Nothing Personal: A Novel of Wall Street

by Offit, Mike

  “I kind of wandered into it through a friend who got me trading on the COMEX and NYMEX.” Warren’s answer was rehearsed, but he managed to make it sound fresh. “Also orange juice and metals. I made some money, and I liked it, but it’s very limited, and you really need big capital to be anything more than a little scalper. So, I decided to go back for my MBA. I did well enough to pay for school and a couple of vacations, and now, here I am.”

  “What did you learn in business school? Why did you go?”

  Warren laughed a little. “I wasn’t exactly sure why I went until this semester, to be honest. I knew I wanted to do something different, but I didn’t know exactly what or for whom. A trader from Merrill advised me B-school would be useful. When I learned about MBS in Professor Fisher’s class, I realized that was what I had been looking for. Something that demanded thought and analysis and wasn’t just making wild bets on the markets, or slowly working your way up some corporate hierarchy. And besides, without an MBA, I doubt your recruiting office would have scheduled me at all. I guess I could have found a cheaper way to learn about fixed-income markets, but school was fun—there seemed to be more girls than tests.” Warren liked Dressler’s manner and found it easy to talk to him.

  “So, you majored in English literature in college, traded some futures and made a few bucks, then went back to business school and now you want to trade bonds. Seems logical. Why not? Do you really know anything about mortgages? Do you have any idea what real trading is all about?”

  “Well, I knew my dad was always having trouble getting a mortgage,” Warren joked, and Dressler chuckled. “I’ve done a lot of studying. Read about optionality and the different prepayment models. How every MBS pool has unique characteristics, and there are real opportunities to make money through hard work, not just dumb luck or guts. I was a competitive tennis player, and I learned the hard way that really succeeding usually means really applying yourself. I am willing to work harder than anyone when the rewards are there. And, honestly, I want to find a way to make a lot of money that doesn’t require ten years of working up some kind of political ladder. I understand a bit about MBS coupon spreads and relative value. But at the end of the day, trading mortgages seems to me to be all about understanding prepayments. After that, I figure that sales and trading is all about communicating, and that’s something I’ve always been able to do reasonably well.”

  “That’s a pretty good answer, and a pretty long one.” Dressler smiled. “Yeah, you definitely have the communication thing down. How’d the communicating go with Bill Pike?”

  “I think I got his message,” Warren said with a regretful look.

  “Nahhh! Pike doesn’t really hate you, he just resents all the young kids coming in here every day. He’s a dinosaur. He loves to rattle rookies.” Dressler shifted in his seat, and Warren sensed that the interview was just about over.

  “Well, he succeeded. But he still pulls all of his putts short left. Maybe I could help him with that.” Warren smiled as he said it.

  Dressler met his gaze, smiled back at him, and nodded. “Maybe you could, at that.”

  Warren started thinking about his name under the Weldon letterhead.

  seven

  After his interview with Dressler, Warren worked through four more sessions. The men got younger and obviously less senior as he progressed. He’d enjoyed talking with Jed Leeds, a young mortgage trader, and Hart Campbell, a new salesman who had graduated from Wharton a year before. The last name on Warren’s list was Pete Giambi, and after fifteen minutes discussing everything from the Philadelphia Flyers to prepayment models, futures, and forward pricing, Giambi, the head of mortgage research, cut off the interview.

  “Who else are you talking to on the Street?” His high forehead and round glasses imparted a slight sense of age to the youthful face, and a small smile curled Pete’s lip.

  “Well, I was planning on seeing Goldman and Salomon, but Weldon is my first interview and my first choice.” Warren decided to commit because he felt his day was going well, and he genuinely liked Giambi. He was enthusiastic, obviously brilliant, and they had a lot of common interests. And Weldon was everyone’s choice as the “hot” firm for new MBA’s—a bulge bracket leader that allowed Associates to advance quickly in growth areas.

  “Let me ask you something. If we offered you a job right now, would you take it?”

