Chasing Goldman Sachs by Suzanne McGee - Excerpt
Chasing Goldman Sachs by Suzanne McGee - Excerpt
Chasing Goldman Sachs by Suzanne McGee - Excerpt
GOLDMAN
SACHS
HOW THE MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE
Suzanne McGee
CROWN BUSINESS is a trademark and CROWN and the Rising Sun colophon are
registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
McGee, Suzanne.
Chasing Goldman Sachs/Suzanne McGee.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Goldman, Sachs & Co. 2. Investment banking—United States—History—21st
century. 3. Financial crises—United States—History—21st century. 4. Finance—
United States—History—21st century. I. Title.
HG4930.5.M38 2010
332.660973—dc22 2009053440
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Foreword ix
Dramatis Personae xiii
Introduction: The Chase 1
PART I
Dancing to the Music 13
1 From Utility to Casino: The Morphing of Wall Street 19
2 Building Better—and More Profitable—Mousetraps 53
3 What’s Good for Wall Street Is Good for . . . Wall Street:
How Wall Street Became Its Own Best Client 89
4 To the Edge of the Abyss—and Beyond: Flying Too
Close to the Sun 130
PART II
Greed, Recklessness, and Negligence: The Toxic Brew 167
5 “You Eat What You Kill” 175
6 The Most Terrifying Four-Letter Word Imaginable 213
7 Washington Versus Wall Street 252
PA RT III
The New Face of Wall Street 299
8 Too Big to Fail, Too Small to Thrive? 307
9 Chasing Goldman Sachs? 346
Notes 379
Acknowledgments 389
Index 391
O n the same morning that I delivered the final page proofs of this
book to my editor’s offices in midtown Manhattan, fact-checked,
proofread, and ready for the printer, the Securities and Exchange
Commission charged Goldman Sachs & Co. and one of its execu-
tives with fraud.
The announcement came as a bombshell. It had been nearly two
years since the SEC began investigating the “Abacus” mortgage-
backed securities transactions at the heart of the fraud allegations. In
its letter to shareholders contained in its 2009 annual report, Goldman
Sachs’s CEO, Lloyd Blankfein, described 2009 as “a year of resiliency”
for the bank. It was also an extraordinarily profitable one for Wall
Street’s most famous and most envied institution: Goldman pock-
eted $45.17 billion in revenues and $13.4 billion of profit in 2009
and, even as the SEC was preparing to fi le its lawsuit, it was closing
the books on a very profitable first quarter of 2010, during which it
generated twice the profits that it had a year earlier, or $3.46 billion.
Once again, the rest of Wall Street was left trying to figure out how
to keep their shareholders happy in light of the astonishing return on
equity that Goldman Sachs had delivered to its own investors—22.5
percent in 2009.
But what had Goldman Sachs done to earn that return on equity
and those profits? Within hours, that was what everyone was buzz-
ing about. Certainly, the dealings spelled out in the SEC lawsuit
seemed to have little to do with the idea that Wall Street exists to
connect those individuals, entrepreneurs, businesses, and govern-
ments in need of capital with investors hoping to find a way to put
that have it to those that need it. Today’s Wall Street is far from being
a utility, and restoring public confidence that it can still act in the in-
terests of all those that rely on it is the challenge that confronts all of
us, from the regulators and legislators in Washington to the bankers
on Wall Street. As of this writing, a host of regulatory reform pro-
posals are making the rounds, all of them hotly debated and all of
them focusing squarely on the structure of Wall Street. It remains to
be seen, however, whether any of these will succeed in getting Gold-
man Sachs and its rivals to reconsider their raison d’être and redefine
their responsibilities to both their clients and to the financial system
itself. They can’t keep chasing Goldman Sachs if what Goldman
Sachs is doing to earn its hefty profits is damaging the integrity of
the financial system, as the SEC lawsuit implicitly claims.
Tom Casson*: a former Bear Stearns investment banker; since that firm’s
collapse, he has worked for two other Wall Street institutions
Jimmy Cayne: former CEO and chairman of Bear Stearns; he spent his
professional life at the firm
Steve Cohen: manager of one of the world’s biggest hedge funds; known as
a ferocious and secretive competitor and an avid art collector
Gary Cohn: president and COO of Goldman Sachs
Leon Cooperman: former Goldman Sachs partner; now runs a large hedge
fund group, Omega Advisors
John Costas: rose to head UBS’s investment banking; after briefly running
a hedge fund group for UBS, he was caught with short-term losses and
resigned; launched his own trading and market-making group, Prince-
Ridge, in mid-2009
Robert “Bob” Diamond: CEO of Barclays Capital and president of Bar-
clays PLC; Diamond orchestrated the purchase of many of Lehman
Brothers’ investment banking operations after Lehman’s bankruptcy fi l-
ing; formerly worked for Credit Suisse, among other firms
Jamie Dimon: CEO of JPMorgan Chase, a former protégé of Sandy Weill
whom the latter fired at Citigroup and who went on to have the last laugh
as the heir to JPMorgan himself during the crisis
Mike Donnelly*: former Wall Street investment banker who spent most of
his career at Morgan Stanley
Glenn Dubin: cofounder of Highbridge Capital, a large hedge fund group
now owned by JPMorgan Chase
James “Jimmy” Dunne: CEO of Sandler O’Neill, a smaller investment
bank that specializes in serving financial institutions
Ira Ehrenpreis: a general partner at Technology Partners, a Silicon Valley
venture capital firm
Gary Farr: former Citigroup banker hired by KKR to build an in-house
investment banking division to assist its portfolio companies
Niall Ferguson: professor of history and business at Harvard University and
Harvard Business School; specializes in economic and financial history
Jim Feuille: partner at Crosslink Capital, a venture capital firm
Richard “Dick” Fisher: late CEO of Morgan Stanley; his name often
surfaces when people talk about competitive yet principled Wall Street
executives
* Indicates a pseudonym.
