$hitcoin: How to Manipulate Cryptocurrency Markets
The following extract appears in the novel $hitcoin., available now from , Amazon.co.uk, and all other good booksellers. Read more information at deadbirdpress.com/shitcoin. [NOTE: These are Amazon affiliate links.]
Isla de Joven Belleza, El Salvador.
“Senor McAvoy.”
Jack McAvoy doesn’t look up, engrossed in the Graham Jones-penned article he’s reading on Medium: How Future Synergy Coin Could Change the Shape of International Borders.
“Senor McAvoy,” Tiny repeats, louder.
Jack McAvoy looks at Tiny, the M16-carrying head of his personal security force. As the name suggests, Tiny’s short — maybe 5'5"/165cm — but even without the gun, he cuts a commanding figure; muscular, to the point his dirty-grey tank-top barely fits him; shaved head & crazy eyes, with an inch-thick scar running from the corner of his right eye almost to his mouth.
“Good morning, Tiny,” McAvoy says. “How are you today?”
“Is fine, but Senor McAvoy, there is man come to see you.”
“Who?”
“He say he journalist. He work from Financial Weekly.”
“Show him in.”
“Si.”
McAvoy returns his attention to the article as Tiny leaves the massive open-plan kitchen, its perfectly white surfaces stretching out to floor-to-ceiling windows providing a magnificent sweeping view of a white sand beach dotted with towering palm trees, rolling out to the shimmering clear azure waters of the Pacific Ocean. McAvoy’s young girlfriend, Manuela, is beside him, idly playing with her thick black hair as she sits cross-legged upon a gleaming chrome bar stool.
“Manuela, eat your breakfast,” McAvoy says without looking up from his laptop.
“I eat.”
“You ate what?”
“Some grape.”
“Manuela, ‘some grape’ is not breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Eyes still fixed on the screen, McAvoy pushes a large bowl of mixed nuts along the kitchen counter toward her. “Eat some.”
Without saying anything, she picks out a single Brazil nut & eats it.
“Manuela, one nut does not a breakfast make. Eat more, por favor.”
She does as instructed, scooping a handful of nuts from the bowl & munching on them noisily.
“Senor McAvoy,” Tiny says, returning to the kitchen, worn knuckles clenched tight around the M16’s barrel. “Here is journalist.”
“Hola,” McAvoy says, standing up & offering a handshake to the frazzled gringo from Finance Weekly.
“Mr. McAvoy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the journalist gushes, glad to have the chill of air conditioning to replenish him from the sweat-drawing tropical heat. He tells McAvoy his name — Matthew Cooper — & a brief rundown of what Finance Weekly’s intentions are in sending him all the way from New York to an island off the coast of El Salvador for this in-person interview. McAvoy will be the magazine’s cover star, with an in-depth profile of the fascinating tech billionaire filling at least a half-dozen pages inside. McAvoy’s not particularly interested in what Matthew Cooper tells him; instead, he’s checking the pot of coffee, then instructing Manuela to make a fresh one, & to serve some fruit for the journalist, then insisting that she eat a bowl of yogurt.
Matthew Cooper stops speaking once it’s clear that McAvoy isn’t really listening to him. Cooper sits on one of the chrome barstools surrounding the kitchen island & looks at the breathtaking opulence of Casa McAvoy, with its stunning view of the pristine Salvadoran sands outside: “This is quite the place you’ve got here.”
“This is a magnificent country, Sir,” McAvoy says, returning to his own stool. “Quite simply, this is the most beautiful country on Earth. The most beautiful country, with the most beautiful people.” McAvoy looks longingly at Manuela’s ass, cheeks hanging out either side of undersized tight shorts, as she prepares the requested fruit, yogurt, & coffee.
“Is this… your girlfriend?” Matthew Cooper asks, hesitating as he does so; because of her age, he’d assumed her some sort of live-in housekeeper; but his research on the maverick billionaire Jack McAvoy tells him he’s likely to have a girlfriend some years his junior.
“Yes, Sir,” McAvoy says, still staring at Manuela’s ass. “And you should let your Finance Weekly readers know she is of legal age!” McAvoy lets out a roaring laugh, the kind of full-of-life laugh that wealthy expats in tropical paradises are wont to burst into at a moment’s notice. “She celebrated her eighteenth birthday just a week ago, as a matter of fact. And I do not mind you printing that, Sir, if that’s what you think your readers might be interested in. No, I know why you’re here; you find me fascinating, is that correct?”