  “I’m not sure. That wouldn’t exactly be smart of me, I don’t think. I mean, what good trader wouldn’t check out the interest away at other firms?” Warren had picked up some of the trading lingo from Leeds, whose speech was peppered with it.

  “You’re probably right. Look, with your trading experience and skills, I think you’d do well at any firm. Honestly, the top firms don’t pay new hires any differently no matter how good they think you are. The only thing they can offer you is the promise of a job in the department you want after the training program. That’s your ticket to moving up to the next level in pay quickly. I spoke to Carl Dressler about you before you came in. I think you could get Jillene to promise you a place in the mortgage department if you took a job here right away. That’s pretty unusual.”

  Warren knew that few people came into the top firms with a secure job placement. Once they got into the training program, they’d have to prove and sell themselves to department heads in the hot areas. It wasn’t unusual for 10 or 20 percent of a training class not to get placed in the firm at all and to be fired within a year. Giambi was telling Warren he had a good shot at coming into Weldon with a place trading mortgages. There was no better or more desired job on Wall Street. To be in the fastest-growing sector of the fixed-income markets at the firm considered the best in the business was a virtual lock on the fast track to big bonuses and promotions.

  “That’s a pretty attractive idea.” Warren understated it, and stayed calm.

  “Look, there’s no need for you to spend any more time interviewing here, unless you want to. I’m going to pick up that phone as soon as you leave my office and tell Jillene to hire you and offer you a job anywhere you want it. Carl liked you, and I think you’re the best candidate I’ve seen so far this year. You’d be amazed how few MBAs have any trading experience. Even Bill Pike thought you took abuse pretty well, and that’s an important quality in this line of work.” Pete stood up. “I’m not supposed to do this, and I’m certainly not supposed to tell you all this. But I hope you’ll take the job. Jillene will make you commit before she actually offers it to you, though, so you better make up your mind before you see her.” Pete put out his hand.

  Warren shook it and smiled. “I believe the appropriate response is ‘You’re done.’” Leeds had explained that was how traders universally said that a trade was confirmed.

  Warren took the elevator up to the forty-first floor and sat down in Jillene Manus’s office. She was the head of Human Resources and Professional Services, and in charge of the recruiting and hiring of business school students. She came in and shook his hand. A tall, heavy-boned woman with gray-flecked and frosted hair, she had a gravel voice harshened by a Rhode Island accent and chain-smoked Kents.

  Warren watched her write some notes in his file, her script precise and rounded. “You’ve got the Brearley swirl.”

  Jillene looked up. “I’m impressed.”

  “My mother was a Brearley girl.” He couldn’t help but smile when he said it. His mom had always been proud of her link to the prestigious Upper East Side girls’ private school. Warren had learned to copy the rounded letters perfectly to forge excuse notes when he cut classes or had to sign a bad report card.

  “No kidding.”

  “Yup. Class of … maybe 1949?”

  Jillene smiled. “A little before my time. What’s she do now?”

  Warren filled her in, and Jillene pushed back from her desk.

  “Well, sounds just like a Brearley girl. I must say, it wasn’t the most practical-minded place. I majored in philosophy at Smith, for God’s sake.” Jillene pause
d a moment. “Anyway, Mr. Hament, it seems you have had quite a day at Weldon Brothers.”

  Warren grunted.

  “And, much to my amazement, both Carl Dressler and Pete Giambi want me to break the rules. I have a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “If I offered you a job, and I’m not saying I will, would you take it?” She looked at him quizzically, leaning in, with a pencil touched to her lower lip.

  “Umm … that depends.” Warren was grateful to Giambi for preparing him for this little game.

  “Yes?”

  “It depends on whether I’d have a guaranteed spot in mortgages if I wanted it.”

  “Let’s say that, assuming you pass all the tests and registrations, not to mention our background check and a drug test, you did. Would you accept?”

  “Can I ask the pay?”

  “You can ask.” She grinned coyly.

  “Can you give me an idea?”

  “We’re competitive with the top payers on the Street for a new associate.”

