You came for answers.
The Devil keeps accounts.
A first-person memoir of ambition, collapse, and the jokes we tell before the lights go out.
“One charge. No angels. No refunds.”
The Ledger Opens
I wrote this the way I lived it—on the floor, in the fog, with the Devil counting in the corner. Interviews that felt like theater. Trades that looked like clean math until the blood came out. No sentimentality. Only scenes. If there’s tenderness, you’ll see it in the gesture, not the adjective.
Fragments
Entries in the Ledger
Entry No. 001
Black Rain
“Hong Kong, noon. Rich kids ordering gods from a menu. I wrote my resignation on a napkin and paid with it. The market laughed and cleared my seat. The Devil stamped it twice.”
Entry No. 007
The Clerk’s Advice
“If you can’t price the joke, don’t trade the setup. Every spread is a prayer, every margin a punchline. The Devil only laughs in balance sheets, and he never forgets the joke.”
Entry No. 013
Dead Hand
“Frankfurt, midnight. The screen blinked like a pulse. I bet the vein, lost the arm. The books closed red, but the ledger stayed open. The desk went quiet, but the Devil kept counting.”
Entry No. 021
Broken Glass
“London morning. Coffee cold, screen hotter. Every keystroke cut a vein of numbers, and the floor smelled like iron. The Devil wiped the glass clean with silence.”
Entry No. 034
The Margin Call
“Paris dusk. Bells rang like alarms, but no one left. Debt dressed itself in velvet, every tick took a finger. The Devil held the candle and didn’t flinch.”
Entry No. 066
Last Trade
“New York night. The book closed itself. Silence on the desk, ink still wet. The Devil signed the balance and whispered the profit in blood.”
Media
Photo Gallery
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