The King of Short Selling

Ethan sat across from Marcus Black, who wore a white shirt with rolled sleeves and no tie. He was fifty-one, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and eyes that made small talk feel like perjury. "Your resume is thin," Marcus said. "Yes." "Your school is not impressive." "Also yes." "You seem comfortable agreeing with insults." "Only accurate ones." Marcus laughed once, without warmth. "What do you want?" "To learn how capital actually moves." "Wrong answer. Everyone says that when they want a job. Try again." Ethan looked through the glass wall at the analysts outside. Each had two or three screens, a phone, and the posture of someone hunting or being hunted. "I want to know when the story breaks before the price admits it."