A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook

Chapter 343 : The Goose That Lays Golden Eggs (1)

After the funeral was over.

I stood there blankly for a while, watching the drone fly away.

[BYE BITCHES♥]

The banner fluttering in the wind as it crossed the sky almost looked… amusing.

But when the drone began to turn back as if it might return, I averted my eyes.

There was no need to watch the banner fall to the ground.

It was time to head back.

Just as I was about to say goodbye to David, Jessie spoke up first.

“Sean, are you heading straight back to New York?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve got a lot of backed-up work.”

“Then why doesn’t Rachel go with you?”

Jessie suddenly whipped her head around and looked at Rachel.

“Didn’t you say you also have a ton of work waiting?”

“Oh, no! I’ll be fine! I can just take a train—”

“But you said it was urgent, right? And since Sean is taking a private jet, there should be plenty of seats.”

A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of Jessie’s mouth.

“Or what? Any particular reason you two can’t go together? Did you fight or something?”

It was pretty blatant.

Like she had caught on to something.

If I refused here, it would definitely raise suspicion.

So I answered as casually as possible.

“Let’s go together. We’re leaving right away.”

“Oh… okay…”

Rachel hesitantly nodded.

But just as we were about to start walking.

I glanced at her outfit and spoke again.

“We’re in a bit of a rush, so we’ll need to leave as is… Will you be alright? You can change on the plane if you like…”

It was something I said without much thought.

But once the words left my mouth, I realized the implication.

Suggesting she change clothes in the private jet—a private space—could sound inappropriate depending on how it’s heard.

“Or you could change here first…”

“Here?”

It was Jessie who cut in.

She pointed behind us.

“Didn’t you say you were in a hurry?”

Following the direction of her finger…

Hundreds of mourners in bright orange suits were swarming toward exits all at once.

All of them clearly searching for the nearest dressing room.

It didn’t exactly look like an easy place to change discreetly.

“Right… It’s better to change on the jet. Shall we go?”

In the end, we got into the limousine still dressed in our bright orange outfits.

But I didn’t have to wait long to regret that decision.

Because the moment we boarded the jet, the flight attendants’ expressions said everything.

They tried so hard to keep their lips pressed together, but tiny smiles still escaped.

‘I guess I can’t blame them.’

I understood.

A man in an orange suit and a woman in a carnival-style dress boarding side by side wasn’t exactly an everyday sight.

And explaining that it was all because of the funeral dress code would have been awkward…

The plane started rolling down the runway.

Once the seatbelt sign turned off after takeoff, I looked toward Rachel.

“You should change first.”

“No, Sean should—”

Silence fell between us.

A strange déjà vu.

It was just like that awkward moment earlier at the hotel that morning.

Taking turns with the shower, acting overly polite with each other.

But didn’t we agree to pretend that never happened?

Pushing the memory away, I answered as neutrally as possible.

“I’ll go first then.”

There was no point insisting otherwise.

This orange suit was driving me insane anyway.

I quickly changed into a black suit in the plane’s changing room.

And when I came out, Rachel stood up with her clothes in hand.

“I’ll go for a moment…”

We silently switched places.

More déjà vu.

I kept my expression blank and sat back down.

She returned soon after, now wearing a tidy gray suit.

But the faint dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.

“You look really tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”

And the second the words escaped, I realized my mistake.

Sleep… was another topic tied to that night.

But Rachel didn’t seem to think about it much and answered normally.

“Oh, yes. Talia's mom was really struggling with the funeral preparations… so I stayed with her.”

“You must’ve been up all night.”

“Pretty much.”

“There’s a bedroom in the back. You can rest there.”

The private jet had a custom-made bed.

Even stuffed with the best horsehair mattress.

But suggesting it felt risky too.

Everything felt like stepping on landmines.

“No, I’m fine. I can manage.”

I could see she was forcing her eyes to stay open.

Whether it was stubbornness or something else entirely… I couldn’t tell.

So we flew on, sitting side by side.

“I’m glad we were able to give Talia the ending she wanted.”

“Yes. It was very… her.”

Conversation stalled out again.

It didn’t flow as naturally as before.

Maybe it was because Rachel was exhausted, but it might’ve also been the careless words I’d brought up.

After a few awkward attempts at conversation, I surrendered first.

“I’ve got some urgent work… Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Yes, of course. I have something to read too.”

We pretended to focus on our tasks.

I stared at the numbers on my laptop screen, and Rachel flipped through her book.

But whether either of us was truly focused was questionable.

Flip. Flip.

The sound of turning pages—something that should’ve been drowned out by the engines—rang unusually loud.

‘I need to concentrate.’

I’d delayed my schedule by two days.

Work had piled up like a mountain.

I forced myself to follow the numbers on the screen.

And then the sound of pages stopped.

I turned my head, and Rachel had fallen asleep with the book resting on her lap.

Her head leaned uncomfortably to the side, and the steady rhythm of her breathing filled the quiet cabin.

It was a familiar sight.

A sigh escaped me.

‘I told her to use the bedroom.’

Her breathing bothered me more than the sound of turning pages.