“Well…”
“I mean, who wouldn’t? The billionaire seventy-two-year-old playboy, living in a tropical island paradise, with his teenage girlfriend. It’s fascinating shit, right? Titillating stuff, to put between your serious financial analysis and business news and all the rest of the dry grey Wall Street fluff that fills the pages of Finance Weekly.”
“Well, you are an… interesting individual…” Cooper says diplomatically, mentally composing notes on how he’ll physically describe McAvoy & Manuela in his Finance Weekly article: McAvoy insists his girlfriend just turned 18, but I can’t shake off the suspicion she may be a few years younger… just as McAvoy himself is 72 years old, but looks as slender, toned, & stylish as a man less than half his age…
“We should all strive to be interesting, Sir. We have but one life to live, and if you’re not striving to make it interesting, then what the heck are you doing with the limited time that’s been allotted to you?
“Yes…” …whether it’s the gorgeous sun-kissed El Salvador climate, or the love of a much younger woman, or simply the blond frosted-tips in his hair that harken back to the 1990s — the decade in which software pioneer Jack McAvoy made his fortune — or some other age-evading secrets known only to the planet’s wealthiest individuals, Jack McAvoy appears as youthful & vibrant as… as…
McAvoy continues rambling, a little too fast for Matthew Cooper to make sense of, his mind still adjusting from the heat outside to the cool air inside the McAvoy mansion. Manuela lays out a large spread of all manner of tropical fruits, then two bowls of yogurt, and two cups of coffee; “Manuela, please, eat some yogurt! And drink some coffee!” McAvoy says, grasping her slender wrist & looking into her deep hazel eyes. “It’s good for your digestive system.”
Without a word, Manuela returns to her earlier position, sitting cross-legged atop a barstool, & pours out a third cup of coffee, this one for herself. She then delicately spoons yogurt into her mouth as McAvoy & Cooper talk.
“This place really is magnificent,” Cooper says, once there’s a lull in the conversation.
“Absolutely it is. The most beautiful God-damn country on Earth. It’s beautiful, but it’s not without its problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“How did you get here?”
Cooper exhales, wondering how much detail to go into: “I flew from New York to Atlanta, then from there to San Salvador, then I took a four-hour cab ride to the coast, and a forty-minute cruise out to the island.”
“Uh-huh. And how long were you waiting at the ferry terminal?”
“About half an hour.”
McAvoy laughs. “When I first arrived here, there were two ferries a day. 10am and 4pm. That was the schedule. But every God-damn time I flew in from somewhere or other, I’d be sat at that ferry terminal with my thumb up my ass for hours before the damn boat would show up. So you know what I did? I made my own ferry company. I created the McAvoy Island Express. Twelve journeys a day, never more than ten minutes late, at half the price of the pre-existing ferry company, with concessions for local residents on low wages, and with double the salary of that God-damn floating turd of a ferry that connected this island to the world before I got here. And within six months, I put those sons of bitches that ran the old ferry line out of business. And the people of this island love me for it! They get the most reliable ferry service in the Southern Hemisphere, and my employees receive a benefits package that is the envy of the Western world. Full healthcare coverage, a living wage — the people working on my ferry live a better life than an United States Senator! But you know something, Sir? Not everybody is as concerned with the welfare of the people of this island as I am.”
Cooper lets silence hang heavy in the air for a moment before he’s compelled to ask: “Who do you mean?”
“The sons of bitches that ran the old ferry company, for one. Those God-damn corrupt pig bastards. But, I mean, they’ve got to a make a living, right? I have a lot of sympathy for them. I’ve got a lot of sympathy for everyone in this country. I love this country! But it is a God-damn festering Third World shithole, Sir.” McAvoy’s eyes grow wilder as he talks, to the point that looking at them makes Cooper feel uncomfortable. The journalist shifts his focus to Manuela instead, innocently spooning yogurt into her mouth. “Eat some more nuts,” McAvoy tells her, his rant on Salvadoran corruption & the establishment of the ferry company over. Manuela dips her spoon into the bowl of nuts & scoops an assortment into her mouth. “But, anyway,” McAvoy says, smiling calmly, eyes no longer ablaze with madness, “I don’t expect Finance Weekly has sent you all the way out here just to do a piece on Central American water-based transportation networks.”
