What Can You Do?
15: Chapter 15: So What?
What Can You Do?
Chapter 15: So What?
What Can You Do?
The next day was December 24, Christmas Eve.
The Wall Street Journal’s razor-sharp headline, “The Bates Empire Collapses, Lane Capital Reaps at Lightning Speed,” hit like a depth charge.
Its shockwaves rippled across the Columbia University campus early that morning, hanging heavy in the air.
When Hawk walked onto campus in the morning light as usual, he instantly became a magnet for attention.
“Hey, Mr.
Reaper!
Want some ‘bankruptcy liquidation’ sugar in your morning coffee?” a friend called out with a whistle from across the lawn, drawing a burst of laughter.
Hawk flashed a teasing grin.
“As long as it isn’t the Bates brand.
That flavor’s a little sour right now.” His steps were light, as if the acquisition that had shaken the financial world was nothing more than a class assignment that had earned him an A+.
The moment he appeared on the stone-paved path, he drew the gazes of students and professors scattered along the way.
The buzzing whispers suddenly grew louder, like a disturbed swarm of bees.
Those probing, awed, envious, calculating stares pricked him silently from every direction like countless fine needles.
Today, in everyone’s eyes, he was a young king fresh from a heart-stopping victory on the battlefield of finance.
Bates Capital, a name finance students had once looked up to, the firm they had dreamed of getting an offer from after graduation, had become the most conspicuous trophy laid at Hawk’s feet.
His first class was macroeconomics, and when he walked into the lecture hall, the atmosphere shifted at once.
Professor Finch pushed up his glasses and let his gaze drift over Hawk, as if by chance.
“Today’s case happens to touch, in part, on ‘market efficiency’ and ‘moral boundaries’…
especially in certain…
lightning-fast operations.” He enunciated “lightning-fast” with absolute clarity.
Every eye in the classroom locked onto Hawk.
Hawk took his seat under the stares of the whole room, then met the professor’s gaze calmly and said loudly, “Professor, isn’t the core of market efficiency the timeliness of information and the speed of decision-making?
As for moral boundaries…
I thought business schools put more faith in ‘maximizing value within the limits of the rules.'” Professor Finch was momentarily at a loss for words, then snorted.
“Sharp-tongued.” He cleared his throat again, cutting through the chatter in the classroom.
“So, on the eternal debate of ‘market efficiency versus moral boundaries’: hostile takeovers.
What does Mr.
Lane think?” Hawk’s mouth twitched involuntarily, and he cursed silently.
*This pedantic old scholar.* Professor Finch paused, letting his gaze linger on Hawk’s face for a moment, then swept it across the utterly silent classroom before continuing: “Regarding an acquirer using market panic, information asymmetry, or even…
a carefully planned liquidity trap to swiftly carve up and seize the core assets of a company that is still fundamentally sound but temporarily in distress…” Professor Finch’s voice was not loud, but every word came through clearly with a cold, metallic edge.
“Hawk, and everyone here, do you think this is the capital markets coldly and rationally allocating resources at their best, or simply looting enabled by the dark side of the rules?” Dead silence.
Absolute dead silence.
More than a hundred pairs of eyes in the lecture hall snapped to Hawk in perfect unison almost the instant the words left his mouth.
Admiration, curiosity, probing, scrutiny, amusement, judgment…
countless tangled emotions wove together into a vast invisible net.
Hawk sat in his usual seat in the middle rows near the front, his back straight as a pine tree.
He could clearly feel the weight of all those stares pressing down on his shoulders like a physical pressure.
He looked up slightly to meet Professor Finch’s cloudy, faintly judgmental gaze from the podium.
He parted his lips, but in the end said nothing.
Because the takeover of Bates Capital had, in theory, or in purely academic terms, involved cold, even illicit tactics that really could not be whitewashed.
But reality cannot be summed up in a single line of textbook theory.
For instance, no textbook explains how to strike back after a superpowered individual tries to assassinate you.
Much less what to do when Hydra has its eye on you.
What should you do?
Call the police?
So Hawk simply stayed silent, as if asking in return: So what?
What are you going to do about it?
The dismissal bell rang like salvation, and the harsh scrape of chair legs against the floor broke the oppressive silence in the classroom.
Hawk picked up his notebook from his desk.
Just as he stood up, a warm breeze carrying expensive perfume and the scent of youth brushed softly past him.
“Hawk!” The voice was sweet and soft, like melted maple sugar, with just the right touch of alarm.
A petite figure in a tight white tennis skirt, a cascade of blonde hair tumbling behind her, stumbled toward him as if she’d tripped over something invisible on the floor.
Hawk reacted quickly.
Before she could actually fall, his strong arm caught her firmly around the waist.
His hand met warm, yielding softness.
Golden strands of hair brushed past his jaw, carrying the scent of expensive shampoo.
“Oh my God!
Sorry, sorry!
This damn floor!” She lifted her small, delicate face, her sapphire eyes brimming with lingering shock and helpless vulnerability, her cheeks flushed just the right amount.
“I’m Katherine Miller.
Thank you so much!” Hawk’s gaze flicked over the deeper neckline exposed as she leaned forward, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s nothing, Katherine.
Be careful next time.” He withdrew his arm smoothly, without lingering.
“Wow!
I actually got to see the legendary Hawk up close!” Katherine’s cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkling.
“I just transferred from the math department yesterday!
God, you were like a rock star of the finance world with that whole Bates thing!” She held out her hand eagerly.
Hawk smiled as he shook her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm.
“Welcome to the economics department.
I wouldn’t call myself a rock star.
The market just happened to need a little…
adjustment.” His tone was measured, with a touch of youthful playfulness.
After they exchanged contact information, Katherine bounced out of the classroom, as delighted as if she’d gotten a signed photo of Michael Jackson.
Just then, with a soft clatter, an HB pencil sharpened to a fine point rolled to a stop right beside Hawk’s shoe.