them absently with his tie. “Do GRATs take much time to draft?”
“You need a trust and estate lawyer. I work with the best.”
“Good,” he replied. “Now, what else should we discuss?”
Thayer stayed more than forty-five minutes. Two hours later I wrapped up with my signature line: “My job is to bring you the best of Wall Street.” Heavy pause. “And to protect you from it at the same time.” There was nothing better than a hard edge to seal a deal. Skeptics sounded shrewd and battle tough.
Thayer did not commit. Nobody with $100 million ever signed paperwork at the first meeting. But he said all the right things.
I should have been elated. New prospect. Strong start. More money on the horizon. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t the money driving me. My motivation was more about the game, helping clients, crushing competitors, winning over and over again. I understood why Roman warriors poured salt over the ruins of Carthage. One day I hoped to pour salt on Goldman Sachs.
The thrill of a new prospect, however, was lost on me. In the aftermath of Charlie’s funeral, I wondered whether he had left his affairs in order. That’s the problem when three sharks surprise someone in front of five hundred horrified people. There’s no chance to study what-if scenarios with your financial adviser. Charlie was not a client. Never had been. He was my friend. And that was it.
So much for winning over and over again.
Charlie was also a professional. He knew all the tricks, possessed all the tools to take care of Sam, who had not worked for years. No one ever wants to deal with mortality, though, unless there is a reason. And that reason, in my experience, was children. Kids were always the catalyst to deal with difficult decisions. Kids got parents off the dime. Even though the Kelemens had no children, Charlie was way too obsessive about details. He would never leave Sam in the lurch.
He was a control freak about money.
CHAPTER NINE
Gloom is no path to becoming a top producer. Or staying one. My career is all about making happy, no matter what the day brings.
Your sales assistant fresh out of college takes an order “to cover” 20,000 shares and buys call options with a $25 strike price instead of selling them. Four months later, you discover 40,000 shares in the client’s account because the stock ran past $25 and forced an automatic purchase. In effect you bought 20,000 shares at $25 instead of selling them, but now the stock has collapsed to $21. With mounting horror you realize there is a $160,000 error, 40,000 shares at $4 each, and you will eat the expense because stockbrokers pay for trading errors out of their own pockets. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
Your legal department reviews documents for a zero-cost collar, a hedging technique that will enable your client to avoid catastrophic loss on 2 million shares and retain additional upside. The stock is highly volatile, and as you wait the excruciating wait for Legal’s okay, the shares fall below the limit price at which you are authorized to transact. To your chagrin, the trade evaporates and with it the opportunity to pocket $300,000. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
Three sharks eat your best friend. When you seek comfort from your wife, you remember she is dead, too. Thinking you can find solace at the office, you instruct clients about estate planning but realize your daughter is gone, your family no longer exists, and you have no personal need for the techniques you teach others. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
It’s like I tell the PCS newbies: “Depression and our careers don’t mix, especially when you talk to clients about their portfolios. You need a strategy to stay
“You need a trust and estate lawyer. I work with the best.”
“Good,” he replied. “Now, what else should we discuss?”
Thayer stayed more than forty-five minutes. Two hours later I wrapped up with my signature line: “My job is to bring you the best of Wall Street.” Heavy pause. “And to protect you from it at the same time.” There was nothing better than a hard edge to seal a deal. Skeptics sounded shrewd and battle tough.
Thayer did not commit. Nobody with $100 million ever signed paperwork at the first meeting. But he said all the right things.
I should have been elated. New prospect. Strong start. More money on the horizon. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t the money driving me. My motivation was more about the game, helping clients, crushing competitors, winning over and over again. I understood why Roman warriors poured salt over the ruins of Carthage. One day I hoped to pour salt on Goldman Sachs.
The thrill of a new prospect, however, was lost on me. In the aftermath of Charlie’s funeral, I wondered whether he had left his affairs in order. That’s the problem when three sharks surprise someone in front of five hundred horrified people. There’s no chance to study what-if scenarios with your financial adviser. Charlie was not a client. Never had been. He was my friend. And that was it.
So much for winning over and over again.
Charlie was also a professional. He knew all the tricks, possessed all the tools to take care of Sam, who had not worked for years. No one ever wants to deal with mortality, though, unless there is a reason. And that reason, in my experience, was children. Kids were always the catalyst to deal with difficult decisions. Kids got parents off the dime. Even though the Kelemens had no children, Charlie was way too obsessive about details. He would never leave Sam in the lurch.
He was a control freak about money.
CHAPTER NINE
Gloom is no path to becoming a top producer. Or staying one. My career is all about making happy, no matter what the day brings.
Your sales assistant fresh out of college takes an order “to cover” 20,000 shares and buys call options with a $25 strike price instead of selling them. Four months later, you discover 40,000 shares in the client’s account because the stock ran past $25 and forced an automatic purchase. In effect you bought 20,000 shares at $25 instead of selling them, but now the stock has collapsed to $21. With mounting horror you realize there is a $160,000 error, 40,000 shares at $4 each, and you will eat the expense because stockbrokers pay for trading errors out of their own pockets. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
Your legal department reviews documents for a zero-cost collar, a hedging technique that will enable your client to avoid catastrophic loss on 2 million shares and retain additional upside. The stock is highly volatile, and as you wait the excruciating wait for Legal’s okay, the shares fall below the limit price at which you are authorized to transact. To your chagrin, the trade evaporates and with it the opportunity to pocket $300,000. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
Three sharks eat your best friend. When you seek comfort from your wife, you remember she is dead, too. Thinking you can find solace at the office, you instruct clients about estate planning but realize your daughter is gone, your family no longer exists, and you have no personal need for the techniques you teach others. That’s when a client calls and asks, “How are you?”
“Awesome.”
It’s like I tell the PCS newbies: “Depression and our careers don’t mix, especially when you talk to clients about their portfolios. You need a strategy to stay
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