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"This is a terrible mistake," Gatsby hissed to me in the kitchen a few minutes later, following me out in a blind panic. "A terrible, terrible mistake. I don't have the margin for this."

"You're just acting like a novice," I snapped, keeping my voice low. "You’ve spent five years backtesting this exact moment. Trust your setup. She’s sitting in there feeling just as exposed as you are. Go back in and hold the line."

I left them alone in the living room, stepping out onto the back porch to watch the rain fall on the colossal server farm next door. I stayed out there for half an hour, letting the dark pool negotiation run its course without a broker present.

When I finally walked back inside, the macroeconomic storm had passed. The rain had stopped, and a brilliant, golden ray of late-afternoon sun pierced through the window, illuminating the room in the warm glow of a massive bullish rally.

Gatsby was standing by the window, no longer pale or trembling. He was glowing. The psychological drawdown was over; the resistance level had been decisively broken. Daisy was sitting on the sofa, wiping tears from her eyes, looking at him with a mixture of awe and profound relief. The ultimate high-leverage trade was successfully in profit, and the golden boy of West Egg had finally bought back the market.

Chapter 22: The Golden Boy Returns

It had stopped raining.

The heavy, oppressive clouds that had choked the New York session all morning finally broke, and a single, brilliant shaft of late-afternoon sunlight cut through the window of my bungalow. The macroeconomic storm had passed, leaving behind a pristine, high-visibility chart.

I walked into the living room, stepping quietly, unsure of the market structure I was about to interrupt.

They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if they were reading the exact same order book. Gatsby wasn't trembling anymore. The pale, terrified retail novice who had nearly blown his account over a fallen clock was gone. In his place sat the master algorithmic architect of West Egg, radiating the quiet, absolute certainty of a man who had just decisively broken a five-year resistance level.

He was glowing. It was the undeniable aura of a trader whose high-leverage position had just violently reversed into profit.

Daisy sat across from him, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes were bright and focused, locked onto Gatsby with a mixture of awe and profound relief. The stifling, low-volatility safety of her institutional marriage had been shattered, replaced by the intoxicating adrenaline of the active market.

"It’s stopped raining," I said quietly, gesturing toward the window.

"Has it?" Gatsby asked, looking out the glass with a brilliant, unshakeable smile. He didn't just look at the sky; he looked at it as if he owned the sunlight itself.

He stood up, his movements fluid and precise, completely devoid of the emotional slippage that had plagued him an hour earlier. He walked over to Daisy, extending his hand. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to pull her up into the orbit of his newly reclaimed momentum.

"I want you and Daisy to come over to my house," he said, turning to me. "I'd like to show her around."

"You're sure you want me to come?" I asked, feeling distinctly like a lagging indicator that was no longer required for the execution.

"Absolutely, old sport," he insisted, though his eyes never left Daisy.

We walked out of my modest bungalow and crossed the damp lawn toward the colossal fortress of James Gatz’s wealth. As we approached the main doors, the sheer scale of the operation seemed to finally register with Daisy. She had lived her entire life surrounded by legacy wealth, but the Buchanan estate was quiet and static. Gatsby’s estate was alive. It vibrated with the low, relentless hum of the cooling fans and the massive, decentralized energy of the server farm.

"I love it," Daisy breathed, looking up at the towering glass facade. "But how do you live here all alone?"

"I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day," he answered effortlessly. "People who do interesting things. People who understand the algorithms."