Actually, I can agree with you slightly about some, but certainly not all lawyers. A lot of investment banking just comes down to who is willing to put in 100 hour work weeks and who isn't (not me). I am an adrenaline junky which is why trading works for me - though it really is just glorified professional gambling, so I look forward to giving back when all is said and done.
As far as trading goes...don't underestimate and compare it to mom&pop daytraders...derivative (volatility) trading is very hardcore.....many math/physics PhDs from the top schools and Ivys are in on this game...
Every second you have to watch a zillion different positions and consider a move in an instant. Should you rebalance your hedge? When should you do it? If you fuck up, you are out of a job in a flash. If you make a ton for the bank while keeping your volatility low, they will pay you well. At any given moment the whole house can burn down and it will be on your ass - and your family's too when you need to get work. Did the model used to hedge your contracts fuck up costing you all your edge and then some? Now you gotta fix the fucking model ASAFP. You have to run over to your quants and raise hell and then go back to your desk again...followed by hedging your positions correctly. Then you need to have algorithms designed that will do your trading for you - but these have to be watched carefully....can't take your eyes off the screen as sometimes you will need to override them.
How can you hedge big jumps in the underlyings of your derivatives? This is hard to do. How can you hedge your volatility risk? Or even harder and very important these days for the previous question - How can you model/hedge your volatility of volatility (i.e. how volatile is the volatility that is used to price your derivative contract)? What kind of stochastic volatility model should you employ and how mean reverting is it? What is the implied correlation between a basket of stocks and how stable is their correlation? Should you early exercise an option? If you get your delta wrong by just a couple percent you fuck it all up...there is no room for error....though errors will be made. Hopefully, more often they are made by your counterparties so you can crush them.
What are your market impact costs of taking on a large position and what algorithms can be employed to minimize those costs? What if you misprice your derivative contract? It will be on your ass as your competitors pounce on you with bloodlust. Your competitors want to crush you at all times and are always on the lookout for such an opportunity.
**************************************************************************************************
Shit...now you got me on a roll! I am an adrenaline junky....I have gone a bit overboard but this all excites me (perhaps too much!)
I love the following creative writing bit written by a friend on an internet site known as Nuclear Phynance. Some people there blow off steam by doing creative writing - it is kind of funny that such a hard core (it really is hardcore - many math/physics PhDs) site would have an "Art" section, but they do. The author is FDAXHunter:
(Bear in mind that he wrote this off the cuff probably and that the intended audience is savvy with finance, but it is still a riveting read if you just assume he is being a badass without understanding the technobabble).
http://www.nuclearphynance.com/Show%20Post.aspx?PostIDKey=36673 Nathan Corwin, B.A., H.R.E.O.
It was a normal day on Wall Street. Well, it was normal in the sense that nothing extraordinary had happened so far. But then again, it was early in the day and there was plenty of time for anything to happen.
Even on the 39th floor of a non-descript building on Park Avenue, things were relatively normal.
From his position behind an oversized desk, Nathan Corwin had a spectacular view of the city below him. Well, he would have, should he ever choose to turn around. His desk was situated in the northern corner of the building and he would have been able to survey the entire floor from there, had he not erected a wall of flat screen panels to shield himself from the general cacophony beyond. Sixteen screens, arranged in a double row denied everyone access to his little kingdom in the corner. The only way for people from the other side to see what was going on beyond that wall was to walk around one of the corners, something only a few did and even fewer did voluntarily.
He had considered building a moat in front of the wall, but after digging for about a foot, he had broken through the ceiling of the floor below and decided that crocodiles would not be able to live in a trench ten inches deep anyway.
He had covered the hole with a board and a bit of leftover carpet. After all, it might prove useful yet, as either a trap or a quick exit route, should he need one.
At the moment, Nathan Corwin was engrossed in a phone conversation with someone 20 floors beneath him that was suggesting that a particular volatility position was perhaps a tiny bit oversized. He tried to explain to the propellerhead on the other end that he was looking at the entire structure wrong, but all he got was a stream of buts, how about?s and Hold ons. Between shouting down the line and breaking a pencil, he was chewing on the phone cord.
Phone cords were great. You could play with them, wrap them around people, chew on them and he was pretty sure that by tying several of them together in a thick rope one could get an excellent bungee cord. He had yet to try that out with someone.
Handsets were great too. They were black, big and most importantly: they were hard, which made them an excellent tool for beating a variety of things, such as nails into walls or junior traders to the ground.
