Gold bars, gold necklaces, gold earrings: the rush for money

The lights weren’t even on yet at Midtown Manhattan’s Bullion Exchanges, but a shopper was already standing outside, clutching a crumpled Target bag filled with what she hoped were precious treasures.

Jennifer Tessler had rummaged through a drawer to pull out a few pieces of her long-deceased mother’s gold jewelry and several gold charms from her own baby bracelet that she wore 77 years ago. It was finally time to cash in, and she knew exactly where to go: the diamond district.

Ms. Tessler joined what has become a growing pilgrimage to 47th Street, as newcomers and longtime regulars hope to take advantage of gold prices that have soared to historic highs, a sign that investors are looking for a safe place to hide their wealth amid concerns about the economy.

For nearly a century, the diamond district has operated in an air of anxious chaos, as traders, hustlers and ordinary people unloaded or stocked up on jewelry and precious metals. But the recent surge in the price of gold — $4,267.90 an ounce at market close Friday — along with rising silver and platinum prices have created a new kind of frenzy on the block.

More and more sidewalk vendors are waving “We Buy Gold” signs in the air and shouting at customers. More stacks of hundred dollar bills counted in the open air. No more armored cars loading and unloading metal bars. More nervous, bright-eyed people clutching bags of potential winnings close to their chests.

Located in the middle of a block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues filled with jewelers and precious metals dealers, Bullion Exchanges it looks like ground zero of chaos. Run by two cousins, Eric Gozenput and Ben Tseytlin, the shop occupies a space the size of a New York kitchen, buying and selling precious metals in the form of bars, coins or jewelry.

Late last week, a gold bar worth nearly $1.5 million sat on a scale. Plastic bins of glittering necklaces, earrings and bracelets were piled on the floor. Ziplock bags containing gold rings were scattered across a desk. The real-time price of gold appeared on a screen mounted on the wall.

The store lights came on and Ms. Tessler was invited inside.

At the time he was given the amulets – a small gold tennis racket, a slot machine and a whistle – the price of gold was around $35 an ounce. Her mother had at one point purchased a gold bracelet, which Ms. Tessler also brought with her, as well as the largest piece she hoped to sell, an 18-karat gold necklace. She looked at the family heirlooms as she placed them on the counter. Without children and with an upcoming trip to Portugal, Ms. Tessler had decided to leave everything behind.

“This is the last gold medal,” she said. “I gave everything else away.”

An employee took the small pile and began testing it, sorting the pieces and placing them under a special X-ray-like machine to test their purity. Ms. Tessler moved quietly and the room filled with the sound of $100 bills passing through an automatic counter as workers prepared for the day.

The clerk returned with bad news. Her gold necklace wasn’t actually gold. It was a fake. Mrs. Tessler grimaced.

But there was also good news. She looked down at the receipt which listed the value of the rest of her items: $7,338.

“I’m shaking, I can’t believe it!” she said, stunned by her winnings. “I think I’ll go home in a limo.”

As the morning progressed, a queue formed outside. People were holding heavy Trader Joe’s and Walmart bags. Some stood sideways, pulled by the weight of the metals in their pockets. Jewelers joined the line, hoping to get rid of items that had sat on their shelves for years without being sold. A man entered the store, removed the Rolex from his wrist and placed it on the counter. Another opened a padded envelope and emptied a bag containing rings and necklaces.

Shoppers also came, special occasion customers looking for coins and tiny gold bars for Diwali gifts. They joined preppers convinced the economy was going to collapse and longtime gold traders looking to buy gold bars the size of a Hershey bar as an investment, hoping the price would continue to rise.

Albert Chan approached the counter. He unwrapped two large gold necklaces that he had received as wedding gifts. They had been in his closet for 20 years, and with gold so high, he decided to see what price he could get.

He gasped when he learned the payment amount: $10,163.

At the end of the morning, it was time for melting.

Sanjar Khamraev, an employee, gathered the loot and took it upstairs where a small foundry was already lit. He threw away wedding rings, Christmas presents and family heirlooms. Now all scrap, they melted into red lava. He poured the glowing batter into a bar mold, which cracked and crackled as it cooled. The finished product would be sent to a refinery.

“Now it’s expensive to keep these things,” said Mr. Tseytlin, one of the store’s owners, explaining why everything was melted down rather than kept intact and sold. “Just close your eyes and put it on the fire.”

The Covid pandemic, the start of the war in Ukraine and the collapse of Silicon Valley Bank have all been good for Bullion Exchanges, those timestamps of tragedies that every precious metals dealer knows will help revive business. Revenues picked up after the Trump administration began talking about raising tariffs.

The company tried to protect its business from tragedy by entering into licensing deals to offer mini golden Eggo waffles and silver Tony the Tiger spoons. The store also sells miniature silver gun-shaped coins emblazoned with the MAGA logo and “The Don 45” – a tribute to President Trump.

Its giant vault located 60 feet underground was filled with rare coins and domino-sized gold bars. Plastic bins on the floor were filled with 35,000 ounces of silver bars from a recent transaction. Security cameras were everywhere.

Upstairs, the screen showed the price of gold rising by the minute. The tension was rising.

One woman placed a bag of jewelry on the counter, saying she “didn’t want to leave a mess for my kids.” Another customer tried to sell the same gold that the employees had already found fake the day before. He was turned away.

Another man poked his head in.

“You have to wait in line, my friend,” Mr. Tseytlin told him, a phrase he repeated a dozen times to impatient customers.

An armored truck pulled up and employees and customers maneuvered around each other as suitcases of metals rolled out of the door. The loot was so heavy that it cracked the pallet it was loaded on.

A man wearing Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses arrived to collect his gold and discovered that his Bitcoin transfer had not worked. The quiet hum of transactions was occasionally pierced by customers banging on the store window to gain entry.

A woman came in and asked to buy 10 one-ounce gold bars for a total of $41,800. She planned to pay by check.

“I have to buy more today!” She said, starting to scream and stamp her feet.

“No, you can’t,” Aviana Wills, an employee, told him. She was worried about the woman’s bad check.

“Why not?” the woman screamed again and again.

At 3 p.m., a man walked in with a paper bag, drawing cheers from behind the counter. It wasn’t gold, it was lunch.

Around closing time, the last two customers of the day entered. One of them unfolded a plastic wrapper to reveal a one-kilogram gold bar he wanted to sell. Another emptied several tubes of gold coins which jingled on the counter. Each sale was worth nearly half a million dollars.

When will the price of gold stop rising, one of them asked out loud.

“This,” Mr. Tseytlin said, “goes beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.”