Chapter 26: Looking for a Brokerage Firm

New York Stock Exchange, abbreviated as NYSE, is located at 80 Broad Street, on the southern side of the corner of Wall Street.

The next morning, after hastily finishing breakfast at the hotel, Carter came here alone. Out of respect for "Gotham," Carter had his handgun strapped to his waist, albeit covered by the hem of his shirt. However, in the summer heat, such a bulging item couldn't be easily concealed.

Walking down Wall Street, Carter not only attracted the curious glances of the suit-clad elites on the hot day but also drew the attention of the NYPD officers patrolling the streets.

As a thorn in the side of the National Rifle Association, and in one of the top three least gun-friendly states, New York, even though the police had verified Carter's concealed carry permit, confirming that he meant no harm, they still assigned a group of officers to discreetly tail him, ready to intervene at any sign of trouble.

Ignoring the two policemen behind him, or rather, enjoying the free protection provided by carrying a gun, Carter strode purposefully towards the New York Stock Exchange.

Compared to NASDAQ, established in 1971, the NYSE was the real heavyweight in securities trading these days. Before even entering the trading floor, Carter heard the bustling noise from inside. It was only 9 a.m. Eastern Time, thirty minutes before the market opened, and yet the exchange was already abuzz with activity.

Amidst the throng of stockbrokers, Carter glanced at the closing prices of major companies from the previous day displayed on the big board. After a brief observation, he turned and left. With three stock trading floors and one bond trading floor at the NYSE, it was impossible to remember everything, and besides, the brokerage firms on Wall Street would keep real-time updates. Carter knew that if he wanted to invest in stocks, he couldn't bypass the brokerage firms.

Next, Carter wandered over to the Nasdaq Stock Market. Founded in 1971, NASDAQ was not only the first electronic stock exchange but also considered the younger sibling compared to the NYSE. With only a few companies listed on NASDAQ and a focus on over-the-counter trading for non-listed companies, Carter found the difference between this exchange and the NYSE wasn't significant.

After a brief observation, Carter lost interest in touring. His next task was to find a reliable brokerage firm, open an account with a responsible stockbroker that suited him, and then start studying the market to prepare for action.

However, after visiting three or four brokerage firms along the way, Carter felt disappointed. His experiences at these brokerage firms were almost identical: he would walk into the reception area, state his purpose, and then face skepticism due to his young age. After presenting a deposit certificate issued by the Atlanta Federal Savings Bank, skepticism would turn into ingratiating smiles, and Carter would be ushered into a VIP room, offered a cup of coffee.

Bombarded with suggestive remarks from the attractive receptionists, and then faced with a slick, slick-backed salesman with a loud voice, Carter found the situation reminiscent of his past experiences trying to buy a used car. No matter how bad the condition of the car was or which dealership he went to, the salesmen all followed the same script: "Sweetie, the car's in perfect condition, air conditioning's icy, give it some gas and it'll fly."

Facing a group of people who clearly underestimated him, Carter felt helpless. Initially politely excusing himself, he eventually started walking away without a word. Nevertheless, the morning was wasted.

Returning to the hotel at noon, Carter took Melissa out for a breath of fresh air and lunch. He promised her another dress in exchange for her agreeing to wait patiently for three days until he finished his business and could take her shopping for clothes.

In the afternoon, Carter returned to Wall Street. This time, the two policemen who had been tailing him were nowhere to be seen. Whether they received another call or felt he was a "law-abiding citizen" and decided not to continue surveillance was unknown. Their absence didn't bother Carter much; he found that the security situation in New York wasn't as bad as he had imagined, and besides, he was armed, so safety wasn't much of a concern.

The search for a brokerage firm was still long. By three o'clock in the afternoon, with the NYSE about to close, most of the brokerage firms continued to treat him like a lamb to be slaughtered. Every person regarded Carter as an easy target for investment, and they didn't even bother to conceal their intentions.

The result was mutual disappointment. After visiting more than a dozen brokerage firms, Carter sat on a bench by the roadside, sighing with some concern. After lighting a cigarette, he hoped that things would turn out well after this smoke break.

Two minutes later, after discarding the burned-out cigarette butt, Carter stood up again and walked towards the next brokerage firm: Kildare-Pibrody & Co. This brokerage firm didn't have a good reputation in the future—not bad, but rather infamous.

In the future, there was a bestselling book called "The Nest of Thieves," which recounted stories of financial crimes committed through insider trading and other means in the 1980s financial markets. In this story, the nest of thieves was said to be Kildare-Pibrody & Co.

Carter hadn't delved into the book deeply in his past life; he just vaguely knew about it, so he had been deliberately avoiding this brokerage firm during his search. However, after running almost all over Wall Street and not finding his preferred brokerage firm, Carter had no choice but to reluctantly walk into Kildare & Co.

Contrary to other opulently decorated brokerage firms, Kildare & Co. seemed rather austere. Of course, Carter would later learn that their headquarters were actually in Manhattan, and this place on Wall Street was just a branch office, so they hadn't spent much effort on decoration.

"Hello, I would like to find a reliable stockbroker, specializing in stocks and funds. Here's my proof of assets. Could you please see if there's a suitable broker to introduce to me?"

Walking into Kildare & Co., Carter promptly took out his proof of assets, before the receptionist had a chance to greet him. He laid out his request succinctly, then waited quietly for her response.

"Ah, certainly. Please follow me, I'll call a broker to come and meet you right away. Sir, may I have your name?"

"I'm Carter, Carter Black."

The receptionist was thrown off guard by Carter's coldness and directness. After hurriedly pouring a cup of coffee, she dashed out of the room. Moments later, a man in his forties or fifties, with a touch of Mediterranean flair on his head, pushed open the door to the VIP room.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Carter. I'm Julian Robertson."