“Well, as you’re well aware, one of the topics that is fascinating our readers right now is cryptocurrency-”
McAvoy laughs at the mention of it, eyes gleaming again with that mischievous glow known only to those with enough money to command their own heavily-armed personal security force.
“You’ve certainly been a very active and outspoken advocate for cryptocurrency,” Cooper says, feeling the foreplay’s over & he’s now getting to the main action of the interview. “I was wondering how you see this space developing in the future?”
McAvoy says nothing, smiling instead at Manuela, who is gazing mindlessly at her coffee. When McAvoy finally speaks, it’s to his girlfriend: “Drink some.”
“Do you think that cryptocurrency has genuine potential to become a real borderless form of value transfer?” Cooper says, not sure if McAvoy has comprehended his previous question. “Do you think that it really is the future of finance? Do you think-”
“Sir,” McAvoy says, staring suddenly at Cooper, eyes dancing on the thin border between calm billionaire contentment & unhinged Salvadoran warlord madness. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to manipulate cryptocurrency markets? Actually, Sir, let me rephrase that question; do you have any idea how legal it is to manipulate cryptocurrency markets? Right now, it’s possible to do things that haven’t been allowed on Wall Street since the Great Depression. Actually, I was just preparing an example before you arrived here…” McAvoy turns his laptop to face Cooper. The screen is still showing the Medium article on Future Synergy Coin. “Sir, what is your annual salary?”
Cooper hesitates before laughing nervously & attempting to deflect the question: “I’m sure it’s a heck of a lot less than the hundred million dollars you sold your software company for.”
“Sir, with all due respect, that is not what I asked you. If you’d rather not discuss specifics, I don’t blame you for it. I know many people consider it uncouth to discuss personal finance in polite society. But how would you like to double your annual salary in the space of an hour?”
Cooper says nothing.
“Or triple it. Quadruple it. Look.” McAvoy turns his laptop back toward himself & narrates as he taps at his keyboard: “See, I just go to this exchange, BitBucks, where you can see from this depth chart, we have people placing sell orders on the coin at intervals running up to one-point-one millionth of a cent. So I buy all the coins up to that amount — here, here, here… and I now control quarter of a trillion Future Synergy Coins, which has cost me the equivalent of a little over three bitcoin — a piddling amount for a billionaire such as myself, Sir. But what I really want is to snap up as much of the available supply as possible for the lowest price possible, so I place a sell order at nine-hundred-ninety-nine thousandths of a cents like this, then I wait for the bot traders to do their magic… yes, Sir, you can see that they’re recalibrating… now, I place another buy order… let’s says another two trillion, then I drop the price like this, then I buy back in like this…” — the process takes a matter of minutes, McAvoy narrating all the way, Cooper mesmerized by the extent to which the market is dancing to the tune of McAvoy’s bitcoin — “and now that I have a suitably large stack, phase one of the market manipulation is complete, and I simply send out a Tweet to my one-point-five million Twitter followers — ‘Brief drip in FSC, extremely promising coin, HUGE potential for mooning,’ — and — Sir, are you sure you wouldn’t like to make a small investment before my acolytes send the price skyrocketing?”
“Umm… I’m not sure… it’s… allowed…”
“Suit yourself, Sir. Now I just hit the blue ‘Tweet’ button, and within the next hour, Sir, my sub-10 Bitcoin investment should be worth somewhere in the region of 100 Bitcoin, netting myself a roughly $700,000 profit.”
“Wow.” Cooper’s not sure whether to believe such an astronomical profit is truly possible in such a short space of time, especially given the source; all his research his told him McAvoy has long had difficulties telling the truth. “That’s… incredible… but… isn’t it…”
“Illegal? No.”
“Immoral?”
McAvoy laughs. “You cannot con an honest man, Sir. Anyone who buys the coins I shill hopes to get rich selling them on to some other schmuck in the near-future. It’s just Darwinian Capitalism in action.”
