A Wall Street Genius’s Final Investment Playbook

Chapter 345 : The Goose That Lays Golden Eggs (3)

At this point, the three frontrunners in CRISPR technology are clear.

We’ve already met with Editors, so now it’s time for the other two to make their move.

But they had gone completely silent for a week.

Tak, tadadak!

The dice rolled across the desk.

Its thirteen faces traced an uneven trajectory before coming to a stop.

'It’s taking too long.'

Not a good sign.

For me, the most important factor was time.

In that sense, even though they were hostile, Editors showing up first almost made them the preferable option.

Except…

'Their technology just isn’t enough.'

All three companies are “geese that lay golden eggs,” but the way they lay those eggs is different.

Editors is a goose desperate to lay the first golden egg.

Their strategy is to seize the market by commercializing first.

So they chose focus and specialization.

Their first clinical target, LCA10, was selected for that exact reason.

LCA10 may be a rare disease with little market value, but it was perfect for a speed race.

The eye is an “immune privileged zone,” meaning it has a lower risk of rejecting foreign substances, reducing CRISPR-related side effects.

And the disease only requires editing one target gene—CEP290—making the process easy and the therapeutic effect simple to prove.

'All you have to check is whether they regain vision.'

Every condition in LCA10 is optimized for a fast approval.

So could Editors really handle Castleman disease?

'Not likely.'

Castleman’s core pathology is a complex “immune storm” engulfing the lymph nodes.

If you use CRISPR under those conditions, the hypersensitized immune system is highly likely to trigger a severe rejection response.

And Castleman involves far more than just one or two gene edits.

Editors, with their specialization in simple, fast approvals, could never handle that level of complexity.

It would be like asking a sprinter to run a marathon.

'They probably have no intention of trying anyway.'

Even ignoring complexity, a major risk remains.

Castleman’s biggest risk is time.

To prove efficacy, you’d need months or even years of relapse-free observation.

That clashes completely with a company obsessed with rapid approval.

'Which leaves the remaining two as the stronger candidates…'

CRISPR Medical’s strategy is to “build a factory that produces golden eggs.”

Instead of chasing the glory of being first, they want a system capable of producing golden eggs steadily over time.

Rather than focusing on one disease, they aim to build a broad platform that can apply to many conditions.

More precisely—remove a patient’s cells, edit them ex vivo with precision, then reinfuse them.

Put simply?

—Give us your goose, we’ll make it lay golden eggs for you, then send the eggs back.

'From a purely technical standpoint, they are the most suitable choice.'

Accuracy, complexity handling, customized control—

They excel in all three areas.

But we still hadn’t heard a thing from them.

Then, something unexpected happened.

“Sean, Intelligentsia is requesting a meeting…”

Nicole, my assistant, informed me.

The third target was inviting me to their headquarters.

The official reason was a “strategic briefing session with a global investor interested in their technology.”

The meeting was in three days.

'Inviting me to their home turf, huh…'

They clearly wanted home-ground advantage.

Of course, scouting them in person wasn’t a bad idea for me either.

'Still a bit disappointing…'

Among geese, Intelligentsia is more like a merchant selling the recipe.

They claim: We can make your goose lay golden eggs—we’ll sell you the secret.

Superficially similar to CRISPR Medical, but with one key difference:

Intelligentsia focuses on in vivo gene editing.

They inject the editing tool directly into the body, and the editing happens inside the cells on-site.

But in vivo is an uncontrollable environment—

Immune reactions, delivery routes, tissue specificity, unexpected off-target effects… a minefield of variables.

Naturally, accuracy and safety take a hit.

In cooking terms:

CRISPR Medical is a restaurant that personally prepares your meal to perfection.

Intelligentsia hands you the recipe and expects you to cook it yourself.

So of course, I preferred CRISPR Medical.

The problem was that among the three, they were the slowest to move.

But with a terminal diagnosis, I couldn’t afford to wait forever…

'I’ll give them one more day. After that, I’ll go to them.'

Just as I made that decision—

An uninvited guest arrived.

“It’s been a while.”

Pierce.

We never meet privately.

Which meant he was here officially.

Pierce belonged to Goldman.

As a broker, he was here to relay someone’s message.

“I’m here on behalf of CRISPR Medical.”

Not a good sign.

They were refusing to meet me face-to-face.

Instead, they sent an intermediary.

“They don’t want any kind of collaboration with you.”

