As they returned to the frenzied answering of incoming calls, Brian took a seat.
Right on time, a gorgeous girl dressed in Seven Jeans and a top maybe from Bebe came to the lobby to retrieve Brian. She opened a door and held it for him.
The noise increased tenfold as they entered a cavernous room crammed with cubicles. It was maybe two hundred feet long and a hundred wide. Each held a guy or girl, most energetically shouting into phone headsets. The ones who weren’t on calls were yelling at each other.
From his work at Merrill, he understood the lingo. They were on sales calls – taking orders from customers – although in a way a hundred eighty degrees opposite from Merrill’s style.
“Don’t call me bitching about this deal if you miss it today,” one shouted.
Another said, “Think it over? Are you a wimp? Make a damned decision and be a man!”
And it was working. They were closing deals in record time, quickly moving to the next one. Brian knew his bosses at Merrill would have been horrified if they saw these techniques. But, he had to admit being on this trading floor gave him an incredible rush.
The interview with Carl Cybola was in a glass conference room insulated from most of the noise but situated so a candidate could see the action.
Cybola started by saying, “We make dreams come true here. Our clients’ dreams come true, but yours can too. We’re going to give you a base salary of $25,000 a year.”
Carl saw Brian’s face fall. “What’s the matter? “
“That’s less than half the base I make now at Merrill. My friends who work here talk about making six figures already.”
Carl laughed. “The base is nothing. It won’t make the payments on my Maserati. The base pay only serves to weed out the stars from the rest of the pack.”
He explained that Brian could work on deals he dug up on his own, but he’d also make money when other brokers’ customers did deals. The red-hot oil market in Dallas meant there were lots of people with lots of money, and Warren Taylor and Currant had ways for them to make a great deal more.
They discussed what was expected of a WT&C broker. Carl said they were looking for young, motivated self-starters who wanted to get rich quick.
“We make no bones about it. If you aren’t primarily motivated by doing deals and making big bucks, you don’t belong here.”
Then he looked Brian in the eye and said, “Do you do drugs?”
The question came up frequently in interview situations but it took Brian by surprise. He had figured it wasn’t a big deal here, given the frenzy and pace of the sales floor.
“I’ve tried stuff,” he responded honestly. “But I don’t do drugs now. If you’re asking me can I pass a drug test, yes I can.”
Carl leaned back in his chair, letting out a booming laugh. “No, that really wasn’t the reason I asked. A lot of guys and gals here use drugs recreationally. Some of our people are pretty strung out on drugs sometimes. I just wanted to tell you if you use drugs, you might want to tone it down during the workweek. You’ll get plenty of high here without ‘em, and in my opinion all they can do is make you not think as straight or as fast as you should.”
Brian assured him it wasn’t a problem – and it wasn’t. Brian’s experiments into drugs in college and afterwards left him with an empty feeling every time he came down off a high. And the loss of control while he was doing drugs was something he just wasn’t willing to allow, even for the short-term rush he got.
The interview drew to a close and Carl said, “I want you here, Brian. Go back and think about it…but don’t take much time. I have seats to sell in that room out there and if you don’t want one, there’s a dozen more just like you salivating at the opportunity to be a WT&C broker.”
He tossed what looked like a credit card across his desk to Brian. “Here. When you show up the first day, don’t be wearing that Brooks Brothers suit. Go to Stanley Korshak and ask for Doug. Tell him you work for me and he’ll fix you up. When you work here, you gotta look like one of us.”
Korshak, the upscale men’s clothier in the Crescent Court Hotel, was a place Brian couldn’t afford. Although it might help, he figured the Korshak gift card he held in his hand wouldn’t pay for all of a suit – and the rest would surely be out of Brian’s reach.
He had more to think about than what clothes to wear. A move from Merrill to WT&C was a big decision. This firm had a reputation for being cutting edge – and not necessarily in a good way. The old-school traditional brokers were conservative. You developed a client base and slowly built a book of business, often becoming a client’s broker for life. The big brokers considered Warren Taylor a bucket shop – a place where deals got done by hook or by crook.
Chapter Seven
The Judean hills near Bethlehem
When the shepherds arrived at the hillside where they had abandoned their flock, they found the sheep milling around and grazing as though nothing had happened. Not one was missing. Joab remarked that it was as though someone had watched over the flock while they were in Bethlehem all night.
The shepherds led the flock downhill to a nearby stream. Joab and Benjamin walked ahead of the others.
“Father, what we saw last night was a miracle, was it not?”
“My son, I am still not sure what to make of it. I must have time to think, and perhaps talk to the Elders at the synagogue about what we saw. Whether to mention it, I am not sure. However, one thing I do know. As soon as we are home you must take your quill and parchment and write the events of last evening.”
Since Benjamin was the only member of the group who could write, his father asked him to record everything, beginning with the bright light that had first alerted the shepherds.
Leaving a couple of men to tend the flock, Joab and Benjamin walked about a mile down a dusty road to their home. When they arrived, Joab said, “Go, son. Write now, lest you forget even a single event of last night. I must speak with your mother.”