Todd Kaplan: veteran Wall Street banker recruited by Ken Griffin at Citadel
to launch the hedge fund’s push into investment banking; resigned in
early January 2010 for personal reasons
Henry Kaufman: the original “Dr. Doom” and a prominent economist at
Salomon Brothers; now president of Henry Kaufman & Co.
Dow Kim: briefly headed the fixed-income investment banking operations
at Merrill Lynch; tried but failed to launch his own hedge fund after Mer-
rill began to take write-downs
Michael Klein: one of the first architects of a sponsor group of bankers
catering to private equity clients; a former Citigroup banker
Bill Kohli: fixed-income portfolio manager at Putnam Investments in Boston
Richard “Dick” Kramlich: cofounder of New Enterprise Associates, a
large Silicon Valley venture capital partnership
Henry Kravis: cofounder of KKR, one of the first large buyout firms
Sallie Krawcheck: former banking analyst and Citigroup chief financial
officer; now runs the wealth management business at Bank of America
Merrill Lynch
Ken Lewis: former chairman and CEO of Bank of America; negotiated
the merger between B of A and Merrill Lynch but was ousted after reve-
lations of large losses at Merrill and agreements to pay Merrill bankers
big bonuses
Michael Lipper: architect of data and analysis firm Lipper Advisory Ser vices
(now part of Thomson Reuters, named Lipper Inc.)
John Mack: veteran investment banker who has worked at many of Wall
Street’s most significant firms; until 2010, CEO of Morgan Stanley; re-
mains the firm’s chairman
Jake Martin*: partner at a large New York–based buyout firm
Mike Mayo: veteran banking analyst and managing director at Calyon
Securities (USA) Inc.
Larry McInnes*: veteran technology and telecommunications banker
Tom McNamara*: investment banker who works within a sponsor group
at a Wall Street firm, putting together financing packages for private eq-
uity buyouts
Seth Merrin: founder of LiquidNet, a Wall Street trading fi rm
Michael Milken: at Drexel Burnham Lambert in the 1970s and 1980s, de-
veloped the high-yield/junk bond market into a real asset class, but viola-
tions of securities laws led to his being banned from the industry for life;
now a philanthropist
Eric Mindich: youngest partner in Goldman Sachs history; left the firm to
found a hedge fund, Eton Park Capital
Ken Moelis: began his career at Drexel Burnham Lambert; ultimately be-
came president of UBS’s investment banking division; left in 2007 to
launch his own boutique firm, Moelis & Co.
Angelo Mozilo: chairman and CEO of Countrywide Financial until 2008;
cofounder of IndyMac Bank; a symbol of the credit bubble, Countrywide
is now owned by Bank of America; IndyMac collapsed
Duncan Niederauer: former partner of Goldman Sachs & Co., CEO of
the New York Stock Exchange, and a pioneer in the world of electronic
trading
Stanley “Stan” O’Neal: former CEO of Merrill Lynch & Co.; behind the
firm’s push into CDOs structured with subprime mortgages
Vikram Pandit: veteran banker and later a hedge fund manager; joined
Citigroup and quickly became its CEO
Richard “Dick” Parsons: chairman of the board of Citigroup
Henry “Hank” Paulson: former Goldman Sachs leader who went on to
become Treasury secretary in the administration of George W. Bush; an
architect of the TARP plan
John Paulson: hedge fund manager who made billions betting that the hous-
ing bubble would burst; now betting on a turnaround in financial stocks
Pete Peterson: cofounder of Blackstone Group; previous posts included
CEO and chairman of Lehman Brothers between 1973 and 1984
Anna Pinedo: partner at Morrison & Foerster specializing in corporate fi-
nance
Charles E. “Chuck” Prince: former CEO of Citigroup
Phil Purcell: former chairman and CEO of Morgan Stanley; ousted by fi rm
dissidents unhappy with the company’s lagging stock price, a reflection of
its lack of risk taking
Leslie Rahl: founder of Capital Markets Risk Advisors LLC, a risk manage-
ment firm that has handled a lot of derivatives debacles
Lewis “Lew” Ranieri: mortgage bond and securitization pioneer at Sa-
lomon Brothers
Clayton Rose: former banker at JPMorgan Chase; now an adjunct profes-
sor at Harvard Business School
Wilbur Ross: former investment banker and “workout specialist” at Roth-
schild Investments; founded his own private investment fi rm, WL Ross &
Co. LLC, in 2000
The Chase
* Here and throughout the book, a name followed by an asterisk is a pseudonym for
a Wall Street professional. Casson, as is true of many of his colleagues still working
on Wall Street, does not have permission to speak openly to the press or book au-
thors about what they see happening around them; while their CEOs do, it’s rare to
find them frank and forthcoming. In cases such as that—where speaking openly
and honestly about what individuals on Wall Street witnessed and experienced
would have caused trouble for my sources with their employers or investors, and
where simply using an anonymous source would have made following the narrative
unnecessarily difficult for the reader—I have chosen instead to gives these sources
a pseudonym. In cases where that is done, their name is followed by an asterisk
when they first appear. When senior Wall Street officials declined to be quoted on
very idea that some senator from who knows where thought he
should apologize to the country piqued his curiosity immediately.
