The Devil Is A Banker

Chapter One

Would you prefer to be sacked from your job before or after the Christmas break? Before? Your Christmas would be spoiled, but at least you’d maintain a healthy bank account since you wouldn’t overspend. After? A joyous Christmas would await; however, it would be followed by a double whammy– an overused credit card and no job.

If you worked for TAR Bank, it would be a hypothetical question. The bank wouldn’t care about your preference. If you were on the hit list, you would be shown the door before Christmas and, most importantly, before the bonus allocations. The fewer the employees, the bigger the bonuses for everybody else.

Welcome to investment banking.

Derek Moody knew the bank’s perspective. It was his perspective. Win. Just find a way to win. Remove anybody in the way, reward those who succeed. Derek understood the bank culture as well as anybody at TAR because he’d helped to mold it during his fifteen years of employment there. Initially working as a bond trader and then through various revenue-generating roles within the equities division, he’d made a lot of money for TAR. Senior management turned a blind eye when he traded beyond contractual limits because he always found a way to win. He was just as savvy outside business hours. Making the right connections and social plays propelled his career into management. He was now CEO of the U.S.A. division and one step away from nomination to the Bank Executive Board – the BEB.

On a chilly but sunny winter morning, Derek was being limo-driven through the beautiful, tree-lined streets of Brookville. The street was bordered by landscaped gardens and large family homes. Derek had never married and didn’t have a family, but he owned one of the houses. He preferred the quiet sanctuary of his Brookville house to the Manhattan apartment he used on occasion for convenience. Once a year, Derek’s only sibling visited from Prague with her husband to stay with him for a few weeks. Derek’s niece, who lived in Manhattan, would join them for the duration of her mother’s visit. His niece called the Brookville house her Long Island weekender. Every month or so, she and some close friends would arm themselves with magazines, champagne, and treats, and use Derek’s house as a getaway. Sometimes Derek was present, sometimes he wasn’t. When he was at the house, he would enjoy their youthful company.

Business Today was on the small television in the limo. The panel of business experts was discussing foreign ownership laws and their concern with the lack of transparency of investments by Sovereign Wealth Funds, in particular those from Middle Eastern countries.

Derek looked at his watch. It was just after seven a.m. He gulped down a mouthful of scotch and started to crush the ice in his mouth. He muted the television and made a call on his cell.

***

Lidia Conti, a thirty-something-year-old, sat behind her desk, holding a picture of her last summer holiday. In the picture, she and three female friends were sipping cocktails at an open-air bar on a warm Hawaiian night. She reminisced, thinking, This is why I work, to help her get through another crazy day. Her desk phone rang, and for the first time in five minutes, she looked across her desk at Victor Roddick seated opposite her. Well-groomed, clean-cut, bank-cookie-cutter Victor. Lidia used the speaker phone button on the phone to answer it.

Even though Lidia was expecting Derek’s call, and surely nobody else would be calling her at seven a.m. on a Monday, she was formal and didn’t make any assumptions. Good morning, Lidia Conti speaking. Professionalism was part of the bank DNA.

Derek here. Are you both in the room?

Yes, Lidia replied.

Good morning, Mr. Moody, Victor said.

Victor, before we begin with this meeting, have you finished the Lemon report, including the consolidated future savings estimates?

Yes, I have Mr. Moody. I emailed it to you at eleven last night. The final savings projection is twenty-four million in salary-related costs in the first twelve months. That is based on the revised headcount reduction you sent yesterday.

Good. Thank you. Victor, you’ve been privy to our financial estimates for this quarter and the forecasts for next quarter. You understand our situation better than most. The numbers are ugly, and the decisions we have to make are even uglier.

I know. The government’s TARP money should help us through until the economy recovers, shouldn’t it?

The Government’s Troubled Asset Relief Program. TARP. The most contentious political decision of the new millennium. Seven hundred billion dollars to assist greedy bankers whose recklessness had bankrupted several banks, placed others on the verge of bankruptcy, and would most likely cause widespread recession. Financial commentators were dubbing it the global financial crisis. No doubt financial historians would be marking the 2008 GFC on the financial timeline with the same bold text they used for the Asian financial crisis of the 1990s, the stock market meltdown of 1987, and of course the 1929 stock market crash and subsequent Great Depression.

Derek ignored Victor’s reference to TARP. He welcomed TARP as much as any other banker, but unlike most other bankers who were embarrassed and ashamed, he saw it as an opportunity give his bank a competitive edge. He was not about to share his thoughts with Victor though. Victor, the reason I have you here so early this morning is because I have to get the ball rolling on these headcount reductions. They all need to be completed by end of business tomorrow.