I wanted to move her to the bedroom, but that would definitely cross a line.

Asking a flight attendant to help would be awkward too.

So I figured I should just take my laptop and work in the bedroom instead.

That was when—

Bzzzt!

My phone buzzed.

I hurried to silence it and turned to Rachel.

She stirred slightly, but thankfully didn’t wake up.

The caller was Dobby.

I carefully got up so as not to make noise, slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, and then answered.

“What’s going on?”

[A visitor just arrived at the office!]

“A visitor?”

If Dobby called me directly, that meant he contacted me secretly while Nicole handled them.

Not a normal guest, then.

“Who is it?”

[The CEO of Editors!]

Editors Therapeutics.

They were one of the top three CRISPR companies I’d been targeting.

Founded in 2013, the company was a spin-off from the Broad Institute, the joint Harvard-MIT research center.

Thanks to that pedigree, they held numerous CRISPR patents from both universities and grew rapidly on that foundation.

Their founders included several groundbreaking pioneers in CRISPR research.

They specialized in treating eye and blood diseases, and recently expanded into solid tumors.

But above all, what stood out was the CEO’s personality.

Kate Moslin, the CEO of Editors.

She was an F1 racing fanatic and frequently compared CRISPR to racing.

CRISPR is thrilling, but demands extreme precision.

The key point hidden in that metaphor…

‘She values speed.’

She wanted to commercialize this technology faster than anyone.

Even if ethics boards hesitated, even if regulatory agencies urged caution, she always hit the gas.

In that regard, Kate could be the perfect partner for someone like me who wanted quick clinical entry.

But there was a problem.

The fact that she came in person said everything—she hated losing control.

Like an F1 driver never handing the wheel over.

‘Then again, they’re all like that.’

Every leading CRISPR company was intensely prideful.

As expected from people who believed they held humanity’s future in their hands.

Yet how a company reacted when that pride was threatened varied wildly.

Especially if someone tried to seize the very technology they considered their lifeblood.

There was no predicting their response.

Even my knowledge from the future couldn’t help here.

In my past life, no one attempted anything so bold as swallowing CRISPR companies whole.

I had to read them and move with incomplete information.

‘Failure is not an option.’

This wasn’t like my earlier investments.

Back then, it was merely about raising capital.

Even if something fell through, there were always other opportunities.

But CRISPR was irreplaceable.

Losing it could make developing any treatment impossible.

‘I can’t afford a single mistake.’

I needed a quiet place to organize my strategy.

So I stayed in the jet’s bedroom, reviewing every detail on Editors once more.

By the time we arrived in New York, Rachel was still fast asleep.

‘Should I wake her?’

I hesitated.

My meeting with Kate would be a psychological battle.

I needed every last bit of focus.

If I woke Rachel now and went through the whole awkward goodbye ritual…

I couldn’t guarantee those lingering thoughts wouldn’t follow me into the negotiation.

“Let her sleep. Make sure she gets enough rest.”

So I quietly instructed the flight attendant and slipped away like I was escaping.

***

I arrived at Pareto Innovation.

Kate Moslin was in my office waiting.

“Mr. Ha?”

As I stepped inside, a middle-aged woman standing by the window turned around.

Short brown hair, navy pantsuit, a petite frame but perfectly straight posture.

Her expression was softer than expected, but her eyes were sharp.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Kate Moslin.”

She smiled and extended a hand.

A businesslike smile—nothing more, nothing less.

“Ha Si-heon,” I introduced myself.

After shaking hands, I guided her to the seating area.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I was coming from Philadelphia.”

“Yes, I know. You attended Talia’s funeral, didn’t you?”

She’d apparently been paying close attention to my recent movements.

Or maybe Talia’s situation was well-known enough that anyone could’ve known.

“Quite a tragic story. It was a rare disease, correct?”

“It’s called Castleman disease. An autoimmune disorder.”

“I see.”

This wasn’t small talk.

She nodded thoughtfully and continued.

“We’re also interested in rare diseases. For us, it’s LCA10.”

“I see.”

When I simply confirmed, a faint smile curled her lips.

“So you’re already familiar with it?”

LCA10—Leber Congenital Amaurosis.

A genetic condition causing severe vision loss or blindness.

And the target of Editors’ first clinical trial.

Unusually, they pursued a rare disease rather than a massive market like cancer or diabetes.

But they had clear reasoning.

‘They’re chasing speed.’

With FDA’s accelerated review, rare disease therapies can be approved faster.

Meaning they prioritized rapid approval over market size.

But that wasn’t the point here.

She was smiling because I recognized the disease immediately.

Proof that I understood Editors’ pipeline.

Calmly, I replied,

“I did attend medical school, after all.”

“Oh, so that’s where you learned about it.”

“I first came across it there, yes.”

“You’ve got a good memory. Most people forget everything after graduating.”

“I hear that a lot.”

A brief silence followed.

Kate’s gray eyes examined me.

She was sizing me up.

I returned the stare.

Calculating the next move.

Who would reveal their cards first?

She took a quick sip of coffee, set the cup down, and spoke before I could.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’ll ask you directly. Are you the one buying up our stock on the market?”