reception manager silently shaking his head. He then turned to him and said:

The manager isn't here; it's Sunday! You can try your luck another time.

Mr. K lingered for a while, but seeing that no one from Colt Company, not even a decent manager or anything like that, came out to speak, he left dejectedly.

Larry was curious, so he took the opportunity of getting a refill of coffee to lean closer to the reception manager and ask, "Who was that person just now?"

The reception manager smiled helplessly and said in a deep voice, "Arms dealers! These shady characters always try to use the company's channels to buy up outdated inventory from the warehouse, then sell it to others on the market as high-quality goods."

Larry paused, frowned, and asked, "But with so many guns in America, and good guns or secondhand guns all having clear prices, how do they make money off these outdated firearms?"

The reception manager shook his head with a smile, "My brother, the arms industry is much more complicated than it appears on the surface. Colt's inventory, and even its spare parts, are unmatched by other small firearms companies. Some small workshops import second-hand goods from us and can produce batches of qualified firearms in the blink of an eye."

Larry was nodding when he first heard this news.

The reception manager liked his humble attitude and then added, "Besides, they're not selling to Americans, but to Chinese, Japanese, Boers in Africa, and even Russians. It's rich enough, backward enough, and chaotic enough there—a paradise for arms dealers."

Larry had never heard of this before. When he was bullish on the arms sector, he only knew that arms trade was a hard currency among current US exports, but he didn't know that the specific industry chain was actually like this.

Larry suddenly became curious and carefully chose his words before asking, "As you know, we are employees of a securities firm in Boston... If I may be frank, since the company's products are selling so well, why do you need to raise funds?"

The reception manager scoffed. "Relying on retail in those chaotic areas? No, no, my brother. You don't understand the nature of arms companies. Colt, and similar arms companies across America, always get their big orders from the military. Those Western pioneers, or rebels in certain parts of Asia, can only keep arms companies afloat with cash flow; they can't support explosive growth. What arms companies need isn't small-scale skirmishes, but war—the real, all-out war!"

As he spoke, the reception manager helplessly spread his hands and said, "It goes without saying that Colt's current status is due to the benefits of the American Civil War. But now, Colt cannot sustain such a large business solely on orders from the private sector. They need war! In fact, our European counterparts are in an even worse situation than us, because since the end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815, only the Crimean War of 1854 had any significant impact, but even that couldn't feed the European arms industry, which had been expanding excessively for centuries."

Larry listened to his story and nodded. He seemed to suddenly understand why newspapers were filled with congressmen demanding that the US government expand its military, punish this country, and attack that country...

So it turns out the shareholders are concerned about the company's performance.

Seeing Larry nodding blankly, the reception manager suddenly laughed, "My brother, you're visiting the sample display of the new water-cooled machine gun this afternoon?"

Larry nodded hastily. “Yes, sir. That sharp killing machine left a deep impression on me.” The reception manager looked at Larry’s still-pure eyes and said meaningfully, “So you think that kind of sharp weapon is for deer hunters or western frontiers to defend themselves? No, my brother, that thing can fire more than 1000 bullets in 60 seconds, and the total cost of use per minute is as high as $300. It’s a three-headed hellhound prepared by mankind to slaughter its own kind. Only global wars and the deaths of more than a million people can satisfy their greedy, bloodthirsty mouths.”

Larry was taken aback. He hadn't expected that a reception manager at Colt could have such foresight and such a sharp insight into the nature of the world.

Looking at the sales manager's sincere expression, yet speaking cold and rational words, Larry felt a great sense of disconnect, but also felt immense respect for this reception manager.

“You’re absolutely right, sir. May I ask your name?” Larry’s eyes were burning with enthusiasm.

“No need for formalities, my brother. My name is Matthew Browning, the younger brother of John Browning. I'm here for further studies.” After answering, the reception manager turned to look at the Colt factory area, and after a long pause, said…

“I was one of the designers of that machine gun. I understand your awe of it. I’m obsessed with creating such a great super weapon, but I really can’t imagine what the apocalyptic scene will be like when this great weapon becomes known to the world.”
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After leaving the Colt headquarters, Mr. Wallace, who seemed to be in a good mood, asked Larry to hire a carriage to Hartford to book the earliest train ticket back to Boston, and specifically requested that it be a train that returned overnight.

Mr. Wallace will arrive at the train station at 6 p.m. to meet Larry.

The two agreed on a meeting place and time. Larry left the suitcase containing the documents with Mr. Wallace, while he took their luggage and took a horse-drawn carriage straight to the train station.

It was already 4:50 p.m. when Larry arrived at the train station. As Wallace had instructed, Larry went to the ticket window immediately to buy a ticket, only to find that while there were still trains running late, there were no first-class seats left, just two second-class seats.

Larry thought for a moment and decided that, just in case, he should buy the two second-class train tickets first and then make a decision after meeting Mr. Wallace.

Holding his train ticket, Larry waited in the train station square for an hour before Mr. Wallace arrived in a Colt company carriage.

Larry quickly went up to greet him, while regretfully informing him that...
“Mr. Wallace, the only available carriages on tonight’s train are second class, and the conditions there are terrible. The train doesn’t arrive in Boston until 5:50 a.m. tomorrow. Just in case, I’ve already bought two second-class tickets. But you’ll need to choose whether to stay another night or take this train tonight.”

Mr. Wallace frowned, but still chose to squeeze into the second-class carriage without hesitation, because time was very precious to him.

　The arms trade is a very important plot thread that may continue until the end of the book—well, what can you expect when the book is set in the United States…

　　
　
(End of this chapter)