The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 804 - 376: Britain, Do Not Cry for Me (Part 2)

However, at such a moment today, the once crowded clubs and cafes were deserted, not even the owners and waitstaff were there.

At this moment, everyone was gathered in a building with pre-Victorian architectural features, a place that bore the heavy responsibility of the Empire’s wealth circulation, showcasing the prosperity and authority of Britain—the London Stock Exchange, located in the heart of London.

The interior of the Exchange was adorned with exquisitely carved stone facades, exuding the complexity and solemnity of the Renaissance in its details. Tall arched windows allowed ample natural light to illuminate the trading hall.

Upon entering the main door of the Exchange, a unique scent of mixed paper, ink, and coins greeted one’s nostrils.

In the center of the spacious trading hall, a huge domed skylight poured down golden light, making the space appear grand and bright. The trading desks were radially arranged around the central area, each desk enclosed by meticulously crafted iron railings to ensure the safety and orderliness of the trading activities.

Nonetheless, the security and orderliness that the Exchange prided itself on in the past seemed to be nothing more than a mocking jest today.

The hall was packed with a throng of people, investors in top hats and long coats jostling against each other. Those inside the hall were unwilling to leave, while those outside were desperately trying to get in.

Every person’s face was pallid, and they clutched trade slips filled with densely packed numbers. A doomsday-like unease and panic flickered in their eyes.

Amidst the cacophony, the urgent sound of footsteps, low hum of conversations, and occasional exclamations surged like a mournful symphony.

Stockbrokers were frantically busy at their respective desks, sweat dripping down their cheeks and soaking their collars.

They shouted out stock codes and prices, attempting to offload stocks and bonds as quickly as possible.

However, the market’s panic spread like wildfire, with every price drop triggering a new wave of frantic selling.

The huge notice board in the Exchange displayed the dramatic plummet of stock prices in shocking chalk lines, as if heralding the end of an era.

Among the crowd, some turned ashen-faced from massive losses, others took the opportunity to scoop up cheap stocks, while some screamed in despair, wanting to sell their last shares.

The Exchange’s copper bell rang heavily at some point, announcing the imminent end of the trading session. But the pervasive panic only grew thicker, with everyone clamoring to extend trading time, willing to throw punches at Exchange staff or even brandish handguns in threat.

Faced with such a scene, the financial tycoons who once stirred the winds of the London financial market couldn’t help but feel their hearts leap into their throats. They dared not open their mouths, fearing their hearts would jump right out of their stomachs if they spoke.

"It’s all over, totally over!"

"This is robbery! You’re stealing my hard-earned money, and you’re not even using a knife or sword for this robbery!"

"I’m going to petition Parliament. The King should issue a Privy Council order to arrest those suppressing stock prices, just like the South Sea Company incident!"

Such voices echoed throughout the Exchange, filling everyone’s hearts with anger and fear.

The worst part was, they didn’t even know who to direct their anger at since no one knew where their money had gone.

Even those few families with significant influence in the Financial City suffered heavy losses within this short half-hour of trading time.

This total collapse sweeping through the entire market had plunged the London Stock Exchange, the heart of the global economy, into unprecedented chaos and turmoil.

In one corner of the London Stock Exchange, Lionel clutched a thick pile of trading slips, his body trembling, surrounded by a group of stockbrokers affiliated with the Rothschild Family.

"Mr. Rothschild, do you have any news? Can you explain the situation in Greenwich? Can it be resolved?"

"We can’t just sit here and do nothing. We either buy more or sell more, but we must act now while we still have some capital left."

Lionel sat on a bench in the Exchange, the young Jewish gentleman’s face void of expression as he struggled to remain calm. Beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed his tension, and his signature smile had long disappeared.

Speaking in a gentle tone, Lionel said, "Don’t worry, my father has already gone to Apsley House to see the Duke of Wellington. Barings is certainly on the move too, and they’ll be contacting the Whig Party. I believe that in at most fifteen minutes, we’ll find out what’s going on."

"Fifteen minutes?!"

On hearing this, a stockbroker lost his temper, throwing his trade slips in Lionel’s face. "Do you know what you’re saying? Every minute that passes, our assets drop by three percent. At this rate, even if we get the news in fifteen minutes, we’ll already be finished!"