World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

Chapter 50: Johnson Trading corp.

After about 30 minutes of quiet driving, we started discussing university-related stuff. As we talked, I decided it was time to come clean with Sam.

Since he first mentioned he could introduce me to someone from his family, we had spoken about investing quite a bit, and he was impressed with how much I knew.

However, he didn't know anything about my actual trading history.

"Look Sam. I am indeed a beginner in investing, but I've been doing extremely well in the last year. I need you to know that if your family ever wants to offer me a job as a trader, I will most definitely refuse."

Sam's reaction was immediate. "There are as many traders in this world as there are fish in the sea. That's not what we're looking for." He took a defensive stance.

"Then who are you looking for?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what his intentions were.

"Let's just say that I'm personally on the lookout for a business partner."

"I see," I said thoughtfully. "And why do you think I would be a good choice?"

Sam leaned back in his seat. "Well... that's the thing. I don't know. I'm headhunting. But I'm not looking for an employee.

I'm looking for a friend."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing. You just sound like an old man."

...

An hour later, we arrived in Orlando, and Richard stopped the limousine in front of a glass skyscraper. Sam grabbed his cane, and we got out of the car.

"It's break time, Ricky. Be here in an hour. It shouldn't take much longer than that," Sam said.

"Yes, sir!" Ricky responded in a comical way and drove the car away, deserting us there.

I glanced towards the entrance and noticed an oversized guy in a white suit walking out with a bagel. "Good morning, ladies," he said with a bow to two mature women in high heels walking in.

"Auch!" I screamed as I got hit by Sam's cane.

"Oops! sorry, man. Well, let's go. The entire 12th floor of this building is the Johnson Trading Corp." He said as he slowly walked to the revolving door.

We entered the lobby and rode the elevator to the 12th floor. When the doors opened, we stepped into a space with white wooden walls, a polished wooden reception desk, light grey carpet and offices divided not by walls but by transparent glass—a very futuristic office for the time.

An easy-on-the-eye brunette secretary was sitting behind the reception desk. When she heard us step onto the floor, she peeked out from behind the desk and immediately stood up.

"Mr. Johnson!" she called out enthusiastically.

"Hello, Sara. Can I get a visitor card for my guest?" Sam asked.

"Oh, of course," she replied, turning to me. "Nice to meet you, sir. Could I get your name? I will need it for the card."

"Jack Somnus."

Just 30 seconds later, I had a white card to hang around my neck.

Sam pointed with his cane at a small kitchen corner. "You can get some coffee here if you want."

"I've had one already."

"Well, let's go to the main trading office then. This way," he said, and then walked confidently through the corridor, not even using his cane.

We reached a locked door, which I opened with my visitor card.

We stepped into a large open office that took up more than a third of the entire floor.

The massive wall on the right was covered with LED displays showing tickers and their prices fluctuating in real time.

There was also a large TV screen broadcasting CNBC's live financial market coverage.

The office had a set of desks that were all joined to each other and each had three CRT monitors.

It really felt like an office out of "Wolf of Wall Street".

That was a great movie. I'd love to watch it again, but it wasn't even released yet!

A few people were working at their stations, but the office felt a bit empty.

"There are only six traders on-site today," Sam explained as we walked in. "Many are on vacation, and a few start at later hours."

The traders were glued to their screens, barely blinking.

Only one stood out—a man in his early 30s wearing a red cap and comfy, 'Sunday lounging with a beer' type of clothes.

He looked up from his desk, raised a hand in greeting, and then stood up.

He wasn't wearing any shoes.

I sighed, 'Mark...'

Mark strolled over, a grin on his face. "Eyo, Sam!"

"Hi, Mark."

He extended his hand to me. "I'm Mark Yankovic."

"Jack Somnus," I shook his hand.

He squeezed it hard!

But I was ready.

I squeezed it back.

"Wow, wow, wow. There is no need to be so aggressive. Just making sure you're awake." Mark said and then started walking back to his station. "Come on," he waved us over.

"Mark's going to show you a few things." Sam added.

I moved up to Mark's station with Sam, where he clicked a few buttons. "Let's get to it," he muttered under his breath, taking a swig from a Monster energy drink.

The bin under his desk was already filled with a few empty cans.

Mark glanced up at me. "So, Sam tells me you've been trading before."

"Yes."

"What brokerage?"

"ETrading and Ameritrade."

He let out a low whistle. "Oh man. What a great fucking choice! This makes things easier."

He clicked a button on the keyboard and all three screens were now displaying charts, with one of the screens having the rundown of current positions gain/loss on top.

"Welcome to the circus," Mark said. "This setup gives me everything I need. I catch every uptick and downtick and make split-second decisions. I never wish for something to happen; I always trade and always, first and foremost, protect my butt. Now tell me, Jack, do you see any buttons on the screen?"

"No," I replied, "because you're using hotkeys."

Mark turned to Sam with a grin. "Hey Sam, where did you get this guy?"

Sam just shrugged, looking amused and then sat down on an empty chair.

Mark shifted his focus back to me. "Alright man. let's get this straight. I'm a scalper, and I'm pretty sure you know what that is. But you don't look like that kind of guy; we are way more crazy and coffeeine addicts."

'That's a generalization and a half,' I thought.

After a moment, I spoke up. "I'm a future-focused trader."

"What kind of bullshit is that?" Mark's face twisted in confusion.

I held up his Monster energy drink. "For example, this energy drink."

"What about it?" he asked.

"The company producing it is called Monster Beverage. Have you looked at their stock?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. It's deader than a doornail."

"Exactly. And yet your trash bin is full of their new energy drink," I said. "You must like it a lot."

Mark's expression shifted as he began to understand.