A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook

Chapter 342 : Talia (12)

There was only one reason I conducted the research.

To identify the genetic defect in WFOXO3A.

In other words, this was a process of pinpointing exactly which part was damaged and how.

And as a result—

I got the information I needed.

Now it was time to fix that defect directly.

The tool to use here was CRISPR.

A.k.a., the “gene scissors.”

But to use these scissors, I had to move the companies that owned the technology.

There are three companies currently leading CRISPR innovation.

CRISPR Medical, Editors, and Intelligencia.

“Which one should I go after?”

Honestly, it didn’t matter.

I just had to pick the one that would execute what I wanted the fastest.

The problem was… none of them would step up willingly.

CRISPR clinical trials require massive amounts of funding.

Naturally, if you’re going to pour in billions of dollars, you’d target diseases with a big market—like diabetes or cancer.

A super-rare disease like Castleman’s? Nowhere near their interest.

If they won’t do what you want?

Then you force them.

The most certain method—swallow the entire company.

In other words, an acquisition.

If I become the owner, everything gets solved.

Because then I can say, “Forget profitability. Focus everything on developing a treatment for Castleman’s.”

But…

“There’s no way they’ll let themselves be acquired without a fight.”

CRISPR technology is one of the most promising biotech fields today.

Scissors that can freely rewrite the blueprint of life.

Used properly, they could eliminate diseases at their root, reverse aging, and redefine the limits of the human species.

Who would sell that kind of weapon easily?

So a friendly acquisition was impossible from the start.

Only one option remained.

“A hostile takeover.”

Ignore their will and seize it by force.

Now that I had decided that, the next question was—

“Who will be the target?”

It was still too early to make a rash decision.

Above all else, what mattered most to me was speed.

So—who could complete the technology the fastest?

I needed to watch a little longer.

For now, I reached out to all three companies.

While thoroughly hiding the identity of the Cure Fund.

Through an SPV in the Cayman Islands, a holding company in Luxembourg, an investment fund in Malta, and various brokers, I quietly bought up just enough shares to avoid detection.

But it seemed they had noticed.

[Looks like they called a board meeting.]

“You sure?”

Ding!

A photo arrived.

Satellite images Dobby sent.

On Wall Street, commercial satellite imaging is just business as usual.

You estimate revenue by counting cars in the parking lot, and measure factory operation with thermal imaging.

Totally legal intelligence gathering.

Anyway, the photo showed black sedans lined up outside one company’s headquarters.

[Luxury cars arrived at the same time. No official schedule today.]

Definitely the signal of an emergency board meeting.

And the key fact: they were meeting in person.

Meaning the issue was too sensitive for a video call.

[What do we do?]

“For now, we wait. We expected to get noticed anyway.”

A perfect surprise attack was impossible.

You can’t completely hide share accumulation.

When someone starts buying up large amounts of stock, the market always reacts.

The share prices of my target companies had already been steadily rising.

Plus, I had openly mentioned CRISPR back in Korea.

It was only a matter of time before they realized I was the buyer.

[Shouldn’t we hurry? When are you coming?]

He was right—we needed to move soon.

And yet…

I hesitated before answering.

“The day after tomorrow.”

Because there was still something I had to do here.

Talia’s funeral.

She had one last request related to it.

—If we leave it to a funeral home, they’ll do it half-heartedly. Sean, Rachel—can’t you two handle it yourselves? It’s a dying girl’s wish!

A promise is a promise.

***

Talia’s mother was a devout Catholic, but Talia adamantly rejected a traditional funeral.

'Funerals are too gloomy, right? I want mine to be like a party!'

—I’m not getting married or anything, so think of this as the replacement, okay?

In the end, even her mother raised a white flag.

So Talia’s funeral was to be held as a party.

She even hired a party planner specifically to run her own funeral.

The planner handled the detailed arrangements, but the job of supervising execution fell to me and Rachel.

So, I arrived at the venue earlier than everyone else.