“Why would I and the rest of my guys do that?” he wondered. Still,
listening to either Treasury secretary Henry “Hank” Paulson or Fed-
eral Reserve chairman Ben Bernanke struggle to answer the ques-
tion in a way that would keep the members of the Senate Banking
Committee happy had to be more fun than just watching the lines on
his Bloomberg terminal that signaled stock and bond market index
levels inching their way lower and lower with every passing minute.
In search of distraction, Casson got up from behind his desk and
ambled toward the trading floor. Leaning against the glass wall that
separated his small fiefdom from the hurly-burly of the floor, he
waited for the answer.
It wasn’t what he expected to hear. After a lot of hemming and
hawing, Ben Bernanke finally replied that to most of America, “Wall
Street itself is a . . . is a . . . is an abstraction.” Casson felt as if he’d ac-
cidentally stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He stood upright,
staring at the television in astonishment. What did Bernanke just say?
Can he really have just described Wall Street as an abstraction? In Casson’s
eyes, Wall Street couldn’t be less abstract—it’s where businesses find
the record for this book, I have not given them pseudonyms, but simply cited them
and referred to their roles on the Street, but not their fi rms. Reporting this book
at the height of the crisis in the winter of 2008 and spring and early summer 2009
proved particularly challenging, as many of these individuals were focused on
what was going to happen in the next twenty-four hours or the following week,
not what happened in past decades or what might happen over the next decade.
“How can you ask us to predict that?” said Fred Joseph, former boss of junk-bond
king Michael Milken, who went on to cofound a boutique investment bank but
who, sadly, died in late 2009. “We can’t predict what we’ll have to deal with in a
month or two, and how that will change our options.” This book reflects the
views and thoughts of some two hundred individuals whose lives are tied to Wall
Street in one way or another and who, like Joseph, made that effort.
From its inception Wall Street had been there to serve Main
Street, and it took that role seriously. “It was valued; serving your
corporate clients, if you were an institutional firm like Morgan Stan-
ley, or investors, if you were a retail-oriented firm like Merrill Lynch,
exceedingly well was the ticket to success on Wall Street,” says Sam-
uel Hayes, professor emeritus at the Harvard Business School. The
problem is that from the 1970s onward, serving as a public utility and
performing these intermediary functions for the people on both
ends of the “money grid” (investors and companies needing capital)
just wasn’t as profitable as it used to be.
That’s the starting point for this book, which will explain just
how and why Wall Street drifted away from its core intermediary
function and morphed from utility to casino, under pressure from
those running Wall Street firms and from their investors. Both of
those groups put a priority not on fulfi lling Wall Street’s role as a
utility but on finding the most profitable products and business strat-
egies, of which subprime lending and structured finance were only
the latest— and, so far at least, the most toxic—manifestations.
Eventually, these insiders came to treat Wall Street as if it were any
other business, only as valuable as the profits they could extract from
it. Instead of turning to proprietary trading or structured finance only
to supplement their returns from the less profitable utility-like or in-
termediary operations, many Wall Street firms deemphasized Main
Street in favor of catering to Wall Street clients: hedge funds, private
equity funds, and their own principal investing and proprietary trad-
ing divisions. Nor were there any incentives for Wall Street residents
to question their collective transformation from quasi-utility to self-
serving, risk-taking, profit-maximizing behemoth. Compensation pol-
icies across the Street rewarded bankers and traders for turning a blind
eye to the needs of the money grid; regulators—agencies charged with
ensuring that utilities operate in the public interest— ended up cater-
ing to Wall Street rather than trying to rein in its worst excesses.
When utilities come under too much systemic stress, they fail.
Think of the electricity system, and what happens when its managers
fail to plan for the hottest summer days, when everyone turns on the
air conditioner full blast and the demand for power peaks. Like mil-
lions of others living in the northeastern United States, I experienced
that firsthand one muggy August afternoon in 2003, when the power
to everything from elevators in high-rise office buildings to street-
lights on Manhattan’s busy roadways flickered off— and stayed off
for much of the next twenty-four hours. Suddenly, I realized just how
important the power grid was to my life. I joined thousands of others
who had to walk home along the darkened New York streets, through
the heat and humidity. Eight miles and many hours later, there was
no cold water to ease the pain from my blistered feet (the lack of elec-
tricity had caused a plunge in water pressure) and no food (there was no
way to cook anything); I couldn’t even find a cold drink to revive me.
