Chapter 4 · Don't Touch My Coffee

I stared into Grace's eyes, making sure she caught every word.

I said, "I'm begging you. Seriously, do not ever touch my energy drinks again. Touch them, and you're dead."

Grace shrank back with a sulky look, grabbing Fiona's arm like a kid who just got scolded.

She whined, "Why are you being so harsh? I know how to handle things.

"Alright, I won't touch them. My kindness is totally wasted on you. If you keel over at your desk, don't expect me to lift a finger."

Fiona shooed her away, clearly annoyed.

"Alright, that's enough. Get back to your work already and stop hanging around trying to be noticed," she snapped.

I headed back to my desk.

Just to be safe, I grabbed a roll of wide tape.

I taped the three Red Bulls and the bottle of ice-cold water down to the corner of my desk like my life depended on it.

I kept wrapping until even scissors would struggle to cut through.

Then I slapped a piece of white paper on top and wrote in huge, angry red letters, "Touch and die!"

Once I was done, I settled back into my chair.

It was 12:30 am. Thirty minutes left until the data drop.

Exhaustion washed over me like a tidal wave, and my mind was turning to mush.

I popped open a Red Bull and gulped down half of it.

The cold rush slid down my throat, snapping me awake just a bit.

I told myself I had to hang out, get through the data release, close out my trades, and then it would be over.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and decided to take a quick ten-second breather.

I promised myself just ten seconds.

Grace was still hanging around by the couch.

She shot a look at my worn-out face, then eyed the Red Bulls taped down to my desk corner like a fortress.

"She's got a death wish," Grace mumbled to herself.

She got up and headed for the trading room's control panel.

In her mind, I was basically committing suicide by pushing myself so hard, so she decided she had to go all out to "save" me.

She didn't touch my drinks.

Instead, she hit the controls for the central AC.

She switched off the icy 60-degree blast.

Then, she set it to 82 degrees on heat mode.

But she didn't stop there. She pulled out a fancy little glass bottle from her bag.

It was a super-potent sleep-inducing essential oil she'd spent a fortune on, loaded with herbal extracts and pure melatonin.

She walked over to the humidifier next to my desk, twisted off the cap, and poured in half the bottle.

Then she hit the button to blast the mist at full power.

Once she was done, Grace retreated to the couch, looking pleased with herself, and pulled a blanket over her.

"Just sleep, you'll be fine after a nap. Money isn't worth losing your life over," Grace said.

With my eyes closed, I had no clue the room was changing around me.

A few minutes later, a stuffy, warm breeze hit my face.

The humidifier pumped out a dense white mist, carrying a strange, cloyingly sweet scent that quickly wrapped around my entire workspace.

I took in my first breath of the oil-laced air.

My last line of defense deep in my brain just crumbled.

My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead.

I suddenly opened my eyes, reaching for the Red Bull at the corner of my desk.

My hand reached out, but I couldn't muster any strength at all.

The candlestick chart on my screen started doubling and blurring, the red and green colors blending together into a fuzzy mess.

"I'm so sleepy..." I mumbled.

I bit down hard on my tongue, hard enough to draw blood.

The metallic taste spread through my mouth, and the sharp sting managed to clear my head for a moment.

I saw the thick white mist pouring out of the humidifier and caught a whiff of that heavy, sleep-inducing essential oil.

I fought to stand up, trying to reach the humidifier and shut it off.

But the 82-degree heat mixed with the concentrated sleep formula had already shut down my senses.

My body crashed back into the chair, heavy and helpless.

My fingers slipped off the mouse, limp and lifeless.

At the very last moment before I lost consciousness, I saw the time in the corner of my screen flip to 1 am.

The NFP numbers had just dropped.

I was shaken awake by someone violently grabbing me.

A sharp pain shot through my neck, and my ears were ringing with a piercing scream.

"Wake up! Wake up, dammit!"

I jolted awake, my vision still fuzzy.

The trading room lights were blinding.

Fiona was yanking me by the collar, shaking me like a rag doll.

Her face was contorted, eyes bloodshot, looking like a desperate beast.

I turned my head to look at the computer screen.

The whole screen was painted red.

A massive red candlestick had crashed straight through every support level.

Right in the center of the screen, a glaring red pop-up box appeared: [Insufficient margin. System has forced liquidation.]

Millions of dollars were on the line, all riding on ten times the leverage.

