Prisoners, just like normies on the outside, gambled on faddish coins. Plenty on the inside lost money on cryptocurrencies too. “By the time I got to a phone, called my brother and placed an order, the move up had largely run its course.” When the stock suddenly plummeted, Nick learned the hard way what they mean by “catching a falling knife”. He spent some days watching CNBC, a business-news channel, looking for stocks in relatively small companies that seemed primed to make a big move. He fancied himself an expert after borrowing one of my books on investing. Nick reckoned he could make money on snappy trades. It can be excruciating for day-traders, who aim to turn a quick profit. Prisoners don’t have iPhones, much less apps like Robinhoodīuying and selling stocks is challenging enough for long-term investors. It was like playing chess blindfolded: slow and arduous. So, talking on pay-phones at appointed hours (a 20-minute call costs $2.50), we helped our proxies navigate trading platforms we could not see. But trading was a new phenomenon to many on the outside too some 20m Americans took up trading during the pandemic. Nick sent his stimulus cheque to his brother, asking him to open a brokerage account and trade on his behalf. Prisoners don’t have iPhones, much less apps like Robinhood, which allow users to trade stocks online with ease and without broker fees. (Nick was convicted of murder in 2002 and has been fighting his conviction for 20 years I was convicted in 2010 of first-degree assault, possession of a firearm and two counts of possession of a stolen vehicle.) “After 20 years of listening to rumour after rumour in prison, one thing I know is that the ones with good news are almost never true. When Nick first heard prisoners might be eligible to get the money, he laughed in disbelief. (Congress did not bar us from getting stimulus cheques, though the Internal Revenue Service tried to.) That windfall came as a total shock. Then, crucially, the government stepped in with covid-relief funds, which were somehow granted to prisoners. What had been a game for rich folks seemed within reach for the rest of us. First, the initial crash gave us the opportunity to exploit the dip. Since the crash of stocks in March 2020 at the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic and the storm of media attention that ensued, our prison has seen a boom in speculation – and in financial literacy. When Nick first heard prisoners might be eligible to get stimulus cheques, he laughed in disbelief After we are done, the magazine gets snatched up quickly and passed around until the pages are dog-eared and smudged by greasy fingers.Īt the end of the night, the copy of Barron’s ends up stacked neatly with the other periodicals Nick keeps next to his bed – which happens to be bolted to the wall of an 80-square-foot cell in an American prison not far from Seattle. Gradually others gather around and offer their own views on market trends and analyst predictions. We barely notice all the noise as we scour the paper for numbers in bold print indicating which companies have set fresh 52-week lows. With a giddy smile, he opens the magazine in front of me and we dig in, hunting for potential buys.Īround us, guys are shuffling cards on circular steel tables between games of pinochle, rolling ramen noodles into burritos in front of a communal microwave and chatting about what life’s gonna be like, someday.
It’s Monday evening and Nick walks in with the latest issue of Barron’s – a ritual at the start of our investing week.
0 kommentar(er)
