Chapter 503: Temporary Resurgence

[Chapter 590: Temporary Resurgence]

The desert region was very lively, but let's be clear, that description isn't entirely accurate. The U.S. was launching bombs merrily, while Saddam was only making noise. The patriots were strutting around like they owned the place, at least that's how it looked in the propaganda. The SCUD missiles were useless; even if they failed to intercept, they wouldn't cause significant damage.

Shifting attention to Los Angeles, where William White sat behind a luxurious executive desk, looking rather gloomy.

"Damn it, are the Japanese banks really that clueless?" he exclaimed.

"Sir, according to last year's annual report, the profits of aviation and consumer companies have declined significantly, while export-processing companies have performed well. The business sector in Japan is optimistic; their stocks and the real estate market are starting to pick up."

"Pfft, it's hard to believe they've inflated such a big bubble and are now recovering? That's just bizarre," he scoffed.

"Both Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs have raised their expectations for the Nikkei index, and the three major U.S. rating agencies have likewise upgraded the sovereign funds' ratings. Their moves are pretty synchronized."

"Such a variety of tricks. Never mind, we're not in a position to stir things up; I guess those bastards are just lucky," William replied.

He had every reason to feel down. Rockefeller, Morgan Stanley, and Goldman Sachs should have been in real trouble, yet here they were, with the Japanese banks reopening credit lines. Furthermore, the lending amounts were on the rise; it seemed the funds they hadn't lent out before were now set to be disbursed all at once.

It was a devastating setback for him. William couldn't help but think that those who had successfully resolved their financial issues would soon be boasting again.

"Sir, they likely won't be able to pull out all their investments in time. If they make a big move, the Japanese folks aren't entirely stupid."

"Of course they're not foolish. Many have already noticed the issues. I think this is Japan's way of compromising in exchange for some leniency from the U.S. Did you notice they deployed troops this time?" William noted.

"Well, I hope they understand what they're getting into."

"Filson, they surely understand. As for the money, let's face it, it's just paper. Until you spend it, it's worthless," he replied.

Though not entirely in agreement, Filson saw some truth in this statement. At least this peculiar situation could only be explained this way.

As an export-driven country, Japan had a significant income. Holding a massive amount of dollars yet lacking suitable investment options.

Would they turn around and buy U.S. Treasury bonds?

Ha, if they cut back on investing, it might be fine, but if they overdo it, the U.S. would get jealous and just rob them blind.

These surplus dollars, along with the previous hot money, were clearly too much for Japan -- this not-so-large Japan just couldn't hold it all.

The booming real estate market had led the populace to become disoriented.

Just hold on a bit longer; just a little while longer. That earlier time was merely the darkness before dawn.

An artificially induced high revitalized the dying Japan.

No one had told them it was just an illusion. The damned would still die; all this was merely a fleeting moment. Fine, it was quite a miraculous recovery, one that most wouldn't recognize.

Though he felt some resentment, he was powerless to act. Now wasn't the time to make moves; becoming a target would be troublesome.

His current relationship with those older tycoons was incredibly delicate, involving competition, collaboration, and mutual sabotage. If he truly siphoned off all their funds, there'd be no end to the conflict.

...

Waking from sleep, he realized something was off. His arms felt numb, as if they didn't belong to him.

Carefully tending to the two heavily pregnant women, William White decided it was time to work out. Those old-timers were back, and trouble wouldn't be far away. It seemed he'd need to revise his plans for early retirement.

At heart, William was still that reckless second-generation heir. A carefree life was what he truly loved.

If it weren't for all those idiots trying to undermine him, he might have retired long ago.

It was as clear as day; who would think a billionaire would have time to make movies? Clearly, he was just bored.

The grand feast Japan had thrown had truly fattened a group of crocodiles. Before this, the lesser consortia hadn't been doing that well. The visible wealth was only around the hundred billion mark.

By the mid-1990s, if you didn't have assets in the hundreds of billions, you could hardly claim to be among the top ten consortiums without feeling embarrassed. As for Citibank and Morgan Stanley, they had already crossed the trillion-dollar mark.

Well, you still have loans.

God forbid, if there were a trillion in cash, wouldn't the world just spiral into chaos?

So-called capitalists -- if they don't operate capital, are they still capitalists?

This time, the consortium had made compromises and repaired some relationships. William was certain these guys wouldn't have compromised unless they were constrained by the Japan's situation.

If he wanted to keep clashing with them, being in good health was paramount. With those two heavily pregnant women causing havoc at night, he often found himself sleeping in the study. Each would claim an arm, treating him like a pillow.

This was a predicament.

The rhythmic sound of sandbags hitting echoed through the room, and the expressions of the bodyguards were rather unusual. It seemed someone had offended the boss again; ever since that finger injury, they hadn't seen the boss hitting the bags for a while.

Using intense workouts to keep in shape had its downsides -- it meant you couldn't stop. If you take a break from training, the aftermath is something you wouldn't want to see. 

"How's it going? Any news from Max?" he asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Nothing. Watching them fight is less enjoyable than playing games myself. Even if this guy used pigeons to send messages, they've already reached him by now," came the response.

"Ha, you wish. With the sandplain's terrain, who do you expect to send to their demise?"

"True, if it were a tropical rainforest, things wouldn't be so dire for that guy."

"It's pointless now. With thermal imaging, all disguises are meaningless. Useful tactics are limited to traps. These localized losses don't affect the bigger picture."

"Master, I feel it's nearly time. If we don't attack soon, we might run short on funds."

"Funds? Just ten billion a day. As long as there are suckers, we can't let people die. They have a quota; I hear it's four thousand. If we exceed that, our president is in trouble."

"Four thousand? Ha, if they lose two thousand, that would be the limit. Looks like the president must be feeling pretty good about now."

Tanner certainly wouldn't realize that not only four thousand but even a loss of less than four hundred wouldn't save the president's seat.

War fatigue isn't easily overcome. Even a few hundred losses will leave the public unwilling to accept it.

Of course, once the fear subsided, the U.S. regained its cocky demeanor, especially after dismantling the Soviets; they were back to throwing their weight around as international police.

The two guys weren't wrong; Senior Bush was indeed feeling happy. He was even starting to plan for the next term. No matter how pessimistic someone was, no one believed that Iraq had any chance of a comeback.

*****

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