Bonus Chapter Yay!
Get those stones going boys and tomboys, we need to get those numbers up!
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******
To enter now was to enter into a crowded, volatile, directionless initial panic where the bid-ask spreads on the relevant instruments were wide and the counterparty risk was elevated and the probability of being stopped out by short-term volatility before the directional move fully asserted itself was unacceptably high.
Marvin watched the screens. He read the wire. He made notes in the forty-eighth notebook, which was new and whose first page bore the date — July 2, 1997 — and a single line beneath it:
*Thailand: confirmed. Now: wait.*
---
The phone rang at ten-fifteen. The caller ID read: COHEN, A.
Andrew Cohen's voice, when Marvin picked up, had the quality it got when markets were doing something that required him to calibrate between professional composure and the genuine human response to watching a significant amount of money sitting in leveraged positions during a period of elevated regional volatility.
"You've seen the Bangkok announcement," Andrew said. It was not a question.
"Since six-forty this morning."
"The regional picture is moving fast. The rupiah is down two point three percent. The ringgit is down one point eight. The SET is — well, you know what the SET is doing."
"I know what all of it is doing," Marvin said. "What's the question?"
A brief pause on the line. Andrew was forty-four years old and had spent twenty-two years in capital markets, first at Goldman Sachs and then at a boutique in Century City that specialised in alternative asset management, before becoming the private investment manager for the Scarlet Capitals account — a role he had accepted with a mixture of professional curiosity and genuine puzzlement that had, over the course of six months, evolved into something that he would have described, if pressed, as the most professionally interesting period of his life. He had learned, in those six months, that the most useful response to Marvin Meyers asking *what's the question* was to answer it directly.
"The question is whether we're moving on any of the regional positions now," Andrew said. "The forex team at Zenith has flagged three potential entry structures in the rupiah and the ringgit. They're pricing attractively given the movement already."
"Not yet," Marvin said.
"The window—"
"The window is wider than it looks right now. The panic is still acute. When panic is acute, the bid-ask spreads reflect fear rather than value, and entering into fear-priced instruments when you have the option to wait for desperation-priced instruments is an unnecessary concession of edge." A pause. "The entry for the rupiah is not July. The entry for the ringgit is not July. The entry for the won is not until I say at the earliest. We wait."
Another pause on Andrew's end as he realized Marvin is not telling him exact date, longer this time.
"You understand," Andrew said carefully, "that my job requires me to at least ask."
"I know your job," Marvin said. "You're doing it correctly."
"What should I tell the Zenith team?"
"Tell them to maintain observation posture. I want daily briefings on reserve levels across Bank Indonesia, Bank Negara Malaysia, and the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas. I want weekly reports on the short-term foreign currency debt positions of the major Korean chaebols — Samsung, Hyundai, Daewoo, LG, and SK Group specifically. And I want Hoffman to begin preparing the documentation structure for the currency positions we'll be entering the moment I say we are entering. I want the entities clean and capitalised before we need them."
"All right." The sound of a pen on paper. "What are you doing right now?"
"Reading," Marvin said. "And watching. That's all there is to do today."
He hung up and turned back to the terminal.
On the Reuters wire, the Bank of Thailand's governor had issued a second statement. He used the word *orderly* three times in four paragraphs to describe the transition to a floating exchange rate. In Marvin's experience, the frequency with which the word *orderly* appeared in a central bank communiqué was in inverse proportion to the degree to which the situation it was describing was actually orderly.
He made a note.
---
While the Asian market was collapsing, it had no effect on the USA besides bringing more money. The global publicity machine reached a deafening, suffocating crescendo—just as every tabloid, late-night host, and studio executive in the world was frantically trying to dissect the private life of the elusive as he knew up coming months will be very busy "Marvin Meyers"—the architect of the chaos simply vanished.
He did not grant the exclusive interviews. He did not parade himself in front of the paparazzi waiting at the gates of his San Marino estate.
