For the Love of Money

by Sam Polk

  “Wow,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He looked energized.

  We were both quiet for a second. Then I said, “I’m leaving, too.”

  His head snapped toward me.

  “Why? Don’t you realize how good for you this is?” he said.

  “I don’t know, Sean,” I said. “I see the path you took. And I see that some form of it is open to me now. But I’m not willing to trade years of my life for money. I mean, what happens if you die next year? What then?”

  He laughed. “If I die next year,” he said, “then it’s been a bad trade. But I don’t think I will, and I’ve made a boatload of money.”

  Sean’s comment stung. There was a clause in my Pateras contract that said if I left I’d have to leave half this year’s bonus—$1.8 million—on the table. It would be a lot easier to leave Wall Street with a fortune like Sean’s.

  We were quiet a moment. “Look,” Sean said. “I know you’ve been bummed out about pay. I feel like I let you down.”

  I’d never heard him say anything like that. I was surprised at his accountability.

  “You did let me down,” I said. “You thought I was getting underpaid, and you didn’t stand up for me.” My throat was thick with emotion.

  Sean didn’t respond.

  I turned to leave.

  “You should really think about staying,” Sean said, from over my shoulder. “Eldrick talks about you as one of the top three guys in the firm that he listens to. He respects you. If you have any doubt about leaving, you should push Eldrick and Peter to pay you more. I’m sure they’d be willing to.”

  Sean’s leaving created a huge opportunity for me. A $3.6-­million bonus would be nothing compared to what ­Pateras might pay me next year, with Sean gone. Still, I was determined to leave—I didn’t want to be a part of this selfish, arrogant culture any longer.

  That Wednesday, I got an e-mail from Eldrick saying he wanted to meet with me to discuss my future at Pateras, to address any concerns I might have, and to let me know what a valued employee I was.

  The next day I sat down with Eldrick and listened as he complimented my investing. He said that I could spot trends before they were obvious, that I consistently had a unique opinion on the world, which led to smart, creative investments. Listening to him, I felt proud.

  Eldrick asked me about myself. I told him I wanted to help people, to make a real contribution to society.

  He started telling me about his philanthropic activities. He said he gave money anonymously, because he wasn’t in it for the credit. I wondered if he realized the irony of telling someone that he donates money anonymously. But I was also impressed.

  The next morning, Peter came by my desk and asked to see me in a conference room. “Sam,” he began, “I wanted to talk with you and address any concerns you might have after Sean’s resignation. I spoke with Eldrick yesterday and got the rundown, so I thought I’d tell you about my charitable ventures.”

  As Peter described his charitable giving, I grew angry. Peter and Eldrick had paid me less than I deserved. Now, with Sean gone, my value to them had grown. But instead of raising my bonus, they were trying to impress me with how socially conscious they were. But that was bullshit.

  Suddenly, I realized I had leverage. Maybe there was a way I could leave Wall Street with even more money than I had, if I played my cards right.

  That night, I told Kirsten I was going to negotiate for more money.

  “But I thought you were leaving,” she said.

  “I am,” I said. “But I might be able to leave with a few more million in the bank.”

  “But you can’t negotiate a higher bonus,” she said, “and then resign right after.”

  “Why not?” I said, defensive. “I deserved a bigger bonus this year. They owe me.”

  She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was unconvinced. And the truth was, I could feel that there was something askew in my plan. But I wanted that money.

  “You don’t understand,” I said to Kirsten. “This is a great opportunity.”

  The next day, I got up early and rode the subway to the office. At eight, when Peter and Eldrick arrived, I sent them both an e-mail asking to meet me in a conference room. I stood up from the trading desk, and walked to the corner conference room. It had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.

  When we were all sitting down, I began.

  “Thank you both for reaching out to me over the past few days. We covered several subjects. One that we only touched on was my compensation, and I’d like to address that now. It’s important for me that I am passionate about what I am doing, and in order for that to happen, I need to know my compensation is in line with my contributions. I had a hugely profitable year this year. I think a bonus of eight million dollars would have been fair, and you came in well below that. I wanted to talk with you about raising this year’s compensation up to that level.”

  I stopped talking. We all just sat there.

  Eldrick spoke first. “Sam, obviously you were a big part of things this year. Your ideas were excellent. I agree you had a big impact.”

  I nodded.

  “Wait a second,” Peter said. “How did you get to eight million dollars?”

  There was something about the tone of his voice. It reminded me of my dad. How Dad used to barrage me with questions whenever I asked for money.

  “I don’t intend to argue with you about the number,” I said to Peter, irritated.

  He held his hands up, miffed. “Argue? You brought up the number. I’m just asking how you came to it.”

  “Okay,” I said tersely, leaning forward, and rattled off the big trades I’d made that year, all massively profitable, and how I’d been told that each year my percentage payout would go up, but it had, in fact, gone down.