***

I led Pierce to my CEO office.

Once he sat down on the sofa, I smiled politely and asked:

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Just a standard courtesy line, but Pierce paused—and smirked.

“You offering me something? That’s rare.”

Was it?

Thinking back, every time he’d visited, I had listened to his business and promptly thrown him out.

Understandable, given that at a previous meal together in Bluehill—when I was trying to repay a “favor”—I learned firsthand that Pierce had zero respect for food.

Ever since, I’d vowed never to share a table with him again.

But today was different.

I walked to the small bar in my office, retrieved a whiskey bottle, and poured slowly.

A single malt released for Tomdu’s 120th anniversary.

A masterpiece aged half a century in sherry oak—deep espresso and baked apple aroma, with a beautifully long finish…

My hand paused.

'He’s just going to gulp it down like cheap liquor.'

His ruined palate didn’t deserve this drink.

But I pushed the thought aside and finished pouring.

'Right now, information is worth far more.'

CRISPR Medical was my top target.

Understanding the CEO’s personality and philosophy was crucial—yet they refused even a first meeting.

Pierce was my only remaining window to information.

I handed him the glass with a wry smile.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect such a strong wall. I figured they’d at least sit down with me once.”

A big-name investor expressing interest typically guarantees a CEO meeting.

To get rejected coldly through a messenger?

That was a deliberate diplomatic barrier.

Like someone slamming a steel door shut the moment you say hello.

“It’s not personal. They simply don’t want any record of having met you.”

…

'Isn’t that worse?'

“I don’t understand why.”

I feigned a hurt expression, and Pierce looked at me like I was insane.

“You seriously don’t know your own reputation?”

“I’d say my public image is better than the industry average. My track record isn’t bad either.”

“Track record? TRACK RECORD? When someone gets involved with you, countries collapse, presidents get involved, and a hundred billion dollars disappears into thin air!”

Well… he wasn’t wrong.

There were still things that felt unfair to me.

“Haven’t I also shown enough positive influence to more than offset all that?”

I was the so-called saint of retail investors, the one who exposed scams, blocked the exploitation of predatory corporations, and warned of systemic, country-level risks before they blew up.

I was the architect of the AI industry that now held the keys to the next generation of technological hegemony.

And I was the one moving a healthcare fund to build a world free from disease.

On top of that, I’d recently been fulfilling Talia’s bucket list, earning myself the image of a “benevolent patron.”

And yet they only listened to the bad rumors and avoided even meeting me.

From my perspective, it was nothing but unfair.

But when I pointed that out, Pierce just shook his head and knocked back his drink in one go.

…!

He didn’t savor the aroma or the color at all.

A whiskey worthy of being called a work of art disappeared as nothing more than a smooth liquid sliding down his throat.

I’d expected it, but it was still heartbreaking.

“Contact with you is the equivalent of a super-massive hurricane hitting the company from above. The moment word gets out they met you, the existing shareholders will be slamming the panic button.”

“That’s a bit much…”

As my voice trailed off, Pierce drove the nail in.

“Just being near you invites chaos, so they’ve decided it’s safest to keep their distance.”

They were basically treating me like some kind of walking plague.

Not that I particularly felt offended.

It just made me think that things were going to get annoying on multiple fronts.

'I’ve gotten too big.'

Put another way, I’d “won” a little too much.

At a glance, that sounds like a good thing.

But champions have their own kind of dilemma.

The more wins you stack, the more wary everyone else becomes.

If you keep winning like this, eventually no one will want to step into the same ring as you.

To beat someone, you first need a fight, but if no one will fight you, the match itself becomes impossible.

And if I deliberately pick someone from a lower weight class?

That stops being a fight and just looks like bullying.

'Well, I don’t think we’re quite at that stage yet.'

Editors, for one, was still bold enough to declare war on me.

Anyway.

Right now, there was something more important than that.

Information.

I needed concrete, decisive intel on CRISPR Medical’s disposition.

From what I’d gathered so far…

'Extreme risk aversion.'

If Editors was a racer, then CRISPR Medical had the temperament of a turtle.

The slightest hint of danger, and they’d pull their head into their shell and refuse to come out.

'If they’re like that, can I even persuade them…?'

I sighed inwardly.

My usual persuasion style was to pair a carrot with a stick.

But if there’s an intermediary in the way, the stick never lands properly.

No matter how hard I beat on Pierce, the CEO wouldn’t feel a thing, because he’s not the one getting hit.