Thankfully, the reasons for the blackout were relatively straight-
forward. Someone had decided to take a power plant offline, mean-
ing that its output wouldn’t be available to customers on one of the
hottest days of the year. A bad call. When electricity demand spiked,
that put a strain on the high-voltage power lines. Since electricity
companies know that can happen, causing power lines to sag dan-
gerously low, they make an effort to keep trees and foliage trimmed
back. That didn’t happen at one utility— another bad call— and the
power lines brushed against some overgrown trees, triggering a se-
ries of failures that cascaded throughout the region’s power grid.2
The 2003 blackout was an accidental phenomenon. But imagine
if in the years leading up to the blackout, the power companies had
been overrun by a new breed of managers, extremely bright and
imaginative engineers armed with MBAs. Imagine that they had been
given a completely different mandate by shareholders: blackouts don’t
happen too often (the last big one was in 1965), so if preparing for one
consumes too much capital or limits profits too much, don’t bother
with it. And imagine that those engineers, in order to maximize prof-
its, decided to use all the money they had saved by not investing in
backup capacity and maintenance to build and operate a casino, or
some other business that would generate a much higher return in the
short run. Finally, imagine that regulators were asleep at the switch
and let them do it. Happy shareholders would have richly rewarded
the engineers for their efforts right up until the last minute. And even
after the blackout (which would have been far more catastrophic and
longer-lasting than that of 2003), while all of us were struggling in the
dark, those investors and the engineers would have had more than
enough money to buy their own generators to provide power to their
mansions.
In a nutshell, that’s what happened to Wall Street as it morphed
from being an intermediary to being a self-serving, risk-taking machine
for generating profits. As long as times were good, few participants
stopped to ask questions about this transformation, including those
who have today become some of the Street’s harshest critics. And
even now that we’ve experienced the near blackout of the financial
system, the fingers of blame are pointing to individuals—Richard
Fuld, at the helm of Lehman Brothers, for instance, or Christopher
Cox, the chairman of the SEC, who looked the other way as Bernie
Madoff ran his Ponzi scheme and as the investment banks his agency
regulated teetered on the edge of disaster. If we ever are going to be
able to devise wise policies for Wall Street and ensure the future
health of the financial system, we have to take a hard look at more
than just the proximate causes of the debacle, such as subprime lend-
ing or the activities of pot-smoking, bridge-playing Jimmy Cayne at
Bear Stearns. We need to understand how to make the money grid
work properly. Maybe just being an intermediary doesn’t generate
enough in profits to sustain the system anymore—but that doesn’t
mean that people running the utility should feel free to toss caution
to the wind and start speculating on a host of new and risky businesses.
Bankers are trying to clear up the mess they have made, while in
Washington, regulators and policy makers are running around in
circles trying to analyze what went wrong and to put in place a new
set of rules that will prevent the financial system from coming so
close to the brink ever again. But none of these very smart people is
either admitting or acting on the biggest problem of all: the fact that
while Wall Street is as important to our economy and society as any
other utility, it doesn’t work like one. Let’s say that Morgan Stanley
decided, as a result of the events of the last two or three years, to pare
back the amount of risk it is willing to take. It shuts down its propri-
etary trading desk, says it won’t act as a principal and invest alongside
its clients in businesses, and limits its involvement in risky products
such as synthetic credit default swaps. It even decides to turn away
underwriting assignments if its bankers conclude that the stocks or
bonds the firm would be underwriting would add to the level of risk
in the system. Instead, Morgan Stanley focuses on wealth manage-
ment, on building a commercial banking franchise, or on market
making (facilitating the two-way flow of trading in stocks or bonds).
What would happen next?
Well, none of these is a high-growth business that will lead to big
annual jumps in profitability. Before long, the impact of this decision
would show up in the bank’s quarterly earnings; with each fiscal
quarter, the gap between Morgan Stanley and its rivals would widen,
in both absolute levels of profitability and the rate of growth in prof-
its. The bonus pool would shrink, and if this risk-conscious move
was one that only Morgan Stanley had made on its own initiative (and
not part of a government-mandated change affecting the entire in-
dustry), the bank’s most talented and skilled employees would be
lured away to work for competitors. Ultimately, the investors in Mor-
gan Stanley, those who have purchased its stock in hopes of seeing
the value appreciate, would stage a rebellion. It wouldn’t take long
before they’d protest to the bank’s management team and demand
even after the near apocalypse. The quest is already under way for
the next “new new thing,” the next product or strategy that will help
firms such as Goldman Sachs and its rivals earn massive profits in
the short run while creating new risks for the financial system. Per-
haps it will be something that Goldman Sachs pioneers, or some-
thing that is launched by one of the new boutique institutions. The
one certainty is that Wall Street’s mind-set remains unchanged. Left
unchecked, every firm will again overlook risk in hopes of gaining a
dominant market share in that new product. The financial system
has been saved from destruction, but as long as the mind-set of
“chasing Goldman Sachs” lingers, it hasn’t been reformed.