“Senor McAvoy.” Tiny has reappeared in the doorway, clutching his M16. “Senor Alvarez is here to see you.”
“Show him in,” McAvoy says, with a regal wave of the hand. “What perfect timing! Now, Sir, during the conversation that follows, you are under no circumstances to reveal that you are a journalist, comprende?”
“Uh…”
“Just keep your mouth shut, Sir, let me do the talking, and I promise I will give you something interesting to write about in your Finance Weekly article.”
With Cooper confused & silent, McAvoy directs another command at Manuela: “Eat some more nuts.”
As she lifts another handful of nuts from the bowl to her mouth, a portly and heavily-tanned Salvadoran man in a white suit enters the room, removing his hat from his balding head & bowing slightly. “Senor McAvoy,” the bald man says. He continues the conversation in Spanish, meaning Cooper can only understand about 15% of it. “I was hoping that we could talk in private.”
“Senor Alvarez,” McAvoy replies. “My security team made me aware of your intention to visit me today, and I have invited one of my closest associates along to listen to our conversation. This is Matthew Cooper, my accountant. I understand, Senor, that you wish to discuss business matters with me. Therefore, I think that it is only appropriate that my accountant listen to what we have to say to each other.”
“Very well. Buenos dias, Senor Cooper.”
Confused, Cooper hesitates before awkwardly responding in garbled Spanish: “Buenos noches.”
McAvoy smirks, then notices Senor Alvarez looking awkwardly at Manuela, who is staring with disinterest at her half-empty bowl of yogurt.
“The girl does not concern you,” McAvoy says.
“Of course,” Alvarez flashes an embarrassed smile. “May I sit?”
“You may not.”
Senor Alvarez’s face tightens, his previously affable demeanour evaporating.
McAvoy: “Speak.”
Alvarez: “Well, Senor McAvoy, as you know, the Salvadoran government has been very accommodating of your presence within our humble island community of Joven Belleza. We have turned a blind eye to… certain… indiscretions…”
Alvarez looks pointedly in Manuela’s direction; McAvoy bristles.
“…there have been deliveries to this compound from known traffickers of certain substances… there have been numerous reports of disturbances, and missing persons, and many other things that our government would normally be most concerned about… however, we have been pleased with the supplies you have donated to our local police force, and with how you have improved transportation services between our island and the mainland. But, as you may already be aware, a day is fast approaching which will have an enormous impact on the future of our island. As I’m sure you are well aware, I am the current representative for Isla de Joven Belleza in the Salvadoran Senate, and I have been all too happy to represent you, Senor McAvoy, as one of my most important constituents. But, we are in the midst of a fiercely contested election season, and it would go a long way to ensuring our future cooperation if you were to make a small donation to my campaign for re-election…”
“See what I mean?” McAvoy says to Cooper, suddenly switching back to English. “Total corrupt fucking shithole of a country.”
“Mr. McAvoy,” Senor Alvarez says in English, his face reddening. “I know some American expression. I know when you insult me in American.”
“Well get fucking used to it, Sir, because I will not donate a God-damn cent to your campaign.”
“Mr. McAvoy, we know you make much money here on our island. Yet you pay much less tax than should be your burden. We know about your deliveries of narcotics, Mr. McAvoy. And we can very easily classify your personal security team as an anti-government guerrilla force.”
“Mr. Alvarez,” McAvoy says calmly, “I understand exactly what you’re saying; you think you can come into my house and push the rich gringo around, correct? You think you can squeeze a few pesos out of the idiot American, correct?”
“Mr. McAvoy…”
“Mr. Alvarez, you can eat my dick, comprende?”
Alvarez’s face turns bright red. He places his hat back upon his head before speaking again. “I will give you one final chance to apologize and make things right, Mr. McAvoy. You are making a grave mistake.”
“You made a grave mistake walking in here today, Senor. With all due respect, get the fuck off my property and go fuck yourself.”
“Very well,” Alvarez says, staring chillingly at each of McAvoy, Cooper, & Manuela in turn. Cooper shivers under the portly politician’s gaze; McAvoy & Manuela are completely unmoved. “You have made a powerful enemy today, Mr. McAvoy. We will be seeing you again very soon.”
“Fuck off!” McAvoy says, snatching a handful of nuts out of the bowl in the middle of the table & throwing them in Alvarez’s direction.