Joab’s wife Rachel was washing clothes in the yard behind their small house. They had two hectares of land – not much, but enough to raise some sheep and a small garden of vegetables for the family to eat.
“Good morning, husband,” she said when she saw him. “Did you and Benjamin have a good night’s rest?”
Joab took her in his arms and held her tight. “My,” she smiled. “What is that all about?”
“My darling. Neither Benjamin nor I slept for one moment last night. I have something to tell you which I hope you will believe. Even though I saw it myself, I hardly can believe it.”
It took nearly an hour for Joab to relate his story. Rachel sat, hands folded in her lap, saying nothing until he had finished. By then Benjamin had joined them.
When Joab was finished, Rachel said, “I think we must pray now. If you speak the truth, you and Benjamin have witnessed a miracle which will change the world forever.”
Chapter Eight
Brian started at Warren Taylor and Currant four days after his interview. He had thought about the offer all that day, and spent most of the afternoon at Merrill online, researching deals the firm had done in the past year. He was astonished. The broker had done ten times more deals than Merrill had. Each of them was far smaller but still none was less than $10 million. Significantly, most of the companies WT&C had taken public were trading today higher than the offering price, which meant that investors had to be happy because they were making a profit on their investments with the high-flying brokerage firm.
The morning after his interview he gave two weeks’ notice to his manager, whose response surprised Brian.
“If you’re going to WT&C you’re not the guy I thought you were. We don’t need you here any more. You’re released today. Pack up and get out.”
“What…what do you mean I’m not the guy you thought I was? I’m who I am.”
His manager looked at him sternly. “Get out, Brian. I’d wish you good luck but what you need more than luck is a bulletproof vest. I�
�ve always liked you. I hope you can stay out of trouble.”
Stunned but determined, Brian cleaned out his desk and walked out of Merrill Lynch for the last time, assuring himself as he got in his Jeep that the Merrill guy was just spouting sour grapes.
Every stockbroker has to play by the same rules as the others. Trouble? Brian thought to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot. Bullshit. I can handle anything.
Intrigued by the gift card Carl had given him, Brian dropped by the Stanley Korshak men’s store after he left Merrill’s downtown office. He asked for Doug and when the impeccably dressed salesman approached him, Brian decided he must have been a linebacker in college. He was a rugged, handsome guy. He took a look at the gift card Brian offered, and laughed.
“So Carl sent you my way? You think you can cut it at WT&C? Make a million like the others?”
“Sure,” Brian replied confidently. “But if it’s the place to make a million, why are you selling suits instead of stocks?”
“The truth? WT&C’s the hottest place in town. You can make a killing there faster than anywhere else – even faster than the oilies can. But I’m looking at tomorrow. I can make my fortune selling clothes to you guys who have to have it all and I’ll still be here when it’s all over.” He smiled broadly and Brian wondered how much of that revelation had been in jest, or if any of it had.
“So how much will this card buy me?”
“Pick yourself out a couple of suits,” he replied, explaining that the card itself had no value at all. It was a ticket – a passport – carte blanche for the holder to buy up to $5000 in clothes from Stanley Korshak, all charged to Warren Taylor and Currant. Two Hugo Boss suits later, Brian left both the store and his old life behind.
-----
Driving up the Tollway after his first day at Warren Taylor, Brian compared it to his last job. He couldn’t think of a single thing that was remotely similar to this first day and that first day at Merrill two years ago.
At Merrill, Brian Sadler’s first six weeks had been spent in training sessions where he learned the basics of the company and its modus operandi. Observed by a supervisor for weeks, he had made calls to existing customers who had been reassigned to him and to potential new leads who had been identified from various advertising methods. Not a stone was left unturned to create a professional from a novice. Brian was self-assured and confident as he was released to become a broker on Merrill’s sales floor.
Part of WT&C scared Brian but most of it fascinated him. He knew this place could be his stepping-stone to the stars. He also knew he would make that happen.
When he had accepted Carl’s offer, Brian was told to be at the office by eight. He rose early that morning, showered, shaved and had a bagel and coffee. He donned his new shirt, tie and suit and drove to work.
Brian pulled into the garage under his new employer’s office building and took the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. Although the receptionists weren’t there yet, the front door was unlocked. He walked to the sales floor, heading for Carl’s office.
“Fresh meat! Fresh meat!” He heard catcalls from the salespeople as he made his way through the office. Several stood, pointing and laughing. He smiled back and made his way across the vast sales floor. Carl and three other guys were in his office. One told a story as the rest howled uncontrollably with laughter. He stuck his head in and Carl waved him to an empty chair.
“Sit and give me one sec,” Carl said.
“So he took my dare,” the storyteller continued. “While we sat in the bar having drinks, he left and then came back a half hour later in jeans and a t-shirt, wearing one of those tool belts like he was a damned plumber or something! He walked over to the painting, took it off the wall, and just walked out with it. He just walked out. Everybody there thought he was a maintenance man or something. Nobody challenged him. Nobody said a word!”
The guys were almost bent double, laughing at the story.
“Then he came back, ten minutes later, in his suit and tie. He sat down at our table, told me the painting was in the parking garage under my car, and held out his hand.”
