A Gonzo Dive into Wall Street's Wild Side: My Chat with Derek Wallis, Head of Equity Execution at Soros

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Good Fortune Makes the Man, and The Man Retains the Fortune and Multiplies It...

Welcome back to another transmission from paradise, broadcasting from the heavenly shores of St. Barts. The Acid Capitalist, beamed straight into your ears, sun-kissed and untamed. This week, I open the vault—pulling an old gem from my private paywall, unchaining it from Patreon and Substack for the first time. And trust me, this one is electric.

The year is 2000. The stage is Wall Street. And our protagonist? Derek Wallis, The Kiwi Proton Bomb. Fresh off the boat, wide-eyed, an eager foot soldier on the trade floor. But what happens when the greenhorn is tasked with telling Stan Druckenmiller, the man, the legend, that he’s just vaporized a billion dollars? Trial by fire? No—trial by inferno.

And then there’s George Soros—the erratic, the enigmatic, the Palindromic Genius. The man who stalks markets like a predator, who sees the bubbles before they even take shape, who vanishes for months only to reappear, calling the desk four times an hour. The hurricane around which entire fortunes rise and fall. And Derek? Derek’s there. Watching. Learning. Surviving.

Fast forward. 2005. The Acid Capitalist himself walks into Soros Fund Management—the room temperature drops, chairs scrape, portfolios tremble. Derek was there, they all were. And the chairman, in a moment of delirious clarity, utters the words: 'We’ve found the next George Soros.' Who was he talking about? Ah, that’s where things get interesting…

But it gets wilder—trading desks, chaos, the kind of madness that makes a market. You want the full story? You want to know about the topless woman who brought down the Bloomberg terminals? You want to hear the truth about how the world’s greatest speculator saw bubbles, rode them, burst them? Then you’ll want to listen to this one.

Stay sharp,

Hugh Hendry, The Acid Capitalist

P.S. If you’re asking 'What’s the score?' every hour of the trading day, you’re already lost. The markets whisper in static. But ask once a year, and if you’re good—exceptionally good—the mirror, mirror on the wall might just reveal your genius.

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