Stock Price Manipulation 3

The following day, Luho's bleak journey in the stock market persisted. By noon, authorities summoned Sang-hoon's father for questioning. As the fear of financial loss lingered, his mother collapsed under the stress when they took her husband away. Lee Ji-hye, Sang-hoon's younger sister, took care of their mother, sacrificing her day of work. Their family's stability was teetering on the brink.

Sang-hoon, taking action, discovered through his calls that anyone who had invested in Luho via the HU Group was being questioned. Those like his father, with substantial billions entangled in HU Group's dealings, were under the prosecution's intense scrutiny. The family hadn't sold their shares, but the unrealized gains were significant.

In a way, Sang-hoon considered themselves lucky for not having sold at the peak price of 50,000 won. Lingering at that high point could have entangled them further in the unfolding scandal. With hundreds of millions in profits, justification would have been difficult to muster.

Sang-hoon assured his mother that his father would return soon, his summons merely a formality. As predicted, his father came home that night, visibly upset. His mother wept upon his return, overwhelmed by relief and the ordeal they faced. His father, too, shed uncharacteristic tears, a silent testimony to his hard day.

Sang-hoon maintained his steady morning routine: attempting to sell Luho shares. During this process, he learned about after-hours trading – a period he initially thought didn't exist for trading. To his surprise, stocks could be traded at the previous day's closing price even before the official market opening. Understanding this, Sang-hoon began his days earlier than the rest, poised at his computer by 7 AM, ready for after-hours trades.

Amid the unfolding drama, Sang-hoon's interest in stocks deepened, as did his understanding. He became familiar with trading terms and even noticed how some stock market lingo had been misinterpreted in everyday conversation.

The 'upper limit' was one such term. He had thought it referred to any price increase, but came to learn it specifically meant a stock price reaching its maximum permitted rise in a session.

With his newfound knowledge, he delved further into the stock market's intricacies, determined to gear up for the challenging times ahead.

As days passed, Luho's stock value plummeted to 22,700 won. The fall was steep and unrelenting. Sang-hoon and his parents were resigned to the disastrous performance. The shattered stock price reflected the market's mercilessness. The daily traded volume was pathetically low, not nearly enough if they intended to offload their 10,000 shares. Billions were at stake, but no reasonable offers were on the horizon.

The stock market had become a ruthless playground where fortunes could evaporate in mere hours. Sang-hoon spent his days in this new reality, selling what he could at rock bottom and educating himself in the language and lore of the financial market.

Then, as feared, Luho's stock price hit the 10,000 won mark – the same price his parents had initially invested at. Discussions on the bulletin board had shifted to psychological support levels, but a breakthrough seemed unlikely given the market's trajectory.

As breakfast conversations turned meek with despair, his parents enquired if today would bring any chance of selling.

"We're down to 10,000 won today," Sang-hoon reported somberly. His mother, too, had succumbed to the gloom.

"Fate has taken Hong already," his father added, referring to another investor they knew. Sang-hoon, sensing the morose atmosphere, ate in silence.

Despite the downturn, Sang-hoon wanted his parents to look to the end, to cling to a shred of hope for a manageable exit, rather than total ruin. He discussed the reality – they had to aim for any small return they could get, even if it meant losing some of their investment.

His mother glumly acknowledged, and his father weighed in with silent worry. Sang-hoon excused himself from the table, stating the urgency to monitor the markets, but it was clear the heavy burden was becoming too much for him. His father, regretfully bearing witness to Sang-hoon's struggle, ended up cutting fruit for his son, a small act of support in turbulent times.

"Sang Hoon. Have some fruit while you're at it."

"Sure."

As he offered a plate of apple slices, Sang-hoon's father laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I regret dragging you into this mess due to a poor decision on my part."

"No, it's fine. All I do is sit in front of the computer all day. I'm managing, really."

"Alright. Just understand, as your father, I regret putting you through this. I had intended for things to turn out better, but now I can only look back in dismay."

"Dad, I get it. You weren't acting out of greed. Anyway, what's the word from the prosecution?"

His father settled at the foot of the bed before replying.

"They recognize we weren't trying to game the system for profit, so they'll wrap this up with no charges against us."

"That's a relief. It'd be a grave injustice to face penalties on top of our financial losses. I believe things will turn around for us."

"Yes, as you said. If we were unjustly punished, there could be no greater wrong. I'll leave you to it now, son. Keep up the strong work. And... I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Don't worry about it."

Sang-hoon's father gave his shoulder a final, feeble pat before leaving the room. Sang-hoon watched for a moment before his attention returned to the screen, where Luho's shares stubbornly loitered at the 10,000 won lower limit.

The ring of the phone broke his concentration.

"Hello?"

"Good day. This is the local library. The books you borrowed are overdue."

"Overdue?"

"Yes. We have a two-week loan policy. Titles including 'Wall Street Heroes' are yet to be returned. I'm calling to remind you."

"Oh, my apologies. I lost track of time. I live close by; I'll bring them back immediately."

"Thank you. We appreciate it."

After hanging up, Sang-hoon eyed the trio of books scattered on his desk. He had checked them out to study up on stocks, yet since the chaos with Luho began, they lay untouched.

Deciding it was time to return them, Sang-hoon dressed casually and stepped out with the books in hand.

Strolling to the library—a mere five-minute walk even at his most leisurely pace—felt liberating as if he was outside for the first time in ages. Sitting on a road-side bench, he absentmindedly placed a cigarette between his lips.

The bench-lined street was quiet and devoid of the usual pedestrian traffic, allowing him some peace.

Intent on observing passersby, which were few, he turned to the books he was returning. Not having truly perused them, he decided to at least scan the contents.

Ash from his cigarette dropped onto the pages of "Value Investment Strategies" as he skimmed through it.

"Ah."

He quickly flicked off the ash from the borrowed book, rubbed at the spot, then inspected it for any burns. While ensuring there was no damage, Sang-hoon noticed something curious in the book.

"What's this?"

[Luho, after confronting its 11th consecutive lower limit with a peak of 51,000 won, finally breaks free on the 12th trading day. Prices open at 7,200 won but climb in the afternoon, closing at 9,000 won. The following day, the stock continues to rise, just shy of 10,000 won...]

Sang-hoon stopped reading abruptly. The very scenario he had witnessed at the library, not too long ago, was detailed right there.

"Shoot."

The neglected cigarette had burned down to the filter, singeing his fingers. He flicked it to the ground, stamped it out, and his thoughts raced.

'Wait a minute. When did I exactly borrow this book?'