I was twenty-two when I first stepped onto Broad Street the air was wet with the smell of ambition and sweat and cheap aftershave from men who thought they would live forever
The towers glimmered above like temples of money the voices around me sharp and fast like machines talking I didn’t know what I was doing there only that I wanted more than I had
I came from Queens my father drove a cab my mother cleaned houses I had a cheap suit two ties and a heart that beat faster every time I heard the word “profit”
They said trading was a war every second you hesitated someone else took your gain every small mistake bled money from your bones
I learned quick that charm was currency and fear was leverage and that no one ever truly slept
At night I would walk home through the noise of New York and think about charts that moved like living creatures up and down breathing with greed
I was nothing yet but I believed if I stared at those numbers long enough I would learn to control them
The first time I made a call and the market moved my way my hands trembled the feeling was electric like I had touched a god no religion ever gave me that
The next time I lost ten grand in five minutes I thought I would vomit I didn’t but I didn’t sleep for three nights
That was the moment I understood this life wasn’t about money it was about control about winning against something invisible and cruel and alive
Every morning we lined up at the desks white shirts blue ties screens blinking green and red like heart monitors and the bosses yelled numbers that sounded like prayers
The firm fed us coffee and adrenaline I watched men laugh and cry within minutes one throwing his phone the other hugging a stranger
I was addicted already I didn’t even know it yet
Greed felt like oxygen and ambition like blood
The world outside became smaller the world of trades grew endless and the first lesson sank deep into me — that on Wall Street the price of survival was never admitting you were afraid