Instead, exercising the absolute privilege of his staggering wealth, Marvin orchestrated a complete media blackout. He invited a select, highly curated group of friends and retreated to a sprawling, fiercely guarded stretch of private coastline in Malibu, entirely owned by the Meyers.
The contrast between the roaring Hollywood machinery and the tranquil, sun-drenched sanctuary of the beach was absolute.
Under the shade of two massive, white canvas parasols, Marvin and Mark lay side-by-side on luxurious teakwood beach loungers. The Pacific Ocean breeze was warm, carrying the sharp, clean scent of salt and expensive sunscreen.
Mark looked entirely out of his element. The curly-haired, pale prodigy was wearing oversized board shorts and a thick layer of zinc oxide, clutching a condensation-beaded glass of Coca-Cola. His brain, naturally wired to decode complex database architectures, was currently struggling to process the sheer, overwhelming social dynamics unfolding fifty yards away.
Marvin, by contrast, looked like a creature forged directly by the California sun. He wore a pair of dark, designer sunglasses and tailored swim trunks. Even at eleven years old, his physique was impossibly lean and perfectly proportioned, his skin carrying a flawless, golden tan. He lounged with the effortless, predatory grace of a resting panther, a glass of iced sparkling water resting loosely in his hand.
Down by the shoreline, the crystal-clear, shallow waters of the Pacific were currently occupied by three beautiful young women.
Jessica, at sixteen, was already radiating the breathtaking, undeniable star quality that would soon make her a global icon. Clad in a tasteful, sporty two-piece, her dark hair was wet and plastered against her back as she laughed, kicking a spray of water into the air.
Beside her, the eleven-year-old Lindsay was proving to be a fiercely competitive force of nature. Her fiery red hair gleamed in the sunlight as she aggressively tried to tackle the waves, her star confidence bleeding into every movement. And holding her own against the was Dorothy—the dark-haired, impeccably polished Beverly Hills heiress, who had temporarily cast aside her bully manners to engage in a ruthless, splashing free-for-all.
For the past three days, a delicate, highly entertaining cold war had existed between Lindsay and Dorothy. They were fiercely territorial over Marvin's attention. Yet, under the invisible, soothing blanket of his Incubus aura, their rivalry had slowly mutated into a grudging, unified sisterhood. They bonded over their shared, undeniable infatuation with him, uniting to playfully exclude the "older girl," Jessica, while Jessica simply found their pre-teen posturing deeply amusing.
Watching the three girls laughing, their skin glowing under the summer sun, Marvin lowered his sunglasses slightly. His deep, ocean-blue eyes glinted with amusement.
"Sun, sand, and the sea," Marvin murmured, his resonant voice easily cutting through the sound of the crashing waves. He turned his head slightly, looking at the socially paralyzed tech genius beside him. "Tell me, Mark. Do you know what boys are fundamentally supposed to do in this exact setting, facing three beautiful girls playing in the water?"
"What?" Mark asked, completely confused. He blinked behind his sunglasses, his mind frantically searching for a logical, algorithmic answer. He looked at the iced Coke in his hand, and suddenly, a thought struck him. "Oh! I know. It means we should sit here, stay hydrated with an ice-cold beverage, and quietly admire their figures from a respectful, mathematically safe distance."
Marvin let out a soft, dark chuckle. The boy's absolute lack of romantic instinct was staggering.
"Idiot," Marvin purred, a devastating, predatory smirk curving his perfect lips. "Of course not. We are supposed to conquer them."
With a sudden, explosive burst of kinetic energy, Marvin leaped up from the plush beach chair. He tossed his designer sunglasses onto the teakwood table and discarded his drink.
"Here I come, ladies!" Marvin shouted with pure, infectious youthful joy as he sprinted barefoot across the hot white sand, his lean, athletic body gleaming under the California sun.
Mark sat up on his towel, clutching his soda, his jaw dropping as he watched his friend charge straight toward the crashing surf like a force of nature.