Chapter 4

I stared into Grace's eyes, making sure she caught every word.

I said, "I'm begging you. Seriously, do not ever touch my energy drinks again. Touch them, and you're dead."

Grace shrank back with a sulky look, grabbing Fiona's arm like a kid who just got scolded.

She whined, "Why are you being so harsh? I know how to handle things.

"Alright, I won't touch them. My kindness is totally wasted on you. If you keel over at your desk, don't expect me to lift a finger."

Fiona shooed her away, clearly annoyed.

"Alright, that's enough. Get back to your work already and stop hanging around trying to be noticed," she snapped.

I headed back to my desk.

Just to be safe, I grabbed a roll of wide tape.

I taped the three Red Bulls and the bottle of ice-cold water down to the corner of my desk like my life depended on it.

I kept wrapping until even scissors would struggle to cut through.

Then I slapped a piece of white paper on top and wrote in huge, angry red letters, "Touch and die!"

Once I was done, I settled back into my chair.

It was 12:30 am. Thirty minutes left until the data drop.

Exhaustion washed over me like a tidal wave, and my mind was turning to mush.

I popped open a Red Bull and gulped down half of it.

The cold rush slid down my throat, snapping me awake just a bit.

I told myself I had to hang out, get through the data release, close out my trades, and then it would be over.

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and decided to take a quick ten-second breather.

I promised myself just ten seconds.

Grace was still hanging around by the couch.

She shot a look at my worn-out face, then eyed the Red Bulls taped down to my desk corner like a fortress.

"She's got a death wish," Grace mumbled to herself.

She got up and headed for the trading room's control panel.

In her mind, I was basically committing suicide by pushing myself so hard, so she decided she had to go all out to "save" me.

She didn't touch my drinks.

Instead, she hit the controls for the central AC.

She switched off the icy 60-degree blast.

Then, she set it to 82 degrees on heat mode.

But she didn't stop there. She pulled out a fancy little glass bottle from her bag.

It was a super-potent sleep-inducing essential oil she'd spent a fortune on, loaded with herbal extracts and pure melatonin.

She walked over to the humidifier next to my desk, twisted off the cap, and poured in half the bottle.

Then she hit the button to blast the mist at full power.

Once she was done, Grace retreated to the couch, looking pleased with herself, and pulled a blanket over her.

"Just sleep, you'll be fine after a nap. Money isn't worth losing your life over," Grace said.

With my eyes closed, I had no clue the room was changing around me.

A few minutes later, a stuffy, warm breeze hit my face.

The humidifier pumped out a dense white mist, carrying a strange, cloyingly sweet scent that quickly wrapped around my entire workspace.

I took in my first breath of the oil-laced air.

My last line of defense deep in my brain just crumbled.

My eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead.

I suddenly opened my eyes, reaching for the Red Bull at the corner of my desk.

My hand reached out, but I couldn't muster any strength at all.

The candlestick chart on my screen started doubling and blurring, the red and green colors blending together into a fuzzy mess.

"I'm so sleepy..." I mumbled.

I bit down hard on my tongue, hard enough to draw blood.

The metallic taste spread through my mouth, and the sharp sting managed to clear my head for a moment.

I saw the thick white mist pouring out of the humidifier and caught a whiff of that heavy, sleep-inducing essential oil.

I fought to stand up, trying to reach the humidifier and shut it off.

But the 82-degree heat mixed with the concentrated sleep formula had already shut down my senses.

My body crashed back into the chair, heavy and helpless.

My fingers slipped off the mouse, limp and lifeless.

At the very last moment before I lost consciousness, I saw the time in the corner of my screen flip to 1 am.

The NFP numbers had just dropped.

I was shaken awake by someone violently grabbing me.

A sharp pain shot through my neck, and my ears were ringing with a piercing scream.

"Wake up! Wake up, dammit!"

I jolted awake, my vision still fuzzy.

The trading room lights were blinding.

Fiona was yanking me by the collar, shaking me like a rag doll.

Her face was contorted, eyes bloodshot, looking like a desperate beast.

I turned my head to look at the computer screen.

The whole screen was painted red.

A massive red candlestick had crashed straight through every support level.

Right in the center of the screen, a glaring red pop-up box appeared: [Insufficient margin. System has forced liquidation.]

Millions of dollars were on the line, all riding on ten times the leverage.