Chapter 125: Eavesdropping

Janet stepped out onto the terrace and, hugging Simon's arm, looked down before pouting and saying, "That rascal, your assistant with the ponytail—her parents have arrived."

Hearing the sour tone in her voice, Simon laughed and patted her waist before turning back into the living room.

There stood two men and two women at the entrance of the living room. From their looks alone, Simon instantly recognized the older couple as Jennifer's parents, James Redfield and Carol Redfield. The couple, both well-known financial lawyers in Manhattan, ran Redfield Law Firm, specializing in providing legal support for corporate financing, restructuring, mergers, acquisitions, and IPOs.

Jonathan Friedman, Pat Kinsley, and George Norman were still en route to New York. Early in the morning, upon hearing the news in Los Angeles, George Norman had strongly recommended the Redfields to assist Simon with the current situation.

After introductions were exchanged, Simon took a moment to assess the Redfields.

The couple appeared to be around forty, looking very youthful. James Redfield was taller than Simon, dressed in a crisp black suit, his face stubbled, and his hair impeccably styled. Carol Redfield was in a white business suit, her features bearing a striking resemblance to Jennifer's, and her hair pinned up, adding a touch of intellectual maturity.

The Redfields, in turn, were sizing up the young man who had "eloped" with their daughter, Carol giving Jennifer a meaningful look as she shook her hand.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, James Redfield declined Simon's invitation to sit and suggested they step outside instead, glancing around the presidential suite before gesturing towards the door. "Simon, let's talk outside."

Puzzled, Simon followed James Redfield out into the hallway.

Once outside, James briskly instructed their respective assistants and Simon and Janet's bodyguards to stay by the hallway's ends, taking Simon to stand in the middle of the corridor.

Jennifer and Carol willingly stayed by the suite door without coming closer.

After another scan of the surroundings, James Redfield looked seriously at Simon and spoke, "Simon, first I need to ascertain something. You don't need to respond directly. However, if the answer is no, then perhaps Carol and I need not be involved. So, is the money discussed in the media truly yours and Miss Johnston's, or are you merely a front?"

Simon understood that many people would have this doubt and responded without hesitation, "Jim, you've seen the papers. The funds are from the $75 million I managed to grow over the last five and a half months. That initial capital came from what Jennifer and I earned from selling the distribution rights to 'Run Lola Run.' So yes, the money is entirely ours."

James Redfield, a seasoned financial lawyer, had already deduced Simon's recent operations from what had been disclosed in the media, from turning $75 million into $1.62 billion. However, the incredibility of it all prompted his question.

Reassured by Simon's confirmation, James continued, "Simon, I see two possibilities for the current situation. First, someone might have sold your recent transaction records to the press. But as you probably understand, this is unlikely."

Simon nodded, agreeing that if it were merely a leak to the media, it wouldn't simultaneously appear in several major East Coast newspapers on the same day. "Jim, and the second possibility?"

"I suspect I know who is orchestrating this," James said with a smile. "Simon, are you familiar with Rudy Giuliani?"

Simon thought for a moment, recalling the title 'America's Mayor.'

He remembered Giuliani's tenure as the Mayor of New York City from 1994 to 2001 and his leadership during the 9/11 attacks, which earned him the moniker. Giuliani was a political star, having also run for president.

Looking further back, based on post-rebirth news, Simon quickly pieced together that Giuliani was currently the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, known for his aggressive stance against financial and mob crimes since taking office in 1983.

Nodding slightly, Simon expressed his confusion, "Jim, you think Giuliani is behind this?"

"Since taking office, Giuliani has enjoyed leveraging the media to pressure subjects, both to build his reputation and to coerce them into compliance under public scrutiny. He has also used tactics like eavesdropping, anonymous letters, and threatening calls—whatever serves his purpose," James explained, glancing towards the suite door. "Another thing, the SEC and the Commodity Futures Trading Commission are headquartered in Washington, yet you're being questioned in New York. It's quite telling. Manhattan is under the jurisdiction of the Southern District of New York Court, where most federal financial cases are investigated and tried. So, Simon, I hope you haven't said anything compromising in your room recently."

Following James's gaze towards the presidential suite door, Simon

 remarked, "Jim, this is the Plaza Hotel. Are you sure you're talking about a federal court and not the Mafia?"

"I hope I'm wrong, but everything I've told you is from personal experience. Believe me, an ambitious politician is not comparable to the Mafia," James signaled to his assistant, who handed him a Motorola cell phone. "Simon, I've always kept in touch with some security firms. Do you want them to send a counter-surveillance team to check for bugs? I believe you won't mind the bill now."