As the worst of the crisis recedes into the distance and Wall Street
battles to return to business as usual, Goldman Sachs is once again
the firm that all its rivals want to emulate, at least when it comes to
financial performance. As David Viniar, the firm’s chief financial of-
ficer, told a reporter in 2009, “Our model never really changed”3 ; by
the end of 2009, Goldman was on track to reward its employees with
one of the biggest bonus pools in its history and had rapidly returned
to reporting astronomically high earnings. Once again, a relatively
small proportion of those profits came from serving Main Street.
Wall Street is still geared toward serving itself—its shareholders and
employees— and as long as that collective mind-set endures, we run
the risk of another systemic shock.
There is no point sitting around and waiting for Wall Street to
apologize to us, individually or collectively. Nor can we content our-
selves with the idea that bankers are twenty-fi rst-century cartoon
villains and demand that they get their just deserts. It’s not even rea-
sonable for us to indulge in bouts of nostalgia for the banking sys-
tem of the past. True, in hindsight, the 1960s look like a golden age
but we can’t just wipe out innovations such as high-speed trading
based on computer algorithms that didn’t exist then. Nor can we
force investment banks to return to the days when they weren’t
bank’s CEO. Citigroup was still paying the price for his philosophy
years later. In order to prevent collapse, the bank had to accept gov-
ernment bailout funds, a portion of which was later converted into
stock that gave the federal government an ownership position in
Citigroup. Write-downs produced a gargantuan loss—$27.7 billion—
in 2008; while the bank’s 2009 loss of $1.6 billion was a lot smaller, it
stood in stark contrast to the big profits being earned by the likes of
JPMorgan Chase and Goldman Sachs.
How and why did one of Wall Street’s premier institutions end up
in such a pickle? The story of why Prince felt it necessary to keep
dancing as long as the music played is one that has its roots back in
the late 1960s and early 1970s, long before Citigroup existed or Wall
Street had ever heard of collateralized debt obligations, credit default
swaps, multibillion-dollar buyout funds, or any of the other instru-
ments or players now often cited as culprits in the meltdown of the
financial markets. The story of Citigroup—both its rise and near
collapse—hinges on the changes to Wall Street’s very structure.
Without those transformations— some of them slow and almost im-
perceptible; others, like the collapse of the 1933 Glass-Steagall Act
mandating a strict separation between investment and commercial
banking, grabbing headlines worldwide—Wall Street could not have
become as powerful a player in the U.S. economy as it did. Equally, it
would not have endangered the entire money grid.
During the opening session of the hearings of the Financial Crisis
Inquiry Commission (FCIC), Mike Mayo, a veteran banking ana-
lyst and now a managing director at Calyon Securities (USA) Inc.,
described Wall Street’s member firms as being “on the equivalent of
steroids. Performance was enhanced by excessive loan growth, loan
risk, securities yields, bank leverage and consumer leverage. . . . Side
effects were ignored, and there was little short-term financial incen-
tive to slow down the process despite longer-term risks.” But by the
time the problems became so big that they began to nag at Mayo and
many of his colleagues during the first decade of the new millen-
nium, the trends that had led to those problems had been in place for
decades. As I’ll explain, the changes to Wall Street forced its finan-
cial institutions to rely on the most innovative and most leveraged
products it could devise, because those generated the greatest profits.
Similarly, the needs of “insiders”—Wall Street players like hedge funds
and buyout funds— came to dominate the Wall Street landscape. As
long as dancing to the music produced the profits that firms like Citi-
group and its investors craved, they would continue to jig, two-step,
or even produce a creditable Highland fling, if necessary. The first
section of this book is the story of how that ethos became central to
the way Wall Street functioned.
past, when investment banks such as Bear Stearns saw their revenues
and profits soar as they catered to the emerging powers on the Street,
hedge funds and giant buyout funds, and watched their bonus pay-
ments and personal wealth climb even more rapidly.
The balance of power has certainly shifted on Wall Street, and
new products, players, and technologies have transformed it. But
Greenberg’s comments were directed at the collapse of specific insti-
tutions: the shotgun wedding of his own firm with JPMorgan Chase,
the bankruptcy filing of Lehman Brothers, and, the same weekend, the
flight of Merrill Lynch into the arms of Bank of America. Greenberg
most likely knew about the behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing
orchestrated by Ben Bernanke and Hank Paulson that involved every
conceivable combination of every Wall Street firm with every one of
its rivals ( J.P. Morgan and Morgan Stanley? Goldman Sachs and
Citigroup?). The desperate rush to save the financial system from utter
collapse had resulted in the kinds of merger negotiations—however
short-lived—that would have seemed laughable only weeks earlier.
To Greenberg, still reeling at the collapse of his own firm (which had,
after all, survived even the 1929 market crash and the Great Depres-
sion), that must indeed have felt like the end of Wall Street.