  “Well … yeah, I guess I’d have to say I’d take it.” Warren was a little overwhelmed. He’d walked in the building scared about interviewing at a bulge-bracket investment bank and was walking out with a job. An actual job, probably before almost anyone else in his class had so much as interviewed!

  “Well, then. Congratulations. I am offering you a job in our 1984 training class. We will actually start you in the summer, and you’re expected to be placed by mid- to late fall. The base pay is forty-seven thousand, and you can expect a bonus of five thousand more if you are successfully placed, and significantly more if you contribute immediately to the firm’s bottom line. Obviously, there’s a full benefits package—health care and such. We will pay all your expenses for preparing and testing and registering with the various exchanges and regulatory bodies and, if you need, give you a clothing allowance of two thousand dollars. You live in New York, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you don’t get moving expenses. We provide all the training materials, and you can have lunch on us every day, and dinner when you’re here after seven, which will be most of the time. That’s for as long as you work here. You’ll get a carrel in the training room until you’re placed, and temporary business cards. We begin in mid-June, so you’ll get a two-week break after graduation. We recommend that you get a lot of R and R, because you’re going to work your tail off once you start. You get ten days’ vacation your first year, and another week after every two years to a maximum of six weeks. Any questions so far?”

  Warren shook his head no.

  “Good. I’ll have an offer letter out to you tonight and will expect your signed acceptance by early next week. If you turn me down, you will never work at Weldon. Your paperwork will be processed when you start in June.” She picked up the stack of papers in front of her and tapped them to straighten the pile. “It doesn’t usually work this way. You’re lucky. Honestly, I think serendipity may have played a role here.”

  “Serendipity? How?” Warren wasn’t sure what was coming.

  “We interviewed a young lady last week who I thought was very impressive. As luck would have it, she has had to withdraw. A terrible story.”

  “Terrible? Why? What happened?” He was a little off-balance.

  “She fell down the stairs at Uris Hall yesterday. Broke her collarbone and a few ribs and got a terrible head injury.”

  “Uris Hall? She went to Columbia? Who was it?” Warren looked up, surprised.

  “Serena Marchand. Did you know her? She was very interested in mortgage trading too.” Jillene thumbed through another stack and pulled out her résumé.

  “Serena? She got hurt? I didn’t hear. Jeez, that’s terrible. Is she gonna be okay?” He hadn’t been to school since the previous morning.

  “Well, her adviser called and said she was in critical condition, was not going to be able to take finals, so we may not be able to consider her for the entering training class.”

  “Wow. God.” Warren wasn’t sure of what else to say.

  Jillene stood up and put her hand out. “I have just one question left for you.”

  Warren stood up, took her hand, and raised his eyebrows. “And that is…?”

  “When you get on the floor, are you going to be good, or are you going to be great?”

  “Both, I hope.”

  “Good answer. Welcome to Weldon.” They shook hands. Jillene’s grip felt like a steel vise.

  eight

  When he got to her apartment in Chelsea, Warren was disappointed that Larisa wasn’t home from classes yet. She had been more nervous about the interview at Weldon than he was, and neither of them had dreamed he would come home with an offer. Goldman Sachs was known to pass a potential hire through as many as forty separate interviews over four or five weeks. Warren knew Larisa would be ecstatic. She’d left the key for him with the super, a lethargic man in a mechanic’s uniform with JIMMY embroidered on the pocket. His name actually was Carlos, and he made Warren wait for five minutes while he searched for the envelope.

  As soon as Warren got through the door, he tore off his suit jacket and tie and rummaged through the refrigerator for a beer. As usual, nothing was in there except some old yogurt and a bottle of white wine. He took out the wine, threw away the yogurt, and found a clean glass. The cork came out easily, and once his glass was filled, he sat down by the phone and called his father.

  Ken Hament had followed Warren’s advancement with amazement. The world of finance left him totally cold—he understood it about as well as programming a VCR. The amounts of money seemed unreal to him. Warren had told him if he got a job at one of the big firms, he hoped, after his first six months, to make close to $100,000 a year. There was no answer at his dad’s house, so he left a message and flipped on the TV. To his surprise, the phone rang less than five minutes later.