Despite his reservations, Simon nodded.

Half an hour later, as device after device was discovered—bugs hidden in the suite's phone, sofa, mattress, even the soles of his shoes—Simon struggled to contain his anger at the invasion of his privacy. He eventually snapped, smashing a vase against the wall before storming out.

Paul Ackerman, the hotel's guest relations manager who had strongly objected to the bug-sweep, snapped out of his daze only after everyone had left. The balding middle-aged man wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief and hurried after Simon, catching him as he entered the elevator. "Mr. Westeros, this must be a misunderstanding, rest assured, we will find out who is responsible for this prank."

Simon glanced at Paul's nameplate, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "A prank, Paul? Do these kinds of pranks happen often here?"

"No, no, of course not," Paul shook his head quickly. "Mr. Westeros, give us some time, please? We'll provide a satisfactory response. I hope, hope you won't disclose this incident just yet."

Simon didn't respond, and the elevator soon reached the lobby.

Stepping out, Simon remembered the crowd of journalists waiting outside the hotel and managed to calm down a bit.

Glancing at those who had followed him down, Simon reassured a worried Janet with a soft whisper, "Honey, pack up what we need to take, we're going to 68th Street."

Janet surveyed Simon carefully before nodding and re-entering the elevator.

Seeing Simon's softened expression, Paul knew he wouldn't return to his room and offered, "Mr. Westeros, if you're leaving, shall I arrange a car for you?"

"No need," Simon shook his head, turning to Neil Bennett, "Neil, check our car as well."

Neil complied, leading the security team outside.

Simon then apologized to the Redfields for his earlier outburst, "I apologize for that, both of you."

James Redfield shook his head, "It's okay, Simon."

Having seen much in his career, James was impressed by how quickly Simon, a young man in his prime, had regained his composure compared to other clients who reacted violently or even made threats when discovering they had been bugged.

Janet quickly returned from upstairs, having packed significantly lighter than when they had arrived. After Neil confirmed the car was clear, the group headed out.

As Simon exited the hotel, the waiting journalists surged forward, their cameras flashing and questions flying:

"Simon, is the news in the papers true?"

"Simon, why did you buy $1.1 billion in tech stocks?"

"Simon, will you continue directing?"

"Simon, tech stocks surged at today's opening; what do you think about that?"

"Simon..."

Amidst the chaos, Simon simply held Janet close and, with the help of two bodyguards and hotel security, managed to get into a black Range Rover. The Redfields and the counter-surveillance team followed in their own vehicle.

As Simon's car drove off, the journalists rushed to their vehicles.

The drive from the Plaza Hotel to their apartment on 68th Street was less than a kilometer. The Range Rover quickly stopped in front of a light gray apartment building, and Simon and Janet hurried inside with the Redfields following.

Earlier in the month, Simon and Janet had successfully purchased the penthouse in this building.

The previous owner, a major shareholder in a candy company, had sold the property to fund his struggling business, which had only worsened after the stock market crash. As the owner required full payment upfront, they settled on $11 million.

However, before finalizing the deal, the owner removed all the expensive furniture, carpets, and artwork that were initially included, allowing for the reduced price. Simon, who disliked the original decor, planned a complete renovation.

Now, as they entered the empty penthouse, Simon was reminded of the villa Janet had once rented for him in Montana.

Although the house was empty, Simon had the security team sweep for bugs to ensure all was clear. Janet left to buy some temporary furniture, and Simon joined the Redfields on the apartment's rooftop terrace.

Previously a 40-square-meter rooftop garden, the area was now bare, its plants having been removed. But none of that mattered now.

After submitting Westeros Corporation's recent trading records for stock index futures and stocks to the regulatory agencies,

 Simon had kept backups, now in the suitcase Janet had just brought from the Plaza Hotel.

James Redfield had read about Simon's futures market activities in several newspapers before George Norman called. But now, holding the more detailed records, he still found Simon's achievements from mid-May to late August—from the S&P 500 at 270 to 330 points, perfectly timing a sell-off at 330 points to switch to short positions—almost beyond belief.

Simon's operations in October were even more astounding.

From October 1 to October 16, he positioned around 2,000 short contracts daily, amassing 26,700 contracts just before the crash. Then, on October 19, during the crash, Westeros Corporation's extensive short positions were impeccably closed during the index's three-day low.

Over five and a half months, Simon seemed to have anticipated market movements, his operations perfectly aligned with the S&P 500's fluctuations. After reviewing the data, James struggled to find the right words to describe what he had witnessed.

A miracle?

Even miracles might not be this miraculous!

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