Free The Finder: A Novel by Colin Harrison Page A

transparently motivated by a mix of greed, hedonism, and national pride; older men, especially those who had lived in the time of Mao, found him easy to read, since the satisfaction of all his desires required outward behavior. Every week or so Chen had a nugget to display, and when he didn't, the group reprised the week's news about the companies they followed, speculated upon, or manipulated. If they wanted to take action, their position on the globe helped them. Most American stocks traded thinly in the off-hours when the European and New York stock exchanges were closed, and it was possible to quietly take a sizable position before the main action began hours later on the other side of the globe. The fact that Chen was mining data directly out of New YorkCity appealed to the nationalistic aggressions of his Chinese investors. To a man, they hated America, or said they did.
    A most agreeable business, cheating the rule of law and the play-book of Western capitalism.
    Chen and his coconspirators knew what they were doing, too. China had first allowed the public trading of stock in the nineties, and so the older men all had years of experience feeling the whims and drift and anxieties of markets. They had reached a level of intuitiveness that rested upon having had fortunes lost and larger ones won. In recent years stock market mania had reached deep into the Chinese middle class, and the opportunities to pump and dump stocks were now routine. The government's warnings and attempted restrictions on the frenzied trading of stocks had only served to embolden that same behavior, for the Chinese people knew that good times were often followed by bad. Life was luck—but you didn't wait around to be lucky, not when a thousand others wanted what you had. Thus did desire in the many create opportunity for the few. Very often Chen and his group determined how to first make money off a stock against the Western markets and then how to make money off it again, a second time, within the Chinese markets. Together they discussed the bets to be made, very often finishing the discussion with the ceremonial ringing of a small brass gong, a sound that reaffirmed their Chinese culture and mocked the opening bell that would start the trading on Wall Street hours hence.
    After this moment, a great feast followed in one of the city's private clubs, at which drinking was accompanied by the attentions of the dozen or so girls brought in not only to help the men forget their anxieties about having just committed millions of hard-currency dollars but also to confirm their impression of themselves as masters of all they surveyed. There was one girl particularly skilled at manipulating the back of her throat and her tongue simultaneously. Jin Li had heard her brother discuss with great excitement this seemingly rare and remarkable ability. The girl, who had arrived in Shanghai penniless but quickly achieved significant wealth, was not particularly beautiful, but her services were highly sought after and the men had been known tobid drunkenly against each other until one man persevered past any reasonable limit and purchased his pleasure. The lucky fellow then retired to a private room with his consort.
    Pigs,
thought Jin Li, fucking pigs, all of them. And here I am, over in America, helping them do such things, and in trouble. She could hate herself for it—almost, except that, yes, she had agreed to her brother's proposition and had even explained to him how she was the best person to carry it off. She would do it for their family, she'd said, for their parents. And, to be fair, Chen had risked a great deal. As the Mexicans said, he had
huevos,
eggs—balls. The start-up money for the project required nearly $6 million and her brother had gone to a series of investors, describing the scheme—nothing on paper, of course—using terms either oblique or specific, depending on his audience. Yet the scheme had been quickly funded. So quickly, in fact,