In this situation, direct “persuasion” would have to wait.

For now, it was better to quietly wave the carrot first.

“I’m thinking of an investment on the order of one billion dollars.”

At that level, I wasn’t just a big investor; I was capital itself.

It was the kind of number I could throw out because the Cure Fund was a hundred-billion-dollar fund.

And on top of that—

“We’re focused on building future infrastructure, so unlike most investors, we’re not chasing short-term returns. We’re fine waiting twenty years to exit.”

An investor who doesn’t nag you about timelines.

That’s the dream condition for biotech companies.

But Pierce didn’t bite.

“There’s no such thing as money without conditions, is there? If you’re not pressing them on time, you’re just going to demand something else.”

He stared straight at me and spoke as if delivering a verdict.

“If you can guarantee that you won’t interfere at all in their trials or projects, I might be able to persuade them to at least talk.”

“That sounds less like an investment and more like a donation.”

“I thought you’d picked up that hobby recently.”

“That’s strictly reserved for people who actually need it. Anyway, that’s their position?”

He was way too relaxed.

And there’s only one situation where a biotech company can afford to act that nonchalant.

“Sounds like their cash flow is pretty comfortable.”

For a biotech firm with no products, cash is literally survival.

Every moment they’re burning it—on trials, on development, on keeping their people.

To secure that fuel, they usually swallow terrible terms.

But CRISPR Medical was laid-back.

That meant they had a pretty thick cushion.

'There has to be a ceiling on how much is coming in, though…'

They didn’t have a real product line yet, so no investor in their right mind would keep pouring money in forever.

Which left only one answer.

'Their burn rate is low.'

If their cost structure made development expenses a non-issue, then this level of bravado made sense.

“Must be a solid partner backing them.”

New biotech firms almost always partner with big pharma.

And that partner will often burn development money on the startup’s behalf.

Judging by this attitude, CRISPR Medical must have landed a very favorable deal with their big-pharma backer.

Pierce didn’t bother to deny it.

“Something like that. But if you get involved, won’t those partners be the first to bolt? From their perspective, they have no reason to accept your money.”

They saw no sense in giving up a stable revenue structure just to take on cash they didn’t even need.

So the one-billion-dollar carrot didn’t work.

It was a very rational turtle.

'What now…'

Normally, this is the point where I’d casually pick up the stick.

But beating on Pierce—a mere messenger—wouldn’t accomplish much.

Still, giving him a light tap just to test his reaction wouldn’t hurt.

“Whether they take my money or not, what happens if their partners run away?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who knows? Maybe one day, something comes up and those partners decide they don’t want to work with them anymore.”

In other words: If you’re leaning that hard on your big-pharma friends, how about I go knock them over first and then we talk?

If I showed them I could topple the very partner they depended on and then came back dangling that one-billion-dollar carrot, CRISPR Medical’s tone would have to change.

But—

“Kh… pff, hahaha!”

Pierce suddenly burst out laughing by himself.

“…?”

His sudden laughter made me pause, and he barely managed to get his words out between chuckles.

“Sorry, my bad. It’s just—pfft, hahaha—honestly, I already told the client you’d say something like that.”

He sounded delighted as he went on.

“I told them you’d do one of three things. You’d sic the top CRISPR players on each other, let them tear one another apart, and then swallow the last one standing. Or you’d pick one as an example, crush them publicly, and then turn to the rest and say, ‘So, who’s next?’ Or you’d burn them all to the ground until they had no choice but to accept your money.”

He looked smugly triumphant.

Watching that expression…

I didn’t feel great about it.

I kept my face as neutral as possible while he wiped away tears of laughter and spoke with full confidence.

“But the client said this. ‘CRISPR will be different.’ All three leaders have the original creators of CRISPR technology deeply involved, so it won’t be that easy.”

He wasn’t wrong.

All three of my targets had CRISPR pioneers heavily involved.

Their names carried serious weight.

“Shaking a company like that is like trying to take down Apple while Steve Jobs is still there.”

“Jobs was kicked out of Apple once, you know.”

“And he came back in the end, didn’t he? My client’s ready for a long war.”

“…Is that so.”

At this point, I had enough information about CRISPR Medical.

I’d more or less figured out how they were going to move.

“It’s going to be a pretty entertaining challenge.”

“You really don’t know how to give up, do you.”

“I’ve never had a reason to yet. I’ll be in touch again soon.”