Too Late to Hold Me Back novel Chapter 833

When shorting a stock, the higher the entry point, the better. Entering too low was a surefire way to lose millions.

Mira Mercer's large entourage naturally drew the attention of surrounding financial syndicates.

In the skyscraper at Rivers Plaza, a group of suited Western men gathered around a coffee table, deep in discussion.

They had just made a killing off the afternoon surge in Atlantic National Bank stock.

A dark-haired man had thrown in four billion dollars, instantly doubling his initial investment.

"How many more days do you think Atlantic National can keep climbing?" he asked the group casually. "I give it a week. If I'm right, you each owe me twenty grand."

"Hahaha... When it comes to Atlantic Bank stock, you're the only one who can call it."

A man named Jason Croft interjected. "Did those Mavarians buy in yet?"

The dark-haired man paused.

Mavarians? Did they really have the guts for a play like this?

It had to be a fluke.

He asked his subordinate about their investment figures. "Sir, they haven't bought a single share."

"I knew it. They're a bunch of cowards who can't get anything done."

He himself had already made a fortune that very afternoon.

"Maybe they just don't have the capital."

"They wouldn't be here if they were broke. They just don't have the talent to make real money."

The man joked with his subordinate, "If you ever tell me they actually turned a profit, I wouldn't believe they were Mavarian.

"Sir, should we keep an eye on them?"

"It's normal for other Asian investors to have money, so there's no need to make a fuss. They'll probably fall into a trap and get stuck holding the bag soon enough anyway. Ignore them."

He mused to himself. Mavarians? Weren't they as harmless as little kittens?

He had visited Mavaria before, and every storefront seemed to have one of those waving cat statues.

Not some divine beast, just a standard cat constantly waving its paw.

What was there to fear from a country that worshipped ceramic felines?

After the market closed that afternoon, Mira and her team walked out of the exchange, only to find Miven and Mishka waiting nearby.

Wesley shook his head. "No. Too many people are piling in."

The stock market was entirely driven by supply and demand. The moment the general public figured out a stock was guaranteed to make money, a crash was imminent.

"Are we making our move tomorrow morning, then?"

"Depends on the market trends."

In truth, they were likely going to enter the market the next morning, but Mira couldn't leak her intel prematurely.

The group returned to their hotel, noticing no sign of Jude Vance or Lawrence Lance.

Harvey Rivers asked, "Do you think they left? Maybe they weren't targeting us this time?"

"Impossible. They're probably just sleeping off the jet lag."

During dinner, Miven and Mishka lingered like persistent ghosts. Owen leaned in toward Hank. "If you don't like her, make it crystal clear. Don't let this turn into a mess."

"How could I be any clearer? I rejected her ages ago. It's just my rotten luck running into them here."

"You need to watch your back. That woman is dangerous."