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CH22 | DI
🕑 Added 2025-02-16 02:30:01 +0000 UTC“Live deals… three… all IPO bake-offs… not too long ago…” Brent’s sentence was disjointed, but Pierce caught the key clues hidden within it.
Bake-off: in Wall Street jargon, a bake-off refers to a private bidding competition where companies invite several banks to bid for their business, and the bank presenting the most ‘delicious numbers’ wins the deal.
“So, are you saying these companies on the list recently held private bidding rounds?”
“Yeah… three of them…”
Ha Si-heon’s recommended stocks are live deals. They recently held private bids, winners were selected, and those winners are now pushing the deals forward. And it’s not just one, but three of these transactions in total.
A heavy silence fell over the conference room for a moment. Pierce and Jeff also frowned. This… didn’t make sense. It needed verification, but Brent was in no state to provide a logical explanation. Seeing it directly would be best.
“Which ones?”
“Numbers 1, 3, and 5…”
Rustle, rustle!
Pierce and Jeff hurriedly turned the pages to check the first recommended stock.
2-1. Foundation Medicine
Investment Highlights:
– Product: A kit diagnosing 236 types of cancer cells.
– Product launched in June 2012, reaching $11.12 million in revenue in just half a year…
– Brief company overview, market analysis, comparison with similar sectors…
At the end, there was a suggestion to ‘secure shares as quickly as possible, as an IPO is expected sooner than the industry average.’
Pierce finished reading and frowned.
“An IPO at this stage…? The timing doesn’t fit.”
Companies, like humans, have a kind of life cycle. They start with a small group of investors: founders, early team members, acquaintances, venture capital, or angel investors who get the company off the ground. These early investors are like parents—generous people willing to patiently watch the company grow over several years, even without immediate returns.
But, no one can stay sheltered forever. As people mature and enter society, so too do companies eventually go public on the stock exchange. This is what we call an Initial Public Offering, or IPO.
An IPO brings in enormous capital, but going public isn’t all sunshine and roses. The market is less forgiving than early investors. The public has little patience for the company’s future growth or distant potential; they want immediate results. At the slightest downturn, they sell off stock without hesitation, causing volatile price swings. This tendency is even stronger with newer companies due to the public’s lack of trust.
For this reason, companies typically go public only after proving a certain level of success. Unicorns valued at $10 billion or those with comparable achievements may go public, but Ha Si-heon’s recommendation was different.
This company had only just reached a valuation of $5 billion, with a single product that had only been on the market for just over a year, still needing time to track revenue growth. Talking about an IPO at this point is premature.
The fate of a company must be entrusted to the whims of the public. It’s like sending a twelve-year-old child into society.
“And yet, they went ahead with it?”
According to Brent’s testimony, they did. Though it’s certainly not the safest path, the company chose to take on this risk and proceed with the IPO. Ha Si-heon not only anticipated this unusual situation but also advised “securing shares as soon as possible.” With the IPO imminent, his timing was nearly perfect.
Rustle, rustle!
The remaining two stocks were similar. Although Ha Si-heon had recommended securing shares with an IPO in mind, all were companies for which an IPO seemed premature. It was as if ten- or fifteen-year-old children were being sent out into the world. Not impossible, but… he had accurately predicted only cases that broke the typical pattern.
“A strange coincidence,” Pierce finally judged.
This… could only be a coincidence. However, the silence that followed challenged that conclusion. If it was only one case, it could be a coincidence. But what if three out of ten were spot-on? Could that really be a coincidence?
The situation defied logical understanding, but they couldn’t just sit there indefinitely.
“If the bake-offs are true, we can’t present this to clients.” Pierce tried to fit the situation into his understanding of reality.
“For a company approaching an IPO, they wouldn’t be unloading shares at this point. This recommendation won’t help our clients at all.”
Ha Si-heon’s recommended shares were not obtainable. The only choice was to wait for the public offering. Though he’d predicted the IPO, the timing was slightly off, rendering it unusable. In this respect, these stocks were disqualified.
Scritch, scritch.