“Did you pay off on the bet?” someone asked him.
“Yep. A thousand bucks. Laid it right in his hand. I never in a million years thought he could get away with that. And I never thought he would even try it! He stole a damned painting that had to be worth serious money!”
The guys guffawed while Brian smiled in astonishment not only at the deed done, but at the size of the bet made and paid for such a stupid stunt.
Carl introduced Brian to the group, pulled two sheets of paper from his desk drawer, and then said, “Sign this. It’s a confidentiality agreement required on the first day of everyone’s employment. It’s no big deal – just says you won’t leave here and steal our stuff.”
Brian wanted to take a few minutes to read the document, which was in small print and had the usual “whereas” and “therefores” that showed it had been created by a law firm. Carl saw him start reading.
“Just sign it so I can show you where you are going to be sitting,” Carl said impatiently. “You can read it later. It’s bullshit anyway.”
Brian signed, gave Carl one copy and kept the other.
On the sales floor Carl led Brian to a group of cubicles with a huge sign hanging above them that read, “Team Bravo.” He introduced Randy Perkins, Team Bravo’s group leader.
“You guys are going to be stars by the end of the week,” Carl said to the team. “So get off your butts and get that Malco Energy deal done!”
“You got it, boss!” Randy shouted back. “Team Bravo – start those calls. It’s 9:30 am in New York City. The market is O-PEN! Let’s get it done NOW!”
A frenzy erupted among the ten or so cubes that made up Team Bravo. Randy turned to Brian and pointed to a nearby cubicle. “Here’s home, buddy.” It was about six feet square, just like the other hundred in the room, and it had a chair, computer monitor, keyboard and mouse. There was nothing else.
“Our intranet will be your homepage,” Carl said, gesturing to the monitor. “Look up Malco Energy and read the S-1. Get yourself up to speed fast, pardner. You got a million bucks to make.”
Seated at his new desk Brian brought up the internal website of Warren Taylor and Currant. “Pending Deals” was one of the selections he saw; with a click he chose Malco Energy and brought up a folder of documents. He clicked on “S-1 Registration Filing” and brought up a document over a hundred pages long. This was the form that a law firm had prepared for Malco Energy and filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission. Through WT&C, Malco Energy was going to become a public company very soon.
It was hard to concentrate at first. Having come from the quiet of a small office at Merrill, he was now thrust into the circus of a hundred voices in a cacophony of noise. He could hear the broker next to him shouting, “You can’t afford NOT to do this! I guarantee you Malco will be up ten bucks the day we bring it public. It can’t lose.”
Then he heard, “Ten thousand shares. Done, Dr. Samuelson. Drop me a check – do it today. We have to have everything in house by Friday.”
Brian looked back at the screen and the registration document open before him. Malco was projected to come to market at twenty dollars a share. The doctor had spent two hundred thousand dollars. Sweet, Brian thought. That broker must have a great relationship with his customer to get an order that big, that fast.
Sticking his head up over the cube wall, Brian said, “I couldn’t help overhearing your quick sale. Nice job. How long have you worked with the doctor?”
The broker stood up, smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jim Palmer. I’ve worked with him maybe eight minutes. You heard the entire relationship in that one call.”
Brian thought about what he had just witnessed. That a broker could get an order from someone he had never talked to before, and could guarantee the stock would go up on offering, was incomprehensible to Brian.
“Can I ask a qui
ck question?” Brian said to Jim.
“Shoot.”
“When do I fill out my initial paperwork, like my withholdings, and sign an employment agreement, and all of that?”
Jim said WT&C wasn’t much into things that didn’t make the firm money. He said he had been with the firm over a year, and still hadn’t been given his offer letter. “They backdate everything,” he explained. “You’ll probably have to fill out your withholdings form the day paychecks are cut.”
Unbelievable. He began to read the Malco offering document closely. An S-1 registration document was designed to tell the SEC everything it needed to know about the company: its history, officers, directors and shareholders. It explained the work the investment banking firm would do to sell stock to the public, and what its remuneration would be.
WT&C had chosen $20 a share as its target offering price, although that price wouldn’t be final until the day the SEC approved the deal and Malco went public. Malco was selling 2 million shares to the public. Before expenses, the deal would give Malco $40 million. Brian turned to the financial reporting section of the S-1, to see what kind of profits Malco had been generating. For a deal this big, he figured he would see a seasoned company run by veterans in the oil and gas industry, making steady profits every one of the past few years.
What he saw instead astonished him. The offering document said Malco was a company formed in the last two years by two men whose experience in the oil business consisted of having owned some royalty interests. One of the owners was actually a former Warren Taylor broker and amazingly, he had left the firm because his securities license was in jeopardy.
The Securities and Exchange Commission had accused this broker of fraudulently inducing people to invest in securities for which they were not qualified. Brian knew that this usually meant pushing elderly people with lots of money but little understanding of the market, to invest in high-flyer deals. As a settlement with the SEC, the broker had agreed to leave Warren Taylor and Currant and give up his license without admitting fault.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 4
