the goodness of his intentions,” Weill wrote in his 2006 autobiography,
The Real Deal: My Life in Business and Philanthropy
. Weill’s public relations chief, Mary McDermott, thinks the issue for Sandy was a simple one: “Why would you trust someone who brought you stolen goods?”
Volland was of the opinion that the men were applying a ridiculous double standard. Realizing that Dimon didn’t trust him, he decided to have it out with the younger man. Dimon told him that he thought Vol-land had violated a managerial code by making his original call to Weill. “There wasn’t one bit of private information discussed on that call,” Volland responded. “I could have had the same conversation with you.” Dimon’s response: “You never should have done it anyway.” To which Volland could only reply, “Well, if that’s the case, then
you
never should have done what you did. But you sure wanted the rewards, didn’t you?”
• • •
Weill and Dimon descended on Baltimore to pretty up the company before the initial public offering, which they hoped would be just a few weeks away. Weill also launched into hiring fresh troops. He’d already spoken to his American Express pal Jim Calvano in late summer, cryptically suggesting that Calvano “meet me in Baltimore.” “What’s in Baltimore?” asked Calvano. “I can’t tell you,” Weill responded. “But what are we going to do?” Calvano queried. “We’ll have lunch. I’ve found a place with great crab cakes,” Weill said. Calvano eventually signed on as senior vice president of consumer financial services.
The former Merrill Lynch chief financial officer Greg Fitz-Geraldalso joined the team, as an executive vice president and the senior financial staffer at the company. Dimon was given the titles of senior vice president and chief financial officer, which meant he was technically subordinate to Fitz-Gerald. Regardless, it was a big step up from the title of “assistant” at American Express, and given Fitz-Gerald’s experience, it was an arrangement that made sense. But Dimon began to chafe against it almost immediately.
While planning the road show in anticipation of the initial public offering in October—a show in which the team visited 18 cities—Dimon sulked when Fitz-Gerald made the presentation to possible investors. Weill, noticing this, gave Dimon a share of the presentations himself. In doing so, however, he may have inadvertently fed Dimon’s growing sense of his own importance. He also set a clear precedent: when it came to his protégé, the normal rules did not apply. “Jamie was in a hurry to run right through Greg, but he ended up having to be a little patient,” Weill recalls. Instead of stopping Dimon, however, Weill stepped back and watched him do just that.
Weill negotiated a discounted share price of $18 for his executive team to buy stakes in Commercial Credit. Dimon put up $425,000—borrowing some from his parents—and when the shares debuted on October 29 at $20.50 apiece, he was already profiting from a job he had yet to really start. At the time, it ranked as the third-largest initial public offering ever, raising $850 million and valuing the entire company just shy of $1 billion. Dimon also received the second-largest number of stock options in the company, after Weill, a reward for having stuck by Weill through a difficult time.
The day after the company went public, Weill, Dimon, and FitzGerald held their first meeting with Commercial Credit’s managers in Baltimore. The first announcement was that Chuck Prince, Commercial Credit’s general counsel, would be made a senior vice president. The second was that the company was going to lay off 10 percent of its staff, or 125 people, the next day, a move that would save Commercial Credit $5 million annually. Weill explained that he wanted the list done by the morning, and those laid off were to leave the building upon being informed of their fate.
Bob Volland
The Real Deal: My Life in Business and Philanthropy
. Weill’s public relations chief, Mary McDermott, thinks the issue for Sandy was a simple one: “Why would you trust someone who brought you stolen goods?”
Volland was of the opinion that the men were applying a ridiculous double standard. Realizing that Dimon didn’t trust him, he decided to have it out with the younger man. Dimon told him that he thought Vol-land had violated a managerial code by making his original call to Weill. “There wasn’t one bit of private information discussed on that call,” Volland responded. “I could have had the same conversation with you.” Dimon’s response: “You never should have done it anyway.” To which Volland could only reply, “Well, if that’s the case, then
you
never should have done what you did. But you sure wanted the rewards, didn’t you?”
• • •
Weill and Dimon descended on Baltimore to pretty up the company before the initial public offering, which they hoped would be just a few weeks away. Weill also launched into hiring fresh troops. He’d already spoken to his American Express pal Jim Calvano in late summer, cryptically suggesting that Calvano “meet me in Baltimore.” “What’s in Baltimore?” asked Calvano. “I can’t tell you,” Weill responded. “But what are we going to do?” Calvano queried. “We’ll have lunch. I’ve found a place with great crab cakes,” Weill said. Calvano eventually signed on as senior vice president of consumer financial services.
The former Merrill Lynch chief financial officer Greg Fitz-Geraldalso joined the team, as an executive vice president and the senior financial staffer at the company. Dimon was given the titles of senior vice president and chief financial officer, which meant he was technically subordinate to Fitz-Gerald. Regardless, it was a big step up from the title of “assistant” at American Express, and given Fitz-Gerald’s experience, it was an arrangement that made sense. But Dimon began to chafe against it almost immediately.
While planning the road show in anticipation of the initial public offering in October—a show in which the team visited 18 cities—Dimon sulked when Fitz-Gerald made the presentation to possible investors. Weill, noticing this, gave Dimon a share of the presentations himself. In doing so, however, he may have inadvertently fed Dimon’s growing sense of his own importance. He also set a clear precedent: when it came to his protégé, the normal rules did not apply. “Jamie was in a hurry to run right through Greg, but he ended up having to be a little patient,” Weill recalls. Instead of stopping Dimon, however, Weill stepped back and watched him do just that.
Weill negotiated a discounted share price of $18 for his executive team to buy stakes in Commercial Credit. Dimon put up $425,000—borrowing some from his parents—and when the shares debuted on October 29 at $20.50 apiece, he was already profiting from a job he had yet to really start. At the time, it ranked as the third-largest initial public offering ever, raising $850 million and valuing the entire company just shy of $1 billion. Dimon also received the second-largest number of stock options in the company, after Weill, a reward for having stuck by Weill through a difficult time.
The day after the company went public, Weill, Dimon, and FitzGerald held their first meeting with Commercial Credit’s managers in Baltimore. The first announcement was that Chuck Prince, Commercial Credit’s general counsel, would be made a senior vice president. The second was that the company was going to lay off 10 percent of its staff, or 125 people, the next day, a move that would save Commercial Credit $5 million annually. Weill explained that he wanted the list done by the morning, and those laid off were to leave the building upon being informed of their fate.
Bob Volland
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