From afar, Jessie spotted me and waved.

She looked at me for a moment, covered her mouth, and tried not to laugh.

“Sean—pfft! You’re here?”

She tried to hold it in, but the laughter burst out anyway.

It didn’t hurt my feelings.

Because I had already chuckled when I saw David standing right next to her.

It was because of the suits we were wearing.

David and I were both dressed in bright orange suits.

A strict order from Talia.

—No black! That would be disrespectful to the deceased! I’ll be lying there in black, and if the guests are in black too… that’s like wearing a white gown in front of the bride at a wedding!

—I have to be the only one in black… so I’ll pick the color!

The chosen color: orange.

For the record—orange accessories alone were forbidden.

—At least 70% of the outfit must be orange! Got it?

She was dying—what else could we do?

So for the first time in my life, I wore a fully orange suit.

It felt like my skin might break out in hives, but I had no choice.

Anyway.

Jessie, now composed, said:

“I’ve never seen you dressed like this. Still… you don’t look like a circus performer like David does. Expensive clothes really do make a difference, huh?”

No.

Even a luxury brand cannot make orange look dignified.

Then Jessie waved over my shoulder.

“Rachel…!”

I turned—and there she was.

Our first meeting since that morning.

She, too, followed the dress code—a bright orange dress.

One shoulder was exposed.

Her white shoulder—always hidden beneath modest blouses—was now completely revealed.

The curve from her shoulder to her neck flowed down smoothly.

I hurriedly dropped my gaze.

The lower part of her dress flared like a can-can skirt.

Carnival-level flamboyance.

Rachel looked visibly embarrassed.

“I tried to find something a little more modest, but…”

It was an impossible mission.

Dignity and the color orange simply cannot coexist.

“So this was her plan…”

Orange is a color that refuses sadness.

On a man, it turns him into a clown.

On a woman, it turns her into a festival dancer.

All very intentional.

“Here, this is Talia’s checklist.”

At that moment, Rachel walked over, phone in hand.

When she stopped right next to me, I briefly wondered if this was an appropriate distance.

Was she too close compared to usual?

Or was she actually standing farther away than she normally would…?

Honestly, I had no idea.

The only thing certain was that Rachel looked much calmer than I’d expected.

“Huh. That’s unexpected.”

Given her personality, I’d thought the awkwardness would show on her face right away, but it didn’t.

She was a little stiffer than usual.

But compared to what I’d imagined, she was acting way more natural…

“Sean?”

Our eyes met, she asked, and I turned my gaze back to the screen.

“Let’s split the work. I’ll handle checking outfits. Rachel, you take care of the sound…”

I divided the roles in a way that would minimize our paths overlapping.

Then I headed for the entrance.

My role was to check the guests’ outfits.

A huge sign had already been set up at the entrance.

Most of the guests had come dressed in black, so they were understandably flustered when they saw it.

“I don’t own anything orange…?”

It was the reaction we’d expected.

Naturally, we’d prepared a solution.

“You can rent something. Please head to the fitting room over there.”

A temporary dressing room had been set up in the room next to the hall.

From shirts and jackets to scarves.

The sizes and styles were all over the place, but every last item was orange.

“What on earth is this…”

People coming out of the dressing room burst into laughter when they saw each other.

They all looked awkward in a color they’d probably never worn in their lives.

But once everyone realized they were in the same boat, the atmosphere actually grew warm and friendly.

“Just keep doing it like this.”

I gave instructions to the staff member stationed at the entrance.

In truth, they were already handling everything just fine.

I was only there in case someone refused.

But now that the mood of full participation had settled in, there was no reason for me to stay posted there.

I went back into the main hall.

It was a sight to behold.

Hundreds of people were drenched in orange.

It looked like the entire Dutch national soccer fanbase had gathered in one place.

Orange balloons packed the ceiling, and banners Talia had prepared hung along the walls.

On one side, a professional filming crew was moving around busily.