Yes, I understand. You’ve given me numbers and ranks but no names. I’m not sure how to proceed. Will each manager be making their own arrangements, or should I book a row of rooms on the forty-second floor for the entirety of today and tomorrow for them to use as they need?

Each of the managers will make their own arrangements. Victor, this is the first of those meetings. Derek had released the guillotine. A head had rolled. Swift, decisive, strong. He waited for a response from Victor.

Victor, however, was uncertain of what Derek meant. He smiled at Lidia. It wasn’t a smile of happiness but a smile of pause. He didn’t know how to respond as he was trying to comprehend Derek’s statement.

Derek sighed as he waited. He detested modern business manners where a manager had to continue to talk after he had sacked an employee. Victor was entitled to an explanation and a representative from Human Resources was present to ensure due process was followed. More for the bank’s benefit than the employee’s. Regardless, for Derek, this was a nicety he would rather not have to engage in. Derek sensed Victor’s confusion, so he reluctantly played the role of modern manager. Victor, you have been of invaluable assistance, especially over the past few months with the you-know-which foreign government. However, the Goat project is sealed with the exception of the formal signing this evening. As you have seen, the new business pipeline for quarter one of next year is skinny.

What are you saying? Am I being moved on to another department?

Victor, all business units are releasing staff. There is nowhere for you to go.

So you’re retrenching me? You’re really retrenching me? Victor was astonished and caught totally unaware. His contribution to the team had been invaluable. In his shock and growing anger, he forgot his recent misdemeanor. He only recalled the dedicated hours given to Derek and the bank. After all of the hours I’ve put in! After all I’ve done for you! Victor raised his voice to Derek for the first time ever.

Derek replied in kind. Verbal stoushes with Derek were seldom conducted calmly. Look, you have been comprehensive in your research and competent in tending to the needs of the Goat stakeholders, but you have also shown bad judgment in some of your decision-making. Who asked you to copy in McGregor on the request for fixed income data? You should have run that by me. And using Finance’s resources could have been handled more delicately. Yes, we need assistance across all businesses, but you still should have gained the buy-in from managers. Using my name for clout requires subtlety, not a flashing-neon-sign approach.

Victor was fuming but decided not to defend himself. He couldn’t win. If the bank wanted to get rid of you, especially under the retrenchment umbrella, they could do so with little need for justification. There was no point in arguing Derek’s criticisms as they were merely dressing while the main dish was retrenchment.

Victor, you’re young and energetic, but you need to improve your politics and diplomacy. You’ll learn that with broader experience. This is an opportunity for you. Try other investment banks, other business divisions, other roles. Keep your eyes open and learn.

There was silence from all. Lidia wouldn’t step in until she was cued to do so by Derek. She knew her role as Deputy Head of Human Resources was to act as witness and then cross the T’s and dot the I’s.

It’s better we call this a retrenchment rather than letting you go for incompetence, Derek added.

Incompetence?! Victor was seething and looked at Lidia for support.

Lidia grimaced but didn’t say a word.

Victor shook his head. He thought this was typical of Derek. Then he started to nod. He understood. He recalled how proud he had been when he won a position on Derek’s team and was given the title of executive assistant. He also recalled how that pride deflated soon after when he realized that Derek handed out executive assistant titles to all those who reported to him. Derek’s reputation alone would ensure the appropriate assistance was given to his direct reports by all and sundry at the bank, however the title executive assistant gave his subordinates such a broad scope that nobody would question why any information was sought. As executive assistants to Derek Moody, all information except the most confidential was in scope. Victor nodded because he understood that everything Derek did was for Derek’s benefit alone.

With no support forthcoming from Lidia, Victor continued coldly, Will I be getting a reference for the years I have given to the bank?

Derek cued Lidia. Lidia.

Lidia’s response was a perfect recital of the bank’s script. It’s the bank policy, upon request, to give a factual letter of employment history stating the dates of employment and positions held. A personal reference is up to the manager’s discretion.

Derek? asked Victor.

Derek hung up.

***

Some managers found retrenching staff the most stressful and unpleasant of tasks. Derek was not one of those, and on that occasion he had already moved on. He un-muted the television and listened intently to the team from Business Today. When the station went to advertisements, Derek muted the volume again and made another call on his cell.

A young woman at a TV studio picked up the ringing cell phone from a table and answered the call. Hello, Kieran Rose’s phone. Can I help you?

Kieran, please. Tell him it’s Derek Moody.

I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Rose is in the middle of production at the moment. Can I take a message for him?