  Eldrick jumped in. “Yes, Sam, I agree you made big contributions. There were a lot of times you saw the trade before anyone else. I just wish we had known you were dissatisfied earlier.”

  “Well, I wanted to wait until my bonus check cleared,” I said. “There was an inherent imbalance of power until I had the money that you owed me in my possession.”

  Peter looked like I had slapped him in the face. “We would never not pay a check because someone brought up an issue like this. We have fifteen years of reputation here, Sam. You need to be reasonable. You need to show us some faith.”

  All of a sudden, I was angrier than I’d ever been in my life. Not just at Peter, but at Eldrick, Sean, all the bosses that had ever underpaid me. Why couldn’t they see what I was worth? Why did I always have to beg for more?

  And then, suddenly, my anger grew in intensity, like a forest fire catching a gust. They were acting just like my dad—not giving me the money I deserved. I hadn’t felt this much rage since I was a boy.

  “I think, Peter, that it’s you who needs to show some faith,” I said, jabbing my finger at him. “Because what’s missing here is my trust in you. I have been here two and a half years and I made you a ton of money. If we are to stay in business together, then I’m going to need to see more from you than I’ve seen so far.”

  He looked like it had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like that. He shook his head. “This is highly irregular,” he said.

  We sat there a moment. Then Peter said, “Well, if we do increase your bonus, a lot of it will be deferred”—which meant I wouldn’t receive the money for two to three years. So that was the deal. I could get more money, but I’d have to stay. And I knew I wasn’t willing to stay another year, no matter how much they paid.

  I told them I was unwilling to accept deferred compensation. If they weren’t willing to pay me the money now, I would walk.

  They asked me to give them some time to think it over.

  “What is your timeline?” I a
sked.

  Peter snapped. “What is this timeline? Why do you want a timeline?”

  “Every contract negotiation needs a timeline,” I said.

  Peter’s face reddened. “Sam! You just threw all of this on our laps, and now you demand a timeline. You need to be reasonable! Come on!”

  I had poked a bull. “I can be reasonable,” I said.

  Peter said, “Okay. Okay. Obviously we value your contribution.”

  I left work early that day, and when I came in the next morning, Sean called me into his office. “Do you want me to salvage this?” he started.

  “What do you mean, salvage?” I asked.

  “They are furious,” he said. “You told them you don’t trust them. You went in really aggressive. That was not the right way to handle things.”

  My heart sank. My bravado from the day before had faded, and now I was left with the disappointment of not getting what I’d asked for.

  “Look, Sean,” I said. “It’s not my responsibility to manage their feelings. I said what I had to say. How they react is their business.”

  In the afternoon I got a call from Peter, who asked me to come downstairs to a small conference room. When I got there, I saw it was just Peter and the firm’s head lawyer. Peter had a cold look on his face. He said, “Look, Sam, you are a really valued employee, but there are certain ways to handle things, and you came in very aggressively. You asked for eight million dollars. If we were going to give you anything, it would be deferred, which you said you don’t want, so that leaves us here . . . We are not prepared to meet that number. So what do you want to do?”

  There was nothing left for me to do except play out the hand I’d dealt. I looked into Peter’s eyes defiantly. “I said exactly what I needed to say. If you are not going to meet my terms, then it’s time that we part ways.” I stood up.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Peter said. “I think you could make a lot of money here.”

  But money was no longer my primary goal. I looked down at Peter, and the lawyer who hadn’t said a word, then walked out without shaking either of their hands.

  I went back upstairs, grabbed my bag, and shook hands with the guys on my row. I heard Sean’s phone ring, and he picked it up and then looked at me. I knew it was Peter calling to tell him I’d resigned. I looked at Sean and then looked away so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on my face. Disappointment that he hadn’t stood up for me. Disappointment that he hadn’t been the father I had looked for in every boss I’d ever had. As I walked to the door leading off the trading floor, I saw Sean stand up, the phone pressed to his ear, watching me. I took one final look around the place that had embodied all the dreams I had ever had but that I had come to detest, and then I walked out the door, took the elevator down, and stepped into the bright light of the New York after­noon, with no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

  EPILOGUE

  Good-bye to All That

  ¤

  Six years have passed since I left Wall Street.

  I remember waking up that first morning after I quit, feeling scared and alone, but also exhilarated. Never before had my options seemed so limitless. I had no idea what I would do, or where I would be next year, or even next week.

  Ben and I went backpacking in Mexico. It was a style of travel I was unaccustomed to, carrying only one extra pair of clothes, sleeping in hostels, traveling by bus. It was grimy, hot, and exhausting, and I loved every minute of it. I realized that with only a few bucks and a decision, I could go anywhere in the world.

  When I returned to New York a week later, I took a cab to Kirsten’s apartment. When she opened the door she didn’t say anything, just handed me an envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper, which read University of Southern California, Surgical Residency Program. We were moving to Los Angeles; I was going home.