Pierce drew a long line through the relevant items with his fountain pen. Three crossed-out items in total. Ha Si-heon had lost three points right from the start. He had a single replacement lined up, but not enough to cover three.
“Do we have substitutes?”
Just then, Pierce voiced the question.
“Wait!”
Bang!
Brent stood up abruptly, knocking his thigh against the table. But the pain didn’t matter now; there was a clear directive about this situation.
“Use the list the new hire created, no exceptions.”
“It’s unfair to replace the selections!” Brent argued.
“But the rookie doesn’t even know about the bake-offs, does he?”
A bake-off is a private bid. A company preparing for an IPO only sends RFPs (Requests for Proposal) to a select few: investment banks like Goldman, JP Morgan, or Deutsche Bank. Among those investment banks, only those in the healthcare division would even have access to this information. Brent, being in Goldman’s healthcare division, knew about it, but Ha Si-heon wouldn’t have any way of knowing. The intent was to allow him to correct his error due to lack of knowledge.
Logically, it made sense, but Brent couldn’t back down.
“Mr. Pierce, you said you’d compare the rookie to someone with two years’ experience. That information is exactly what gives a two-year employee their greatest advantage. To take it all as a handicap and tell him to compete is like asking someone to race with both legs cut off because their opponent is only ten years old.”
“What do you think?”
When Brent protested vehemently, Pierce shifted his gaze to Ha Si-heon. Unexpectedly, Ha Si-heon responded in agreement.
“Senior Brent is right. Under no circumstances should anything be changed.”
Ha Si-heon was declaring that he would not correct his answer, effectively accepting the loss of three points right from the start.
‘What is he thinking?’
At that moment, a smirk appeared on one side of Ha Si-heon’s mouth.
“I have no reason to remove this. After all, I already got it right.”
“What are you…?”
“The purpose of this bet was never simply to ‘gain client approval.’ That was only a means. The starting point was to determine the truth of my claim that ‘eight out of the ten items I chose would always lead to a deal.’”
It felt like being hit with a hammer.
“So, it’s not a failure but an early success?”
“Yes. As you both pointed out, I have no access to bake-off information. Therefore, this must be recognized as a point earned by my own skill.”
Ha Si-heon’s argument was simple: this wasn’t a wrong answer, but a correct one. It was a product already recognized by the market—sold out, in fact.
“No way! In this bet, client selection is crucial! Accepting points before the selection is like recording a score before the starting gun goes off…”
“Oh, come on, Senior. Rules aren’t like a vending machine where you can pick and choose as needed. If it can’t be changed because it’s incorrect, it also can’t be changed because it’s correct.”
“That’s…”
Ha Si-heon was deftly using even Brent’s objections to his advantage. Struggling for words, Brent tried to argue further, but—
“All right. We’ll accept it as is. Jeff will inform you of any adjustments separately,” Pierce concluded the meeting swiftly.
***
Outside the meeting room, the M&A department was unusually busy. An associate noticed a familiar figure approaching his desk—it was a VP from the leveraged finance division.
“Oh? Mr. Masters? What brings you here…?”
“I wanted to discuss the recent LBO…”
Even if there was urgent business, a VP usually wouldn’t show up in person. Typically, a quick email would suffice.
“There’s an error on page 23 of the deck…”
“Could you give me ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes?”
The associate grinned and gestured toward the meeting room. Pierce had just entered.
“Well… I wanted to see it for myself.”
Every meeting room at Goldman was made of glass, designed for transparency—perfect for discreet observation. The VP had come at this time specifically to watch the proceedings, giving the associate tasks to buy some time.
Although he tried to act indifferent, he couldn’t hide it. Five other visitors had already come with the same excuse.
“Haha… Right, take your time.”
Pretending to understand, he took a discreet look into the meeting room, feeling slightly awkward. But only for a moment. Six, seven, eight… As more VPs gathered with similar intentions, casual excuses gave way to more candid conversations.
“What on earth is going on here…?”
“What kind of internal politics gets this noisy…?”
