The roller-coaster index swings lasted more than half a month. On 23 September, when the S&P 500 sank below 310, Noah Scott finally received Simon's order to close the position. Between 23 and 25 September, Westeros Company unloaded its 6,000 short contracts at an average of roughly 307, netting Simon another $76.26 million.
A month 'After Run Lola' run left theatres, Orion Pictures, still on friendly terms with Simon, didn't stall; they promptly wired Westeros Company its $32.51 million share of the box-office per contract.
Excluding the now-untouchable loan, Simon's war-chest stood at $387.33 million before the final play.
While Noah Scott's team still wondered why Simon had stayed cautious in September, the moment the last short was closed he went silent for a few days, then, on 30 September, yanked every dollar out of Westeros's Lehman Brothers account.
Noah finally realised that, whether or not Simon had spotted Lehman tailing him, the man no longer trusted them.
Wall Street is a small town; besides, the index-futures pits still traded by open outcry, and the S&P desk at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange is easy to read. A little digging told Noah that Simon had split the money among several other brokers and was again building huge short positions.
But Simon's 'near-miss' in September made Lehman hesitate. Worse, Quantum Fund, another Lehman client, was taking the opposite side, buying massive longs almost in step with Westeros in early October, deepening Noah's doubts.
Not yet a household name, George Soros's Quantum Fund had still averaged better than 30 % a year for a decade, enough to make the Street listen.
On one side, a hedge-fund legend; on the other, a Hollywood upstart.
And they were trading dead opposite.
After more wavering, the man behind the curtain, James Robinson, couldn't pull the trigger; he told Noah to watch from the sidelines.
Five hundred million in cash was no joke in those days; if Noah's book bled red, the off-balance-sheet game would surface and Robinson could kiss his American Express CEO seat goodbye.
Lehman dithered, but the clock did not.
For his last throw, Simon took the gloves off.
From 1 October, the new brokers quietly hammered in 2,000 fresh short contracts a day. North-American equities accelerated their slide; within two weeks the S&P was kissing 280 again, while out in Los Angeles…
The moment 'Pulp Fiction' wrapped, 'When Harry Met Sally' started shooting in New York on 14 September.
Simon finished 'Pulp Fiction' but neither raced into post production nor flew east, 'Final Destination' had been completed in late September, only a month shy of its 23 October release.
With Amy Pascal watching, Fox would market it hard, yet Simon, wanting Daenerys Pictures to learn distribution first-hand, still joined the campaign.
Juggling a dozen jobs, the days vanished.
Over at Paramount, a Michael Douglas thriller called 'Fatal Attraction' was suddenly on fire.
Dumped in the late-September graveyard, it still neared $50 million in four weeks and looked certain to become 1987's fourth North American $100 million hit after 'Run Lola Run', 'The Butterfly Effect' and 'Beverly Hills Cop II'.
That run reminded Simon of Douglas's bigger splash, 'Basic Instinct'.
After strong test screenings of 'Final Destination', Fox pressed Simon for the last contracted script; reminded by 'Fatal Attraction', he knocked out the 'Basic Instinct' outline in a few days.
It was Monday 19 October already.
Palisades mansion.
A little past 4 a.m. Simon was wide-awake.
He crossed to the study next door, sank into the leather chair and, before reaching for the phone, pored again over the brokers' statements and the tape of the last fortnight.
Between 1 and 16 October, twelve sessions, Westeros had amassed 26,700 short contracts on the S&P, all opened between 300 and 280. Every account stood at 100 % margin.
Every cent of the $387.33 million was now on the table.
Even with iron conviction, the stakes made his stomach knot.
Still…
History, so far, was punctual.
Yesterday, Treasury Secretary Baker went on TV: if West Germany didn't cut rates, the U.S. would let the dollar slide. Obvious logic, if something is sure to get cheaper, holders sell. A weaker dollar would send capital fleeing.
The Friday before, the market had already cracked. On 16 October the Dow Jones had fallen from its August peak of 2,700 to 2,200; worse trade and budget numbers had made Wall Street a powder keg.
Baker's ill-timed remark was the final straw.
Simon believed nothing happens in a vacuum; the coordinated media drumbeat after Baker's clip smelled like conspiracy.
None of which mattered to him.
Even if the U.S. plunged back into Depression, he wouldn't flinch.
The NYSE opens at 9:30 Eastern, the CME at 8:30 Central, with synced clocks. In Los Angeles Simon need only wait until 6:30.