Wall Street, however, is more than just a set of institutions with
big brand names, however old and venerable. At its heart, it is a set of
functions, and those functions remained intact even in the midst of
the crisis. Two days before Greenberg delivered his epitaph for Wall
Street, a small Santa Barbara company, RightScale, raised $13 mil-
lion in venture capital backing from a group of investors led by Sili-
con Valley’s Benchmark Capital.2 RightScale’s secret? It was in the right
business— cloud computing, a way for customers to reduce their IT
development costs by using Internet-hosted services— at the right
time. Despite the dramatic headlines focusing the world’s attention
on the plunge in the stock market and the deep freeze that hit the credit
all that surprised at the way the financial system has evolved,” says
Dick Sylla, the Henry Kaufman Professor of the History of Financial
Institutions and Markets at New York University. A silver-haired,
slightly built man, Sylla appears unruffled by the dramatic changes
that have taken place on Wall Street, smiling wryly at a display at the
museum featuring Citigroup’s now-reviled leaders—Robert Rubin,
Sandy Weill, and Charles Prince. But then, for him as for Hamilton
(about whom he is writing a book), America’s financial system was
never about a single institution, however large. “It’s all about the
functions that the various institutions perform, rather than what
names they go by or where their headquarters happen to be,” Sylla
explains. “Hamilton knew that there would be bubbles and periods
of chaos. But if over the long run the system as a whole performs its
function of allocating capital and allowing us as investors to diver-
sify our portfolio, to not put all our eggs in one basket, it is doing
what he wanted it to do.”
price but on the rate and magnitude of change in that stock price and
the time frame in which the change will occur.
All of these players perform functions that link the “buy side,”
those who have capital and want to invest it profitably, and the “sell
side,” those entities in need of capital. “At its heart, when it is doing
what it does best, Wall Street is a superb gatekeeper, making matches
between investors and businesses, governments, or anyone else who
needs to finance something,” explains Mike Heffernan*, a former
Morgan Stanley banker. The sell-side client could be a regional bank
trying to resell portions of some of the loans it has made, a credit
card company looking for an investment bank to package up its re-
ceivables into asset-backed securities for resale, a town in Indiana
trying to find an underwriter for the municipal bonds it must sell in
order to finance new hospitals and schools, or a company trying to
raise capital for expansion or to acquire a rival.
The sell side wants to get as much capital on the most favorable
terms possible from the buy side—investors who range in size and
importance from individuals to mutual fund conglomerates such as
Fidelity, and include hedge funds, private equity funds, foundations,
college endowments, pension funds, venture capital partnerships,
and ultrawealthy individual investors such as Microsoft cofounder
Paul Allen or financier George Soros. In a perfect world, the sell side
would love free money—with no interest payable, no specific term
for repayment, and no promises about increasing the value of the
investment. It is the myriad institutions that collectively make up
Wall Street that—in exchange for a fee—bring together the two par-
ties and negotiate a compromise: the terms on which the buy side is
willing to invest some of its capital and the sell side is willing to agree
to in order to get its hands on that capital. Banks have been fulfi lling
that kind of function in more limited ways for centuries: the Bank of
Venice issued government bonds back in 1157 to finance its war with
the Byzantine empire in Constantinople, and by 1347, as the Medicis
banks and several carriage and wagon businesses, along with hun-
dreds of other corporations and civic boosters, put up nearly $1 mil-
lion in cash in exchange for stock in the fledgling company, more
than double what Jackson’s citizens were able to offer.9
Financing these entrepreneurs was both risky and nerve-racking:
two-thirds of the more than five hundred car companies launched
between 1900 and 1908 had either collapsed or changed their busi-
ness within a few years.10 Once a bank or a backer had committed its
capital to a specific venture, there were few exit strategies—the stock
wasn’t publicly traded. This early version of the money grid was un-
sophisticated and underdeveloped. Even Durant—far easier to work
with than the mercurial Ford, and a former stock trader to boot—
couldn’t penetrate Wall Street’s establishment and get the money grid
working for the benefit of his company. Discussing the possibility of
forming a trust made up of the biggest automakers to design and
build a car for the mass market with J. P. Morgan’s minions, Durant
couldn’t persuade the great man himself of the virtues of the auto-
mobile. Much as he loved the idea of an oligopoly, Morgan seemed to
love his horse-drawn carriage still more, dismissing automobiles as
toys for the rackety younger generation and Durant as an “unstable
visionary.”11 Durant was no more enamored of Morgan. “If you
think it is an easy matter to get money from New York capitalists to
finance a motor car proposition in Michigan, you have another guess
coming,” he wrote bitterly to his lawyer. Ultimately, Durant relied on
local financing to get his new venture, General Motors, off the ground.
Henry Ford managed to steer clear of Wall Street until the end of his
life, relying on a steady flow of loans from banks such as Old Colony
Trust Co.
Today’s money grid is altogether a far more sophisticated and ef-
fective entity, having expanded geographically and evolved function-
ally. Wall Street is no longer a small clutch of giant investment banks,
but includes a large and diverse network of venture capital funds
firm’s prospects. “He was very interested, feeling that this might
pave the way for a revival of the old West Coast boutique investment
bank, like the Four Horsemen,” said one venture investor who was
on the receiving end of his pitch that evening.
