The grand marble floor of the New York Sovereign Exchange echoed with the frantic roar of hundreds of floor brokers.
Towering neoclassical stone columns rose toward a gilded ceiling adorned with classical frescoes of commerce, shipping, and empire. Giant digital ticker screens wrapped around the perimeter of the cavernous hall, casting a flashing green and crimson glow over thousands of curved computer monitors. Television camera crews from major international financial networks scrambled along the perimeter, setting up tripods to broadcast the trading event of the decade.
Floor runners in multicolored trading jackets dodged each other across the crowded floor, waving order slips and screaming into headsets. The air smelled of burnt espresso, nervous sweat, and printer toner.
Up on the elevated mahogany balcony overlooking the trading pit, Victor Sterling stood with a crystal champagne flute in his manicured hand.
Surrounding him were twelve Wall Street hedge fund managers, dressed in bespoke five-thousand-dollar pinstripe suits and diamond cufflinks. Each man wore a smug, self-satisfied grin, laughing as they clinked glasses together under the television lights.
[Pure-Heart Eye Scan: Twelve Wall Street Vulture Syndicate Partners — Goodness Scores: -42 to -64 / 100.]
Hovering right beside Sterling like a hungry stray dog was Zhao Kai.
