Jonathan Dominguez checks the quality of Chinese wedding jewellery a customer was selling at Bullion Exchanges, a gold trading store on 47th Street in the Diamond District of New York, on October 16. Gold prices are soaring to historic levels, drawing newcomers and regulars alike. Photo / Ashley Gilbertson, The New York Times
The lights weren’t even on yet at Bullion Exchanges in midtown Manhattan, but a customer was already standing outside, holding a crumpled Target bag stuffed with what she hoped were valuable treasures.
Jennifer Tessler had rummaged through a drawer to dig out a few pieces of her long-dead mother’s gold jewellery 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.
Tessler joined what has become a growing pilgrimage to 47th Street, as newcomers and longtime regulars hope to profit from gold prices that have climbed to historic levels, a signal that investors are looking for a safe place to stash their wealth amid concerns about the economy.
For nearly a century, the diamond district has operated with an air of anxious chaos as traders, hustlers and everyday people unload or stock up on jewels and precious metals.
But the recent soaring price of gold — US$4267.90 an ounce at the close of market on Friday local time — along with rising prices of silver and platinum have created a new kind of frenzy on the block.
More salespeople on the hoisting “We buy gold” signs in the air and catcalling for customers. More stacks of US$100 notes counted in the open air. More armoured cars loading and unloading bars of metals.
More nervous people with darting eyes clutching bags of potential payouts close to their chest.
Situated in the middle of the block between Fifth and Sixth avenues filled with jewellers and precious metals dealers, Bullion Exchanges feels like ground zero for the chaos.
Run by two cousins, Eric Gozenput and Ben Tseytlin, the storefront operates in a space about the size of a New York kitchen, buying and selling precious metals in the form of bullion, coins or jewellery.
On a day late last week, a bar of gold worth nearly US$1.5 million rested on a scale.
Plastic bins of shimmering necklaces, earrings and bracelets were stacked on the floor. Ziplock bags of gold rings lay scattered across a desk. The real-time price of gold flashed across a screen mounted to the wall.
The store lights flickered on, and Tessler was beckoned inside.
Back when she was given the charms — a tiny gold tennis racket, slot machine and whistle — the price of gold was around US$35 per ounce.
Her mother had at some point bought a gold bracelet, which Tessler also brought with her, along with the biggest piece she was hoping to sell, an 18-karat gold necklace.
She eyed the family heirlooms as she plopped them on the counter. With no children and an upcoming trip to Portugal, Tessler had decided to let it all go.
“This is the last of the gold,” she said. “I’ve given away everything else.”
A clerk took the small pile and began testing it, filing away at the pieces and putting them under a special X-ray-like machine to test their purity.
Tessler quietly fidgeted, and the room filled with the sound of $100 notes flicking through an automatic counter as workers prepared for the day.
The clerk returned with bad news. Her gold necklace wasn’t actually made of gold. It was a fake. Tessler grimaced.
But there was good news, too. She looked down at the receipt that tallied the value of the rest of her items: US$7338.
“I’m shaking — I can’t believe it!” she said, flabbergasted at her earnings. “I think I’m going to take a limousine home.”
As the morning wore on, a line formed outside. People held heavy Trader Joe’s and Walmart bags. Some stood lopsided, the weight of the metals in their pockets tugging on them.
Jewellers joined the line, hoping to unload items that had sat on their shelves for years without selling.
One man walked into the shop, took the Rolex off his wrist and set it on the counter.
Another opened a padded envelope and dumped out a bag of rings and necklaces.
Buyers came in, too, special-occasion customers looking for coins and tiny gold bars for Diwali gift-giving.
They joined preppers convinced the economy would collapse and longtime gold dealers looking to buy Hershey-bar-size gold bars as investments, hoping the price would keep rising.
Albert Chan stepped up to the counter.
He unwrapped two chunky gold necklaces he had received as a wedding present. 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 payout: US$10,163.
By late-morning it was smelting time.
Sanjar Khamraev, an employee, gathered up the haul so far and took it upstairs where a small smelter was already fired up. He dumped in wedding rings, Christmas presents and family heirlooms.
All scrap now, they melted into a red lava. He poured the glowing goop into a bar-shaped mould that snapped and sputtered as it cooled. The finished product would head to a refinery.
“Now, it’s pricey to keep this stuff,” said Tseytlin, one of the shop’s owners, explaining why everything was melted rather than kept intact and sold. “You have to just close your eyes and put it in the fire.”
The Covid-19 pandemic, the start of the war in Ukraine and the collapse of Silicon Valley Bank were all good for Bullion Exchanges, these time stamps of tragedy that all precious metals dealers know will help kick up business.
Revenue picked up again after the Trump Administration began talking about raising tariffs.
The company has tried to tragedy-proof its business by securing licensing deals to offer mini golden Eggo waffles and Tony the Tiger silver spoons.
The shop also sells miniature gun-shaped silver pieces emblazoned with a Maga logo and “The Don 45” — a tribute to President Donald Trump.
Its giant vault 18m below ground was jammed with rare coins and domino-sized gold bars. Plastic tubs on the floor were filled with 35,000 ounces of silver bars from a recent deal. Security cameras were everywhere.
Upstairs, the screen showed the price of gold inching upward by the minute. Tension was building.
A woman plopped a bag of jewellery on the counter, saying she “didn’t want to leave a mess for my children”. Another customer tried to sell the same gold that employees already had found to be fake the day before. He was turned away.
Another man poked his head in.
“You’ve got to wait in line, my friend,” Tseytlin told him, a phrase he repeated a dozen times to impatient customers.
An armoured truck pulled up, and employees and customers manoeuvred around one another as suitcases of metals were rolled out the door. The loot was so heavy it cracked the pallet it was loaded on.
A man in Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses arrived to pick up his gold only to find his bitcoin transfer hadn’t worked. The quiet hum of transactions was pierced every so often by customers banging on the shop glass to be let inside.
A woman entered and asked to buy 10 1-ounce gold bars for a total of US$41,800. She planned to pay by cheque.
“I need to buy more today!” she said as she began to yell and stomp her feet.
“No, you cannot,” Aviana Wills, an employee, told her. She was worried about the woman’s cheque bouncing.
“Why not?” the woman squealed over and over.
At 3pm, a man walked in with a paper bag, eliciting cheers from behind the counter. It wasn’t gold — it was lunch.
Around closing time, the last two customers of the day entered.
One unfurled plastic wrapping to reveal a kilogram bar of gold he wanted to sell. Another emptied several tubes of gold coins that clinked onto the counter. Each sale was worth nearly US$500,000.
When will the price of gold stop climbing, one of them asked aloud.
“This,” Tseytlin said, “is beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.”
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
Written by: Dionne Searcey
Photographs by: Ashley Gilbertson
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