The Four Horsemen were four small to midsized investment
banks—Hambrecht & Quist, Montgomery Securities, Robertson Ste-
phens, and Alex. Brown—that individually and collectively carved
out both a niche and a reputation for themselves as the go-to guys
for entrepreneurs in need of finance, venture capitalists hoping to
take their portfolio companies to the next level, and investors hoping
to get in on the ground floor of the next great business idea. “We
didn’t go into this wanting to be Goldman Sachs; we knew we’d end
up as a marginal player trying to compete with them on ground that
they owned, and that would be dangerous,” recalls Bill Hambrecht,
who founded the firm that bore his name and who now runs another
boutique, W. R. Hambrecht & Co. “More than many of those larger
East Coast firms, our model was very straightforward—we were there
to help those companies move up the ladder to the next stage in their
financial life cycle.”
In 1981, the rest of the investment banking universe woke up to
what was happening on the West Coast. “In a sixty-day period, we un-
derwrote [the initial public offerings of stock in] Genentech, People’s
Express, and Apple,” recalls Hambrecht. “I think we had sixty people
in the firm; we made about $50 million that year and it changed ev-
erything.” Hambrecht had attended college with the late Dick Fisher,
then chairman of Morgan Stanley, who recognized what was brew-
ing before the rest of the big Wall Street institutions. “He called me,
then came to visit me, and told me, ‘Okay, I want in on this business.’
I asked him what companies interested him, and he mentioned Apple
and a few others—he and his team had done their work and identi-
fied the best companies, not the biggest ones.” Hambrecht & Quist
would go on to co-manage multiple deals with Morgan Stanley,
of charts, diagrams, and other propaganda) why they were the only
guys for the job. The Google folks knew what they were in for. Buyer
had helped prepare pitch books herself in a previous life as a top
technology analyst. Aware of the other tricks that Wall Streeters liked
to play, she instructed the top bankers to stay home, decreeing that
only the middle-ranking people who would actually do the grunt
work on the deal should show up. (Few abided by that rule.) She also
told them to be creative. “We wanted to be sure we’d be working with
bankers who got our corporate culture, so I guess we kind of opened
the door to a lot of the silliness that followed,” she said.
One banking team brought beer, apparently assuming that a free-
wheeling culture was synonymous with the liberal consumption of
alcohol. Another tried to design a PowerPoint pitch incorporating
Google’s own search engine, which would spit out the firm’s name
when asked, “What is the best bank to underwrite Google’s IPO?”
(The technical challenge proved impossible, and the banking team
resorted to a paper version of the same pitch.) Citigroup’s technology
bankers designed laminated place mats that spelled out the bank’s
achievements and creative strategies for marketing Google to the
public, using Google-like design elements and layout. The place mats
probably came in useful for the pièce de résistance. The banking
team from Goldman Sachs, taking to heart Buyer’s quip that, “given
that we’re all here on a Saturday afternoon, you can damn well bring
me dessert,” and learning through their own research that Brin and
Page loved chocolate, ordered up a big chocolate cake, emblazoned
with the Google logo, to bring to the pitch meeting. Stunts like that
have been known to work, as Lisa Carnoy, who is now global capi-
tal markets co-head at Bank of America, knows from her days co-
managing the same group at Merrill Lynch & Co. Pulling together a
pitch book for the investment bank’s presentation to Lululemon, a
yoga clothing retailer seeking to go public, Carnoy included details
of the favorite yoga positions of each member of the banking team
one Silicon Valley venture capitalist bitterly. “They want the sure
thing, the big deal that is going to be able to make a visible difference
to their own profits at the end of the quarter. They are more inter-
ested in that than in building relationships with corporate clients
that might generate a stream of fees over the years. They have be-
trayed our trust.” He points to Goldman Sachs, which shuttered its
Sand Hill Road outpost (in a building it had shared with archrival
Morgan Stanley) a few years after the tech bubble burst. “They’ll fly
people in for things they consider important, but there aren’t as many
people competing to serve this space, which means that all the com-
panies that we are starting to fund today are going to have a much
harder time in the later stages of their corporate lives when it comes
to getting financing.”
This venture investor predicts that a greater number of venture-
backed companies will wither on the vine, unable to get financing
simply because of their size relative to that of the investment banks.
That, he argues, may not augur well for the future of both entrepre-
neurial energy and Wall Street. Will some prospective entrepreneurs
be deterred or some promising companies derailed? And what hap-
pens if Wall Street turns its back on its core function of helping
promising businesses realize that promise by accessing capital? “We
play our role; we want Wall Street to play theirs.”
