The company I trade out of. One employee, four monitors, no outside money and a great deal of coffee.
It is a difficult thing to believe on a Tuesday, at 09:34, with a position on. The belief and the position have never once agreed, and I have made a living in the argument between them.
Every line is one day, from the open on the left to the close on the right. Stacked, a decade looks like weather. The loud days are not the profitable ones. I checked, twice, hoping to be wrong.
Haque Capital is a limited liability company with one member, and the member is me. It has a desk, a tax ID, a filing cabinet and a decade of execution records. It does not have investors, clients, a fund, a marketing department, or a plan to acquire any of those.
It exists for two boring reasons. The first is that ten years of trades deserved somewhere better to live than a spreadsheet named final_v3_REAL.xlsx. The second is that a business with expenses and records behaves differently from a hobby with a login — you cannot lie to a general ledger the way you can lie to yourself.
What I do inside it is narrow on purpose. Discretionary intraday equities, concentrated in semiconductors and the companies that supply them. I read the tape, size into confirmation, and get out without negotiating. On a good day that description is accurate. On the other days it is aspirational.
In practice: I stare at chips until something happens, and then I have an opinion about it very quickly.
Almost all of the money is made on about nine days a year. The remaining two hundred and forty-three exist to keep me solvent and paying attention until those nine arrive. Nobody would design this on purpose. It is simply what the records say, and after ten years I have learned to trust the records over the story I remember telling myself at the time.
The nine percent of the time I do not honour a stop is where the outsized returns come from. It is also where they go. I have never been able to prove which of those is larger, and I have stopped trying, because the number is not the point. The point is that I know the hole is there and I walk around it on purpose.
People want the edge to be a formula. Mine is closer to a habit: show up, stay small until the tape gives me a reason not to be, and refuse to make the day interesting when it isn’t. Boredom is a position. It has been one of my better ones.
A decade of clicks, placed by the minute of the session each one happened in. The two towers are the open and the close. The valley is lunch — statistically my most profitable hour, on the grounds that I am not in it.
I built my own screen because none of the four platforms above would show me what I wanted on one page. It is behind a login, and there is one set of credentials.