  “Hey, kiddo, it’s yer pappy!”

  “Hey! Figured you’d be out and about all day.” Warren was used to his dad’s unpredictable travel schedule, and knew it might take him four or five days before he checked his messages.

  “Actually, I was down your way yesterday. Didn’t want to disturb you, what with the big day and all.”

  “You were in the city? Jeez, I woulda loved to have dinner or a drink with you! What made you take the long drive? Important client?”

  “Something like that. I had to see the Dunlop factory rep for the club. They’ve gotta give us more of a break on our orders.”

  “You were always a hustler, Pop. Still, it would have been nice to shoot the breeze. But I have some good news!” Warren recounted in detail what had happened at Weldon. When he told his father his starting pay, his dad let out a low whistle.

  “Well, Warren me boy, don’t let it all go to your head. You’re a smart kid—Christ, you and Danny are the two smartest people I know other than your mother. You’re more like your grandpa than me. He was a tough SOB. You got his head for numbers too.” Ben Hament had been a successful bookie in Baltimore when it wasn’t strictly illegal and fought off the Mafia for almost ten years before they shot him in his living room. He retired immediately. “Just stay humble, and keep your head down. Those big companies can be murder.”

  Warren stifled his usual impatience with his father’s advice. He’d coached Warren to play tennis with control and tone down his power. Despite himself, Warren knew that his inability, or unwillingness, to take his father’s counsel was probably what had limited him to being merely a good college player, but nothing more.

  “You gotta figure the same qualities that’ll make you a success in the slaughterhouse could also hurt you. Take opportunities, but try not to step on too many toes, or somebody will want to get you. Try to keep that razor wit of yours in your pocket.” Ken couldn’t help but give advice. Like Warren’s grandfather, Ken referred to Wall Street as “the slaughterhouse.” Even to a bookie, the action on Wall Street seemed geared to grinding up people and taking all the money.


  “Thanks, Pop, I’ll try to make you proud.” Warren hammed it up, and his father rewarded him with a hearty laugh.

  “Warren, I’d be proud of you if you were driving a cab and selling pencils on the subway. You’re a great son, and I love you.” The older man never let a conversation pass without expressing his affection for his children. He knew that, no matter their inattention, they thrived on it, that it gave them a secure base to build on. Ken Hament had never asked for any money from Warren, and the two never talked about it. Warren was happy to send his dad a check anyway. “I wish you were here so I could give you a big hug and a kiss.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll try and get up there during my time off. You coming to town again anytime soon?” Warren heard the front door open, and Larisa saw he was on the phone and waved to him before she headed for the bedroom. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Nope. Unless you want me at your graduation.”

  “I don’t see business school graduation as a big event. I was planning on being someplace like on a sailboat, to be honest. I’ll only get a few weeks before I start work.” Warren heard Larisa close the bathroom door.

  “Ah, you kids today. All you think about is self-gratification. Come visit your poor old father, and I’ll whip your butt two out of three. And if anyone gives you any guff, I’ll take ’em down!”

  Warren laughed. His father hadn’t taken a set from him since his thirteenth birthday. “Dad, I’m afraid you’ve created a monster. But I gotta go. Larisa just came home.”

  “Some monster. Give that girl a hug for me. How you ever landed a looker like that I’ll never understand!” They said good-bye, and Warren popped up as he put down the receiver.

  Larisa was in the bathroom, washing her face. “Jesus, it was hot on the bus. How’d it go?” Her voice made bubbling sounds through the water.

  “The bus? You took the bus? Not bad. Jeez, did you hear about Serena falling down the stairs?”

  “Yeah, everyone was bummed. Evidently she’s in some kind of coma. It was during classes, and no one saw it. I didn’t really know her, but it’s so awful.” Larisa paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Anyways,” she said, grabbing a towel and changing the subject. “Come on! What happened? Think they’ll call you back?”