In combination with a telephone cord, handsets made for a lethal and intimidating weapon. He had once tied three of them together in imitation of a bola and effectively roped a running back office clerk with it.
Chewing on a phone cord he always found solutions. It was helping already. His mind began to form images of a certain risk manager flying of the roof with a makeshift bungee cord.
Just as he was about to suggest to the other end that he should come up to the roof to look at some files he had prepared for him, the connection went dead. Raising an eyebrow, first at the phone, then at the phone cord, Nathan discovered that he had chewed straight through the cord. Again.
With a sigh, he picked up another one of his phones and called technical support.
Yes, hello, this is Nathan Corwin. A rat chewed through my phone cord again. Can you send someone up with a new one? Thank you.
He put the phone down and picked up an empty paper cup. Whistling a merry tune, he began to shred the bottom of the cup into tiny pieces, which he carefully placed on the floor beneath his desk. He put the maimed cup next to the shreds and made some final adjustments to the various pieces. Satisfied that everything looked right, he leaned back and waited for the support gnome to arrive.
Five minutes later, a tiny person peeked timidly around the wall of screens. A voice, at least two octaves too high to properly belong to a man, squeaked:
Mr. Corwin, I have your phone cord here. You said your last one was chewed on, by ah.. a rat?
Thats right, look here kid., he dangled the maimed cord in front of the gnome damn thing bit right through the copper wires.
Confused, the support employee unplugged the cord from the dealer board and the handset and then replaced it with the new one he had brought.
Satisfied that the new cord worked properly, he inspected the bite marks on the old one.
Uh are you sure this was a rat, Mr. Corwin? he ventured.
Of course Im sure. Fucking pests are everywhere, Im telling you. As if on cue he pushed himself away from the desk. Pausing for effect, he looked at the floor under his desk.
Ah crap. Look at that! Damn thing got into my coffee! He pointed at the shredded paper cup.
Seriously, they have to do something about these rats. Theyre everywhere. Next thing you know, their inside the computers, building their nests! he mumbled as he got out of his chair and collected the different pieces from the floor and threw them into the paper bin.
Frightened, the young employee looked around, expecting a rat to appear at any moment. He slowly retreated in direction of the far wall, apparently careful not to step on anything rodent-like.
Well thanks for the cord. said Nathan as he sat back down again.
The support gnome only nodded apprehensively and quickly disappeared behind the wall of screens.
Stretching his arms, Nathan pulled himself back to his desk. He would have to buy a pet rat someday and set it loose in here to add credibility to his tales. He could then try to convince the owners of this oversized money-lending operation that a cat on the desk might be a useful addition. Of course he had his own cat in mind whose company he preferred to that of the current assistant he had.
In truth the kid wasnt so bad. Apart from the horrible taste in fashion and the fact that he caved in quite easily when being yelled at, he had a certain substance that Nathan believed he could mold to suit his purpose.
The phone rang. With a glance at his dealer boards screen he saw the label Moron flashing. With a sigh he took the handset and tapped the touch screen to connect the call.
Weapons bay. he answered in the staccato-like manner of speech characteristic of military communication.
Nathan. Is that you? inquired a voice on the other end, clearly somewhat confused.
No. This is the submarine U.S.S. Alabama. was his reply, again making an imitation of an officer. He expected some sort of reaction, but after only getting a silent breathing on the other end, he once again found himself reaffirmed that the initiator of the call indeed did do the label Moron full justice.
With a Yes its me. What do you want? he let his gullible counterpart of the hook.
And again several seconds of silence passed before, finally, the caller so aptly labeled, spoke up: Ahahaha, I thought it was you. But, you know, Ive got so many lines here... sometimes I press the wrong buttons
Nathan rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as a sign of inward capitulation. Trying to comfort the other being, who clearly must be in pain from so much stupidity, he said: Well, its good then that you work as a broker, isnt it. Doesnt require operating heavy machinery that is controlled with tiny buttons.
Silence followed by snorting laughter: Hrrrahahaha. Yeah, thats me. Wouldnt want me using a powerdrill. Hahaha. No sir, not me. Hrrrrahaha.
Well, now that we have found the perfect vocation for you, perhaps you can tell me what you have for me. interrupted Nathan.
He didnt really expect this talking rock to have anything that was either of value or not a fabrication, let alone still unknown to any of a hundred other brokers.