  But first, we were going to India, where Kirsten had secured a two-month internship at a hospital in Bangalore. I packed up my entire apartment and put it in storage, and left three weeks before she did, to travel alone through Europe. I saw Paris for the first time. I got lost in Seville. Standing alone on the prow of the ferry between Spain and Morocco, looking across the water at the giant Rock of Gibraltar, I felt so free and alive that I laughed out loud. In India, Kirsten and I hiked the Himalayas, spent a week on a houseboat in Kerala, saw the Taj Majal, and after we both caught vicious stomach bugs while sharing a tiny hotel room, got to know each other on a much more intimate level.

  On our return, we moved to Los Angeles, where I started living the life of my dreams. Waking up without an alarm. Surfing nearly every day. Reading books by the dozen. Going to movies in the middle of the day. Sitting for hours at coffee shops. Making new friends, and living with Kirsten. It was amazing.

  And yet after a while I felt like something was missing. I started volunteering at a shelter for homeless youths. I taught a writing class to high school girls in a group foster home. I started going into jails and juvenile detention centers to speak to the inmates about getting sober. I was searching for a purpose.

  In 2013, three years after I left Wall Street, Kirsten and I watched a movie called A Place at the Table. It was about hunger in America—how, in the richest country in the world, millions of people, many of them children, don’t know where their next meal is coming from.

  What really blew my mind was the point the film made about the confluence of poverty and obesity. Poor families in America often live in food deserts, where little produce is available, and lots of fast food. They might skip one meal, but eat KFC at the next because that’s all that’s available, which is part of why the poorest Americans are the most obese.

  That broke my heart. I remembered my childhood, how there was never enough money but too much violence, and how I’d turned to food to quell my fear and anxiety. But there had been plenty of grocery stores in my neighborhood. The thought of kids living just five miles from me who didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, who were under deep emotional stress, and who couldn’t stay healthy because there was no healthy food around—that just seemed too much, too hard. Kirsten and I decided to do something.

  We founded Groceryships (“Scholarships for Groceries”), a nonprofit working at the intersection of poverty and obesity. Groceryships helps moms living in food deserts to get themselves and their families healthy. When a mom joins, she becomes part of a group of ten other moms. For six months, these moms meet weekly for two hours to learn about nutrition, healthy cooking, and practical skills about how to navigate an unhealthy environment. The meetings are structured as support groups—most of the two hours is spent talking about family, stress, and other emotional issues surrounding food. At each meeting, each family receives approximately $40 in fresh produce.

  These group meetings aren’t expert-led and didactic; they are peer-led, community based, and led by graduates of previous groups. People find out about Groceryships through word of mouth, and at our community center in South LA, applications pour in every day. In 2016, we will run thirty groups (three hundred moms), and our waiting list is over 150 names long.

  I have been the executive director of Groceryships for three years. During the past year, I cofounded a new for-profit social enterprise called Everytable, and became its CEO. Everytable sells fresh, healthy, ready-to-eat meals that are affordable for all. We open storefronts in low-income neighborhoods, where we sell meals for approximately $3.50. In higher-income neighborhoods, our storefronts sell meals for $7, far less expensive than other healthy food options. This variable pricing model is a totally new concept, and there’s a lot of excitement around our start-up company.

  So, Wall Street trader to social entrepreneur, sinner to saint, everything is perfect, right?

  Not exactly.

  Several times over the past six years, I’ve gotten hit with a feeling of deep regret about all the money and connecti
ons I walked away from. For a few months, I’ll feel a pit of fear in my stomach, wondering if I made the right decision. Boarding a plane, I’ll feel consumed with envy of the first-class passengers comfortably sipping their complimentary champagne. I’ll start fantasizing about how life will be better when I have a mansion in Malibu, or when I achieve my no-longer-secret dream of becoming president of the United States.

  As a scared and lonely kid, I sponged up the power fantasies of our culture. And even now, after I have seen behind the curtain, the grooves of those neural pathways, formed during childhood, are so deep that sometimes I still believe the illusions they conjure.

  It is so very hard to step away from the values of a culture.

  But most of the time, I am just very grateful for my life. For six years, I haven’t had a boss. I’ve created things—­Groceryships, Everytable, a front-page New York Times OpEd piece, this book—that express who I am, and what I believe. My work is both challenging and meaningful, and I am proud of it.

  • • •

  Oh, and Kirsten and me?

  We got married. We have a close, loving relationship. It isn’t perfect. We have our issues, and sometimes we fight. We go to couples counseling. But we are happy and in love. Kirsten left surgery to become a psychiatrist, because she wanted to focus on emotional health and make time for being a mom. In 2014 she gave birth to our first child, a girl named Eveline, who is the joy of our lives. Kirsten’s father moved to Los Angeles, got sober, and is a rock of support for our young family.

  And this is what I know:

  I know that of all the things I do in my life, the most important will be how I love Kirsten and Eveline. There is no higher aim, for me, than to become the father I never had, and the kind of husband I never saw.