Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(21)
“A lot of deals hanging from this ceiling,” says Oliver. “Represents a lot of wealth moving around. You know I’m working on a big debt restructuring for Qwest, Nick. It should close in a week and should give you sales guys a lot of product to move.”
It occurs to me that in the same way a person can have a kindred spirit or soul mate that they seek out, a person can also have a nemesis that they would like to remove from their life, a person to conquer or be conquered by. I know Oliver’s been working on Qwest. He’s gotten a hero’s praise for past fees he brought in from them. “I’ve heard about it. Good luck.” These client discussions are supposed to be confidential, but in the same way that our own salary information gets around, word gets out. I know Oliver made between five and six million dollars last year in bonus. He probably knows the ballpark of my bonus as well. This kind of knowledge creates a defined pecking order.
The thing about working in the money business is that we don’t make anything but money. The upside is that we make a lot of it. The downside is that it’s the only measurement of success. In a very defined and communicable way, Oliver is up the totem pole from me. The other thing is that the investment banker types look down their noses at sales and trading. We’re the grunts who yell into phones and move product around with the sophistication of a short-order cook. The investment bankers are the intellectuals who navigate corporate boardrooms and put deals together. They’ve convinced themselves that it isn’t just money they make but better companies.
There’s some truth to it, but I prefer my friends to be the sales type. It’s simpler and more honest. Like Jerry, sales guys think in a linear way. The faster you go, the more ground you cover. More calls, more deals, bigger bonus. Investment bankers think in curves and exponential opportunities. They make trade-offs that have winners and casualties and they play cards close to the vest. This is a talent a person has or doesn’t have, and if he has it, it permeates everything he does including friendships and social dinners. It takes effort and a little luck to stay out of the way of a person like this.
“Do you and Nick have offices near each other?” Julia asks.
“No, no.” Oliver smiles and shakes his head in a grandiose, you-silly-girl kind of way. He leaves it at that though could have added that he is on an entirely different floor in a large office with a sofa and guest chairs and an assistant outside his door while I sit at a long table shared with a bunch of cretins right out of school. He didn’t add that, but he seemed to manage to make it known.
Oliver turns back to me, ending the brief exchange with Julia. “How do you think Morgan is going to fare? Jesus, what a show.” He seems to be the type who likes to impress the girls but not actually talk to them. He also now seems settled into the top spot on the totem pole and doesn’t need to bother sparring anymore.
“After all that publicity with Purcell, Mack seems settled in. He seems popular.” I play along.
“Mack! Mack is a sales guy.” Just when I thought sparring was over. This overt jab is not lost on anyone. I can either make a joke about being a sales guy or let it pass. I let it pass. “Come on, Nick. What would Mack know about running the business?”
It’s not passing. “Purcell was a management consultant. Was he any better?”
“Fair point, but Purcell is incompetent. I’d take a consultant over a sales guy. The problem is all the boards are getting enamored with bringing in former sales guys as the CEO because they’re aggressive and charming. They promise to deliver billions in growth and in a bull market they probably can, but pretty soon it’s going to be a real mess. I mean look at Fuld. That guy’s a moron. What these shops need is to put a banker in charge. Wall Street just isn’t run by gentlemen anymore. It hasn’t been for more than a generation.”
Jackass. He has the haughty air of an authority on the subject and is keeping the undercurrent that a sales guy like me can’t be leadership material. “They could get one of the old guard to come back in. Greenhill or that son of a bitch Fogg.” I’m trapped for the moment in this conversation.
“No, those guys have moved on. Greenie has his own shop that he won’t leave and Fogg spends half the year sailing the world on his yacht these days. You could make a case Fogg deserves it. He’s the best M and A guy anywhere in half a century, but he’s a little rough around the edges. You know it was Gilbert and Fogg and the old guard that got Mack in there. Mack was so grateful, you know what he did? Nothing. Not a lunch, not a dinner. Not a bottle of wine. You’d think a sales guy would at least get that right. He won’t last. He’s charming and likable but his lack of intelligence will catch up with him. Of course he did manage to stack Morgan’s board with his boys, so God knows where it goes from here. Maybe he’s smarter than I gave him credit, of course just smart in the way that a sales guy can be.”
Jesus, he’s relentless with the sales guy crap.
Oliver takes a sip of his drink and his pinky is off the glass. He continues, “Fogg. They’d never go with him. He’s not part of the aristocracy.”
“What about Mack? He’s as blue-collar as can be for a CEO.”
“Exactly the point. Mack accepts it, but Fogg is doing everything he can to join the aristocracy. If they put him in at CEO, it’s an admission that he’s made it in. With Mack, they can put him in and it still looks like he’s a blue-collar puppet and everyone knows it.”