For now, at least, the venture industry is keeping its part of the
tacit bargain and continuing to invest billions of dollars a year in
start-up companies. Despite the market chaos, venture funds still
want to back the companies that they believe have the potential to
become next-generation versions of Genentech, Google, or Ama-
zon. These days those companies will range from start-ups offering
innovative ideas on managing power grids more efficiently to busi-
nesses based on new medical devices. But by 2009, the signals were
becoming more mixed. Wall Street’s recent aversion to doing what it
saw as small-scale underwriting deals had remained, and had been
Wall Street from the perspective of a scholar (he has published seven
books and countless research papers and other articles about various
aspects of Wall Street), a consultant (to the Justice Department, the
Treasury Department, and the Securities and Exchange Commission,
as well as many businesses), and even a participant (he chairs the in-
vestment committee at his alma mater and is a former chairman of
the Eaton Vance family of mutual funds, making him a member of
the buy side, while his role as a member of the advisory board of bro-
kerage firm Edward Jones puts him on the sell side). When in 1970
he began scrutinizing the way Wall Street worked, it was performing
its intermediary function adeptly; the relationships with clients, he
says, were true long-term ties of importance to both parties. When a
CEO wanted to sell bonds, raise new capital through a stock issue, or
mull over other strategic issues, he’d pick up the phone and call his
banker. That banker would be the same person, or at least someone
at the same firm, year after year.
But Hayes soon began to detect signs that those relationships
were crumbling, as they came under siege from both sides through-
out the 1970s. A new breed of CEOs and chief financial officers with
MBA degrees felt better equipped to pit one Wall Street firm against
another in search of a way to cut financing costs. Wall Street firms
were quite eager to poach their rivals’ investment banking clients,
adding fuel to the fire. To both groups, this breakdown seemed logi-
cal and even beneficial—why shouldn’t corporations shop around for
the best deal and investment banks compete to offer that deal? By
1978, Institutional Investor magazine had stopped publishing the an-
nual “Who’s with Whom” list documenting which firms “banked”
which corporate clients. “Clients didn’t like being labeled as ‘belong-
ing’ to Kuhn Loeb,” Hayes recalls.
The turning point came a year later when IBM wanted to add
Salomon Brothers as a co–lead underwriter to a bond sale it was plan-
ning. When the company informed its traditional bankers at Morgan
as gatekeeper that took care to funnel only valid and viable products
to the buy side. In the past, Fink told the Financial Times, firms such
as BlackRock “relied on Wall Street to be the safety guards to the cap-
ital markets,” winnowing out the poor-quality deals. Now, he added
angrily, it seemed as if it was up to his firm and other buy-side institu-
tions to protect the integrity of the parts of the market.15
the business enjoyed its moment in the sun. But the mergers and
acquisitions (M&A) advisory business, in their eyes, was the heart of
what Wall Street was really about. “In my mind, the really sharp
minds on Wall Street are not doing IPOs or debt financings; they’re
doing strategic stuff like M&A advisory work,” says Mike Donnelly*
bluntly. Donnelly, who lost his own job in the wake of the collapse of
his firm, hasn’t lost his awe for those he considers to be Wall Street
artists. “Someone who is really great at this has a knowledge of the
business, the industry and the company and the strategic issues that
lie ahead. He has the technical knowledge, he knows the latest twists
and turns in accounting rules and the law. He has experience and is
never taken by surprise because he knows the kind of odd things
that can happen,” explains Donnelly. “And they can present every-
thing to a board in a lucid and compelling way. I suppose they’re a bit
like a Pied Piper; people who hear them will end up following them
anywhere. It’s incredibly hard to find someone like that, and that’s
why they are so valuable.”
Robert Greenhill, Morgan Stanley’s president and Fisher’s heir
apparent back in 1992, has always been that kind of banker. Flying
his own Cessna from one client meeting to the next, he and his team
had propelled the firm to the coveted top spot in the league table
rankings. (These widely scrutinized lists, published quarterly by data
groups such as Dealogic LLC and Thomson Reuters, told the world
which investment bank had underwritten the most deals in any spe-
cific area imaginable; the battle for league table credit and the brag-
ging rights that went along with a top-three finish was fierce and
remains so today.) Alas, merger volumes were down overall that year,
and John Mack—whose own background was in sales and trading,
the heart of the underwriting function— ended up elbowing Green-
hill out of his way. Deposed as president in early 1993, Greenhill
resigned shortly after, first joining Sandy Weill as the latter began to
construct the behemoth that would become Citigroup and later
founding his own boutique advisory firm. He left behind him what
became known as the “Greenhill gap”—there was no one who was
his equal as a rainmaker for the firm.18
To Gelman, the former Morgan Stanley banker, Greenhill’s de-
parture symbolized the final transition of power from the long-term
strategic thinking characteristic of an M&A advisor to the emphasis
on speculation and short-term profit maximization symbolized by
the rising power of the trading desks and their chiefs within the
power structure of many investment banks. “By the time Netscape
came along, serving investors who were speculating and trading like
crazy— and trading for our own account—had become what it was
all about,” he says. “Even in the IPO business, what had been a craft
became an assembly line.”
But by then, there was no way for Wall Street’s investment banks
to become purists, even when it came to fulfi lling their gatekeeper
role. Too much had changed in the world around them, and their
responses to those changes had produced a series of unanticipated con-
sequences. Long before the Netscape IPO was a gleam in the eye of
the company’s venture capital backers, it had become clear to invest-
ment bank CEOs that relying on the basic gatekeeping functions of
yore was never going to generate enough profit to keep their ever-
expanding empires afloat.