“Of all people, the two most ruthless ones…”
Goldman was known for intense internal politics, but this was the first time such a grand, flashy clash had happened. Pierce and Rhino.
Both were notoriously aggressive and vindictive.
“I’ve never seen VPs bowing to a rookie from another department,” someone muttered.
Wall Street has a strict hierarchy, often compared to the military. In such a place, initiating a conversation with a rookie is a matter of pride. Yet, all the VPs gathered here had voluntarily sought out Ha Si-heon, cajoling and coaxing him to get information.
After work, the VPs coped with their wounded pride over drinks, complaining, “There’s this crazy rookie at Goldman who’s making us bow at this stage in our careers.”
The rumors Ha Si-heon had wanted were already spreading—though only among the working class, not the elite, on Wall Street.
“They say the rookie put his salary on the line, and no one believes it?”
“Well, only a madman would do that.”
“They laughed when they heard he turned down a salary renegotiation as a rookie…”
Although Ha Si-heon’s name hadn’t been mentioned yet, small pieces of information were spreading. Of course, the rumors weren’t all positive.
“Did he plan it all from the beginning?”
“So he raised the stakes by putting his salary on the line.”
“You’ve got to admit, he’s making the most of his chance.”
No one dared utter the words “match-fixing.” After all, no one wanted to get on Pierce’s bad side. But the twisted smiles and whispers hinted that people saw Ha Si-heon as a scammer who had seized an opportunity.
A sudden silence fell. The meeting had started. Every spectator quieted down, each gripping their BlackBerry.
— Who seems to have the upper hand?
— Healthcare seems disadvantaged. The associate’s expression doesn’t look good.
— Wait, hang on! Pierce’s expression… it’s strange, too.
— Then, is Healthcare winning?
No, even the healthcare team doesn’t look too happy… What does it mean when both sides look displeased?
In this showdown, one side wins while the other loses. There was no reason for both to have such expressions.
‘What on earth is going on?’
Eventually, Brent stood up and shouted something. Ha Si-heon spoke, and Brent’s face looked as if he’d lost everything. Although they couldn’t hear the details, one thing was clear: the winner was Ha Si-heon.
The news spread throughout Goldman. Pierce had exited, and Brent stumbled out in a daze.
“Did it go well?”
“Huh? Oh…”
Associates who were close to Brent approached him, but he walked away in silence, looking like a zombie. Now, only one person could reveal what happened: the rookie,
Ha Si-heon.
The spectators crowded around Ha Si-heon.
“What happened?”
“The atmosphere seemed tense in there…”
Ha Si-heon gladly provided an explanation.
“Well, something unusual happened during the meeting. One of my recommended stocks turned out to be a live deal.”
“What? A live deal?”
“What do you mean…?”
Ha Si-heon’s words were hard to believe. Predicting private bidding deals? And not just one, but three?
“Is that even possible?”
“Couldn’t you have misheard something?”
“Well, it’s not entirely impossible, but…”
“Wait, can we take a look at that?”
One of the M&A associates pointed at Ha Si-heon’s teaser.
“They say there’s no sharing info between departments…”
“It’s fine within the same division.”
The associate snatched up the teaser and roughly flipped through the pages.
After reading all the contents, their faces looked similar to those inside the meeting room.
“He… got this right?”
Their faces were filled with confusion. Seeing that expression, another associate reached out.
“What’s the big deal with this…?”
The second associate, who initially scoffed while reading the teaser, soon wore a similar expression.
“This…?”
“What’s going on?”
“Wait, let me…”
Everyone who read the teaser wore the same expression—a look of utter disbelief.
“Is that true?”
“No way, is that even possible?”
“What kind of nonsense…”
Confusion, shock, disbelief, curiosity—all kinds of reactions were mixed together as Ha Si-heon smiled and finally spoke. What followed was a familiar phrase—the sentence Ha Si-heon had been repeating since his first day at work, a phrase he’d recited every chance he got, though no one had believed it. It was also the core message of the latest rumor.
“I told you, didn’t I? Of the ten deals I observe closely, eight will always result in transaction news.”
