Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Listen up, sales force,” a brusque voice says, yanking me back to the present. The man hurtles through a dozen or more axes, my row of salespeople scribbling furiously in their notebooks trying to keep up. Only halfway through his bids on Target bonds do I realize it’s Theo talking.
My pen goes still. His voice sounds rougher on the phone. Deeper. It gives his axes the vibe of an intimate confession rather than an absurdly long wish list of trades. I glance through the gap in my screens to see Theo holding the phone close to his mouth, head bent over his notebook as the tip of his pen moves down the page from one line item to the next.
Listen up. What a dick way to greet everyone on his first day. And yet here I am, listening with my heart in my throat as Theo runs through a handful of FedEx axes that are incredibly aggressive.
This guy is not afraid to make double-sided markets; he’ll buy or sell any bond on his list, which equates to taking on more “risk” or exposure to market movements. Showing these axes to my clients is going to make me look good. Really good. Much better than my competition at other investment banks. My pulse kicks up a notch at all the trades I know I’m going to get done today.
If only those trades didn’t put money in Theo’s pocket too.
Whatever. My relationships with our other traders are solid enough that I know I can make money on their axes as well. It’s definitely going to be a stretch hitting the million sales credits mark, but I’m up for the challenge.
“I’m a better buyer of FedEx thirties,” Theo says, and my pulse kicks up again. BamCo, a huge West Coast money manager who’s been one of my most important clients for years, is a seller of that bond. A nice big block too, twenty-four million.
Hell yes.
As soon as the call ends, I hang up and hit the button to my direct line with BamCo. Brian, the head portfolio manager, picks up on the first ring.
“You’re the only call I’d answer at four thirty in the morning with a smile,” he says. BamCo’s offices are in Santa Barbara, which means they’re three hours behind East Coast time. “Morning, Nora.”
“Hey, Brian. How’d the lacrosse tournament go this weekend?”
“Colin’s team lost, but it was in Indio where they have Coachella, so that was cool. Thanks for asking. Colin played well, though. Caught the eye of some recruiters.”
“You can get recruited at twelve years old? For what? The Mickey Mouse Club lax team?”
Brian chuckles. “Some elite programs that funnel into D1 schools later on. Gotta start ’em early. I mean, we had Colin taking golf lessons at the club as soon as he could walk. We’re actually playing in a father-son tournament next weekend, which should be a hoot.”
“‘A hoot’. You’re adorable. Sounds like that new putter you got him for his birthday is working out.”
“It’s made a huge difference in his game, yes.”
“Thought it would. It even worked for me, and we all know how not amazing I am at golf.”
“Hey,” Brian says, chuckling again, “you’re getting there.”
I like Brian. He’s a stand-up guy, honest to a fault. Hardworking. But it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at what I like to call “rich bro references.” I have exactly zero interest in lacrosse, and even less in golf “at the club,” but I probably engage my clients and colleagues on those topics twenty times a day.
A little knowledge goes a long way, a female mentor once told me. Since then, I’ve often wondered why that doesn’t seem to apply the other way around. I’ve learned a shit ton about golf so I can talk to guys about handicaps and The Masters, and even play the damn sport upon occasion. But those same guys haven’t learned a thing about, say, Bridgerton, or my love affair with history.
I digress. There is a trade to be done, and I want the honor of being the first salesperson on the desk to hit one of Theo’s bids.
“So turns out I’m a buyer of those FedEx bonds you were trying to unload last week,” I say to Brian. “You still a seller of the twenty-four million?”
“Sure am. Market’s moved a little tighter since then, though, so my level may be different. Lemme check.”
“I’ll talk to my trader. Hang tight.” I cover the little foam receiver on my headset with my hand and stand up, leaning over my screens. “Listen up, Morgan. BamCo is a seller of twenty-four million FedEx thirties. Your bid work for that size?”
Theo’s eyes lock on mine. “I’m a seventy-eight bid for ten. But yeah, I’ll do it for that size.”
High-Grade bonds aren’t priced in dollar amounts but in “spreads,” an amount you add to the yield of a specific United States treasury bond to get a hard dollar price. It can be confusing, but it gives everyone protection against movements in the treasury market.