Continuing with the serlisation of On Top of His Game by Stephen Rhodes
Moments later, I experience an emotional cocktail of mild embarrassment and genuine euphoria when the entire deriv¬atives trading floor erupts in a standing ovation. On the Street, information is the ultimate commodity, and the news that I survived Ranieri's savage assassination attempt causes spasms of joy among the all-star team I've assembled.
“Okay, okay, all right,” I shout over the sustained applause, whistles and catcalls. “A for effort, but this show of loyalty won't necessarily have a favorable impact on year-end bonuses.”
The cheering tapers off into an admixture of laughter and mock boos. I hear a muffled thud behind me as an apoplectic Ranieri kicks his office door shut. I love these people. Love them. “All right, people, show's over. Let's pump it up and make some money for The Brothers.”
As if a switch is turned on, the trading floor becomes electrified, crackling with high-voltage activity. The discordant brays of traders fill my ears:
"I'm choking on micro-gamma decay on my long vol position, and unless they rally I'm gonna be achin' like there's no tomorrow — "
"Johnny Meyer, pick up the double-donuts!"
"I called Tommy at DB for a chin-strap in the double-Monday nasty — the bid's gone to a bad neighborhood — "
"I took the bid up a noogie from 10.2 to 10.25 and oh-fived a sweet-one pick-off of the crowd. Am I a hammer, or what?"
This is in my blood, the thrill and agony of trading derivative securities. There's no Betty Ford clinic for this addiction, nor would I voluntarily twelve-step myself away from this high. Come Monday, if Ranieri succeeds in taking this world away from me, I will wish him a particularly painful strain of testicular cancer.
I slide into the Aeron chair at my trading turret. “Morning, Terri. Any news on your mom?”
“She's getting much better, thanks for asking.” My assistant is Terri Aronica, a sweet-natured girl from Staten Island. Her freckled presence on the trading floor is akin to a gazelle’s amongst lions, so I'm highly protective of her. In return, her loyalty is beyond question. “She's coming out of the hospital this weekend.”
“Good. That's great to hear.” I try to sound casual. “Hey, listen, Compliance is all over me to do my semi-annual supervisory thing. Can you pull all the personal trading records of Howard Ranieri for the last two years? And tell the back office I need it over the weekend.”
“Sure thing,” When Terri says it's a sure thing, I know she means it.
◙ ◙ ◙
TO ALL EQUITY PERSONNEL. . .
From Howard Ranieri . . .
It is with deep regret that we announce Mark Barston's resignation from the firm, effective immediately. As Mark steps down as co-head of Equity to spend more time with his family and pursue other opportunities, please join us in wishing him the best and thanking him for effectively teaching me everything I know, which kindness I repaid by stabbing him in the back . . .
It is six hours later, and I'm mentally composing my resignation announcement. It's customary on Wall Street to extend the courtesy of ghostwriting the memo announcing one's departure, but I’m finding little joy in my imaginings.
More to follow tomorrow…
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