You’re in the middle of a two-minute commercial break. Put Kieran on the phone now. It’s Derek Moody, he’ll want to take this call.

The young woman huffed and walked over to the panel of on-air presenters. She whispered into the ear of a stocky, red-haired presenter. He nodded and walked away from his colleagues, taking the phone from her. Hello, Mr. Moody.

Kieran, stop this shit about rumors of TAR meeting with a Middle Eastern sovereign wealth fund. Kill it, you hear?

But—

Don’t interrupt me.

Sorry, Mr. Moody.

My secretary will send you an invitation to a private dinner party tonight. KEEP IT CONFIDENTIAL or you will be out of my loop. I’ll introduce you to the fund executives, then you and I can have a chat about some exclusive stories. Everything needs to be done my way.

Ah, thank you, Mr. Moody.

Derek hung up.

***~~~***

Chapter Two

Matt Mercer was waiting in front of the Fountain Gate Apartments on the Upper East Side as the limo approached. It was three days before Christmas, and the sun was out, but it was still crispy cold in Manhattan. Although spring was his favorite time of year, Matt didn’t mind December weather because he could comfortably wear his 100 percent cashmere, luxuriously soft, tan-colored winter coat. Matt had expensive taste in clothing. His apartment and clothing were the only two things which gave a hint to his paycheck. For the most part, he enjoyed a trendy but only moderately expensive lifestyle.

He stood close to the wall several feet from the entrance. He didn’t lean on the wall because he didn’t want to feel it. That would spoil his concentration. But he stood close enough that he was out of harm’s way from joggers and the occasional bike-rider. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds of the neighborhood and the light and warmth of the sun. As it was early morning, he didn’t hear any jack-hammers, thankfully. He faced his palms upward and felt the sun. He started to rub his first two fingers and thumb together as though he was rolling fine grains of sand between them. He imagined catching small sun rays and rubbing them together to generate more heat. He had to take a deep breath through his nose to pick up the faint scent of bagels as the air was heavier during winter than summer. He heard a woman walking closer and then past him. He smelled her perfume. He was not an aficionado on perfume by any means, so he was unable to label it. However, as the perfume was light and fruity rather than a heavy floral, he imagined it belonged to a young, casually dressed woman.

He heard a dog in the distance, most likely on the sidewalk across the street. Matt had engaged in this practice so often that it had become a habit. Two or three times a day he would close his eyes and absorb his environment. He didn’t do it as a meditation because it was not relaxation or contemplation that he was seeking.

He did it for feel. He seeked pleasure. He absorbed everything that his environment and the world in general were offering for enjoyment. He didn’t understand why more people didn’t do it. It opened up another world. As a variation during some lunch breaks, he would walk through Central Park, but instead of closing his eyes he would block his ears. Well, not really block his ears, but he placed his earphones into each ear very snugly. He then listened to classical music loud enough to block out all other sounds but not so loud that it became his main focus. He walked through the park concentrating on the light and color of the world around him. Again, for the pure pleasure of it.

Ali’s limo reached Matt and pulled over by the curb. Ali lowered the back seat window. He was wearing a big isn’t-life-grand smile.

Matt smiled back, amused. Ali’s childishness punctuated the seriousness of bank life and was always welcomed by Matt.

Good morning, hillbilly, get in and let me introduce you to real class, Ali said.

As Matt walked towards the limo, he mentally shook his head. He thought but didn’t say to Ali that money doesn’t buy class. Ali may have been in a limo, but his shirt was too tight around the chest. The fabric from one button to the other was curved slightly rather than straight up and down. Ali never wore his tie until the last minute before entering work. He said it makes him too hot and uncomfortable. Matt suspected that it was the combination of a thick neck and a one-size-too-small shirt that was the real culprit. Matt also observed that Ali must have been using an electric shaver in the mornings. Despite the advertisements’ claims, electric shavers never left skin looking as clean as a blade did.

What’s the world coming to? Are the Ottomans rising again, albeit invading via limos instead of horseback? Your ancestors will be proud. Confused but proud, Matt retorted. He got into the limo, and they gave each other a big bear hug.

Matt and Ali had been friends for five years. They met at one of the bank’s internal courses, Effective Team Work. On the first morning of the course, the facilitator introduced a game to break the ice between the participants and to introduce each of them. The game consisted of each participant calling out three things about themselves. Two of the statements had to be true, one had to be false. The rest of the group then had to guess the false statement. When it was Ali’s turn, he had called out in order, Every second Saturday morning, I volunteer at a home for the elderly, I have written a full-length play, and I donate more often at the sperm bank than I do at the blood bank. There were laughs and giggles at Ali’s last statement.