Marvin hit the shallow water with explosive speed, his movements far beyond any normal pre-teen boy's limits — fluid, powerful, and terrifyingly graceful, like a sleek apex predator returning to its element. Towering splashes of glittering seawater exploded around him with every stride.
"Ah—!"
"Oh my god, he's coming!"
The girls let out a chorus of delighted, high-pitched squeals that echoed across the private cove, their voices mixing excitement and giddy nervousness as the "enemy" closed in fast.
"Girls, form a perimeter! Fight back!" Jessica laughed breathlessly, her competitive spirit blazing. She scooped up a huge wave of cold seawater and hurled it straight at Marvin's bare, toned chest, watching the water cascade down his abs.
"Get him!" Lindsay yelled, instantly abandoning any rivalry and diving into the chaos with wild enthusiasm.
Dorothy and Lindsay quickly joined her, creating a chaotic defensive wall of splashing water, trying to drench and blind him before he could reach deeper surf.
But Marvin didn't flinch for a second. He laughed — a rich, deep, hypnotic sound that sent a warm, tingling rush straight between the girls' thighs and made their hearts flutter wildly.
With both hands he unleashed a blinding barrage of seawater back at them, completely drenching their young bodies. Their light summer clothes instantly clung transparently to every soft curve — the developing curves faintly visible through wet fabric, the shape of their hips and pert asses perfectly outlined.
Then he vanished beneath the crystal-clear surface.
"Where did he go?" Dorothy squeaked, spinning around frantically, the water lapping teasingly at her waist.
"Watch your legs!" Lindsay warned, her voice already breathless with anticipation.
Beneath the waves, Marvin opened his eyes. The saltwater didn't sting. He moved like a silent shark, his Incubus senses locking onto the three rapid, fluttering heartbeats. He swam straight toward the strongest one.
Suddenly, his strong hands broke the surface and firmly grasped a pair of smooth, soft, sun-warmed thighs.
"Ahhh!" Jessica shrieked in delight as Marvin erupted from the water right in front of her, water streaming down his handsome face and sculpted chest.
Before she could even gasp, he grabbed her slim waist and toned thighs with both hands, his palms pressing firmly against her slick skin. For one delicious moment her body molded against his — soft breasts brushing his chest, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he lifted her completely out of the water. The intimate contact sent a massive electric jolt through her core.
The physical contact—the firm, sudden grip of his hands on her waist—had sent a massive, electric shockwave of straight into her nervous system. Her face was flushed a brilliant, burning crimson that had absolutely nothing to do with the California heat.
With a smooth, powerful heave, he tossed her high into the sun-drenched air.
"Aaa—!"
Jessica flew backward in a graceful arc, wet hair fanning out, before crashing laughing into the rolling surf. She surfaced moments later, coughing and giggling uncontrollably, her face flushed a deep, burning crimson. The firm, lingering grip of his hands on her waist and inner thighs still tingled hotly on her skin, making her pulse race.
"No fair! I want one too! Toss me next!" Lindsay demanded boldly, wading straight toward him, her soaked top now clinging shamelessly to her perky breasts.
"Me too! Marvin, toss me! Please!" Dorothy echoed, splashing eagerly after her, both girls desperate for his strong hands all over their bodies.
They rushed him together from both sides, pressing their wet, slippery bodies tightly against him. Soft, warm chests and smooth thighs rubbed sensually against his arms, chest, and sides as they clung to his shoulders and neck, giggling and squirming. The overwhelming sensation of three eager, hormonally-charged girls pressing against him was pure ecstasy for the Incubus.
Marvin grinned wickedly and easily absorbed their combined weight. He caught Lindsay first, his large hands sliding deliberately along the small of her back and the curve of her hips, pulling her flush against his body for a long, teasing second. Her chest pressed firmly into him, breathing hard from the cold water and excitement. Then he lifted her high and tossed her laughing into an oncoming wave with effortless power.
*****
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