That, too, had been Talia’s order.

She wanted to leave a DVD as her final work.

—Otherwise, Mom will only remember me as that poor kid lying in a hospital bed. I need to forcibly overwrite that memory.

—I’m leaving evidence on DVD—so that my funeral is so over-the-top she forgets all about my time in the ward.

As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on the DJ booth.

That’s right—this funeral even had a DJ.

Right then, Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” started playing, its “having a real good time” opening filling the room.

The lyrics couldn’t have been less appropriate for a funeral.

Which made it perfectly Talia.

Around then, when I turned my head—

Rachel seemed to be discussing the playlist with the DJ.

'Should I go over there?'

No, that would feel unnatural too.

What was the point of splitting up the tasks then?

The whole idea was to keep our paths from overlapping.

Besides, it’s not like that was something Rachel couldn’t handle on her own.

'In times like this, I should just act like I usually do…'

Then it hit me that the usual me probably would’ve been standing right next to her.

I shook off that thought and started walking—to say my final goodbye to Talia.

In the center of the hall, the casket was set.

The color of the casket was… hot pink, of all things.

Around it, orange flowers were piled up like little mountains.

It was bizarre.

But she’d planned it like this, fully aware, so what could we say?

The casket was closed.

Instead, a framed photo stood in front of it.

Below it was a sign.

What followed was just as unconventional.

Instead of a traditional eulogy, a huge screen played videos from Talia’s bucket list.

The “Pretty Woman”-style shopping spree, her face on a Times Square billboard, the prom held in the hospital…

Each one had once broken her personal view records.

“Sniff…”

Sniffling sounds rose from all over the room.

But every time, staff members rushed over and mercilessly held up a tablet in front of whoever was crying.

<$50 fine – Please pay now.>

It was the payment screen for the fine.

“Wait… this was for real?”

A middle-aged man asked in disbelief, and the staffer pointed to the message on the screen.

So quite a lot of people actually swiped their cards.

Thanks to that, the research fund for Castleman’s disease kept climbing in real time.

But no one seemed offended.

How could anyone stay mad after reading that?

Instead, small bursts of laughter popped up all over.

“All right, it’s almost time to really send Talia off.”

The final step was the procession.

Time to carry the casket to the grave.

Even this part was uniquely Talia.

“All you have to do is follow what the music tells you to do. You’ll recognize it as soon as you hear it.”

As soon as the host finished speaking, music poured out of the speakers.

Talia’s pick was “We Will Rock You” by Queen.

As soon as the beat kicked in, the guests began stomping their feet and clapping one by one.

Thump-thump-clap.

Thump-thump-clap.

It felt awkward at first, but soon hundreds of people were moving in perfect rhythm.

When the song hit its peak, everyone shouted together.

“We will, we will rock you!”

The hall shook from the roar.

And the pink casket moved forward through a sea of orange.

An elderly woman beside me muttered in confusion.

“Is this really okay?”

Any sense of funeral solemnity had completely vanished.

In its place was the energy of a rock concert.

It was as if they’d set out to destroy every last bit of traditional funeral decorum.

But it still wasn’t over.

When we arrived at the graveyard, the staff began handing things out.

“You see the little string you pull, right?”

What they were passing out were party poppers.

The small kind you’d usually see at a birthday party.

“When you hear the signal, just pull the string.”

After the casket was laid in the ground and the final prayer ended, the host shouted—

“One, two, three!”

Hundreds of poppers exploded at once.

Colorful confetti filled the sky.

And then—

Vrrrrr—

A small drone appeared from somewhere.

It was towing a huge orange banner.

[BYE BITCHES♥]

The banner drifted lazily across the sky above the grave.

The mourners were struck speechless—and then all burst out laughing.

“Seriously… right up to the very end…”

At that sigh from someone in the crowd, everyone nodded.

She’d stayed true to herself until the very last possible moment.

It was, in every sense, the most Talia-esque farewell imaginable.