Just after six o'clock, however, the three telephones Simon had recently installed in his study began to ring one after another.
Although the official trading session starts at six-thirty, floor traders in New York and Chicago usually begin dealing well before the opening bell.
Before pulling his funds from Lehman Brothers, Simon had quietly opened equity-index-futures accounts at three investment banks with brokerage arms Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, and First Boston.
Simon still had no idea that Lehman had been shadowing his moves, yet he was certain they'd sensed something by now. At this point, however, he couldn't afford to care.
If Lehman followed suit, it would at most add some friction when Westeros Company unwound its positions in the coming days. Still, Simon doubted Lehman would casually hand Westeros's earlier trading records to rival banks and prompt Goldman and the rest to mimic his positions.
Competition on Wall Street is brutal; once Lehman tossed out that bait, Goldman and the others would happily swallow it and then drag the angler into the water.
Traders from Goldman, Morgan Stanley, and First Boston phoned in turn: more than twenty minutes before the open, the Chicago Mercantile Exchange was already flooded with sell orders for long contracts, some as low as 253, down 28 points from Friday's close of 281, a plunge of nearly ten percent.
Simon's first trade had required a month and a half of waiting before the S&P 500 crawled from 270 to 290.
Now, a single weekend, and only the pre-market, had shaved 28 points off the index. From three thousand miles away, Simon could picture the black-cloud panic choking the floors of the NYSE and the CME.
Janette slipped in at some point, still in her slip nightgown, barefoot. Tonight, though, she wasn't the languid kitten of old; her eyes sparkled, and instead of curling into his lap she quietly pulled a chair opposite the desk and listened while Simon kept phoning Chicago.
Even with a 28-point drop, larger than any previous move, Simon flatly rejected the brokers' suggestions to close out.
After the third call he set the handset down. Janette's lashes fluttered, uncertainty etched on her face. "How much?"
"Down to 253".
He picked up the remote and switched on the newly wall-mounted TV; the screen erupted with the bedlam of the New York Stock Exchange and a commentator's trembling voice-over.
By nine a.m. Eastern, the anchor reported, the NYSE had been swamped with sell orders within barely a dozen minutes.
After listening quietly, Janette turned to Simon, eyes gleaming with mischievous excitement, and whispered, "So, darling, how low do you think it'll go?"
Looking at her, Simon itched to pinch her nose, but merely shook his head. "With this chaos, how would I know?"
Janette's lashes fluttered again; she pouted but asked no more.
He knew she sensed something, yet he could never admit the truth. Not from lack of trust, his story was simply too bizarre to expose without risking everything.
On screen, the exchanges cycled through scenes of mayhem; the final ten minutes evaporated.
At six-thirty L.A. time, the NYSE and the CME opened in tandem.
The Dow plunged 67 points at the open and then spiralled downward.
At the CME the sight was even more harrowing.
At the CME the sight was even more harrowing.
The S&P 500 gapped open, collapsing from Friday's 281 to 198—a bone-rattling 29 percent drop.
Westeros's short contracts had been built at an average entry of roughly 290.
With the index touching 198, each contract showed a paper gain of forty-five thousand dollars on an average margin of fourteen-five—a profit margin above three hundred percent.
Of course, Simon never dreamed of covering at the absolute low of 198.
Since futures still lacked daily mark-to-market, most trapped longs could survive forced liquidation if they posted extra margin before tomorrow's session. Only those out of chips were cutting losses, so today's volume of shorts covering would be far below normal.
He therefore set his buy-back range between 200 and 210.
Even at 210, each short contract would still net forty thousand, more than enough.
And the moment he covered, he just as swiftly flipped long again, same 200-to-210 zone.
October 19, 1987, dragged on for most people, but Simon, glued to the phones, felt the hours race.
When the CME officially closed, it was barely past noon in Los Angeles.
Tallied up: of Westeros's 26,700 short contracts, only 8,300 were closed; 18,500 remained, while 3,500 fresh longs had been opened between 200 and 210.
In their final call, the Morgan Stanley trader couldn't hide his regret, hinting Simon had been too greedy; had he set the cover target higher, Westeros might have unloaded more than half its shorts today.
If Washington stepped in tonight, the S&P could rebound tomorrow and Simon would miss an even richer haul.
Yet Simon paid little heed to the trader's lament.
Barring surprises, he still had at least two more days.