Alvarez is about to explode with anger & retaliate, but Tiny suddenly appears beside him, flanked by two much larger M16-wielding members of McAvoy’s personal security force.
“Very well. Buenos dias, Senor…” Alvarez nods at Manuela — “…Senorita…” — & then at Cooper — “…Senor.”
McAvoy throws another handful of nuts at Alvarez as the senator leaves, followed by the two larger members of McAvoy’s security team.
“Senor Alvarez is very powerful man,” Tiny says. “Are you certain this is good idea?”
McAvoy laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Sir.”
“But Senor…”
“Sir, do not worry about it!”
Tiny looks into McAvoy’s crazed eyes & Cooper perceives a sudden change on Tiny’s face; perhaps a flash of future betrayal. Then Tiny turns & leaves the room.
“So, Sir,” McAvoy asks Cooper, calm again, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired. “Is there anything else that your readers would like to know about me?”
Cooper tries for several seconds to speak, but trembles & stutters with fear over the potential consequences of what he’s just witnessed. He finally manages to squeeze an answer out: “I… think… we’re… good…”
“Excellente. Manuela, have you finished your breakfast?”
“Si.”
“Then please make your way to the bedroom. I will join you there shortly.”
“Si.”
Manuela rises from the stool and exits the kitchen.
McAvoy turns to Cooper, & grins at the trembling journalist: “Do you think I’m crazy, Sir?”
“I… n-no… I think…”
“Sometimes I think I’m crazy. Do you know what I’m going to do right now?”
Coopers looks at the door through which Manuela just exited: “I can guess…”
“Really?”
“…yeah…”
“Then what am I going to do right now?”
Cooper stares into McAvoy’s crazed blue eyes, then out through the doorway; there seems no point in being coy. “You’re going to have sex with her.”
McAvoy laughs: “No, Sir. I am not.”
“Okay. So… what are you going to do?”
“Above my bed, I have a hammock. Do you know what a hammock is, Sir?”
“…of course…”
“In the center of that hammock, which is suspended above my bed, there is a hole. Manuela will position herself above that hole, and I will position myself beneath it. Why do you think we would do that, Sir?”
“You’re… going to… put… your…”
“Come on, out with it!” McAvoy grins, crazed eyes now seeming friendly & conspiratorial.
“…put your penis through it?”
“No, Sir, I am not. Guess again.”
“I… don’t know.”
“I’m going to put my mouth beneath the hole, Sir.”
“…okay…”
“And Manuel is going to sit above it. And do you know what Manuela is going to do?”
“…no…”
“She’s going to shit directly into my mouth, Sir.” McAvoy laughs, then rises from his stool. “Please help yourself to anything you need while I’m in there.”
McAvoy strolls confidently out of the kitchen, leaving Matthew Cooper in a total daze. He spends the next minute picturing the bizarre activity McAvoy just described engaging in with Manuela, wondering if it’s true, then wondering if it’s even possible, then remembering the athletic way in which Manuela sat cross-legged upon her stool during breakfast. With a shudder, Cooper recalls McAvoy’s insistence on her drinking coffee & eating digestion-enhancing breakfast foods. Finally, he’s hit with full-bodied anxiety as he realizes McAvoy just told a senator to go fuck himself, & that his terrifying head of personal security seemed completely untrustworthy, & that the senator swore vengeance…
In utter panic, Cooper turns McAvoy’s laptop toward himself, desperate to send out a plea for help to his editor at Finance Weekly. But when Cooper sees the screen, in spite of his overwhelming anxiety & fear of the mad antivirus billionaire & all the craziness of his Salvadoran island compound, Cooper can’t help but notice the current price of Future Synergy Coin: it’s now at $0. 000024 — more than doubling McAvoy’s investment within minutes, with a continued upward trend seeming inevitable. Cooper steels himself from the panic long enough to make a quick calculation that he’s sure will make the perfect final line to his article: In the time it took Jack McAvoy to tell the senator to go fuck himself, and for him to feed his teenage girlfriend enough to satiate his bizarre coprophiliac desires, that crazy son of a bitch Jack McAvoy made more than $100,000.
Originally published at https://deadbirdpress.com on September 30, 2020.