But hope always dies last, he told himself as he absent-mindedly listened to a torrent of prices that were all pretty much untradable.
After he was done, the other person inquired: Are you interested in trading any of these?
No. said Nathan flatly, then disconnected the call.
Making a mental note to inform the Natural History Museum that he had just discovered the missing link between ape and man, Nathan Corwin looked at his watch. 15 minutes remained to the opening. And where was the runt kid? Not here. Annoyed at this renewed lapse in punctuality, Nathan flipped a page on his dealerboard and tapped the screen to call his assistant. As he began to hear the ringtone, he also heard a cellular phone ringing on the other side of the wall of screens. Muttering something about being lucky, he hung up.
Seconds later, his assistant peeked around the corner and asked Good morning sir. Can I get you some coffee?
Yes you can. Fucking rats got into my last one. was the grumpy reply.
If this rather unusual answer perplexed the young man, he hid it well, for no sign of irritation showed on his face. After a minute or so, he reappeared from behind the screens, carrying two cups of coffee.
Thank you. said Nathan as he accepted the cup, in a rare lapse of appreciation towards his junior. Setting the cup on the desk, Nathan opened the drawer and pulled out a blister of caffeine pills. He popped out two of them and dropped them into the steaming beverage. While he waited for them to dissolve he brought up the results of some analysis on one of the screens. Pointing at the list, he instructed his assistant in what instruments he was going to be trading. Or rather, he pointed out which one he wasnt going to be trading.
Leave these 2 out of the list. Well get them cheaper. he instructed.
With a curt nod, the kid pulled up his own chair and began punching one of the keyboards.
As equity and options markets across the country opened, Nathan Corwin watched a multitude of numbers scroll past his screens. Some of them flickered too rapidly for the human eye to follow. To his left his assistant was calmly clicking some colorful windows and pressing a few buttons here and there.
While the kid traded entire lists of stocks and options, Nathan focused on two issues only at the moment. While most of his strategies were automated, his favorite pastime consisted of creating what he called the Information Advantage.
On this particular day, he had created a rather severe disadvantage for someone as he had unexpectedly exercised puts on two companies overnight and was now forcing the stocks lower. As he had kept an eye on the overnight activity, he was certain that whoever had been assigned the stock had either not noticed or didnt care. yet.
Sipping his caffeine-enriched coffee, he quickly paused to muse on the true nature of trading. This was trading in its purest form. Forcing someone to trade purely on your terms, with no room for negotiation, that was the ultimate art: The sharks in the water.
The bread and butter of daily turnover and position taking was all very nice, but when it came to considering the Jutsu of commerce, as his old mentor was known to say, nothing could quite compare to the begging of your counterparty as they tried to pull their testicles from the death grip of the commercial vise.
He had waited for a day where the two stocks were at a breaking point and his forecasts for the general market and the sector were pointing lower to play his card. Like a group of high school bullies ganging up on the local nerd, Nathan Corwin too felt that there was a certain safety in numbers.
A voice from the left intruded on his reverie: Sir, we got a short 69.
Nathan snapped from his musings. A short 69 didnt mean that his assistant had gotten lucky while browsing images on a midget porn site. Rather, it entailed that the analytics had screened a short stock trade with an indicated probability that the trade would be a winner of 69% over the next three days.
69 was a very good number and could easily turn into a 187 for someone else. If he could get 69s all day long his job would be alot easier.
I think its time to get out the axe. announced Nathan.
Yes sir. complied his assistant and began configuring a dialog box on his screen.
The axe was actually an algorithm that allowed the trading of deltas across multiple markets with one fell swoop. Through the innocent click of a button the computer engaged in smacking every single stock bid, call bid and put offer it could lay its greedy virtual paws on.
It was expensive to do so, but Nathan felt justified in paying the price. To his mind, there was a time for thinking pennies and a time for thinking dollars.
He pulled up the stock in question on another screen in addition to the two he was already harrying. This day had the feel of a grinder to it, where things would just continually grind lower without looking back and Nathan Corwin was not going to be left behind.
Things indeed did slowly grind lower as the morning wore on. No fire sale, but enough to have around 25 billion dollars in market capitalization dissolve back into the filthy New York City air that it was made of. Of course nothing had changed in the economy nor in any individual company since yesterday, but if the chickens felt like flapping around, one might as well seize the moment and snatch up the eggs, reasoned Nathan.
The phone rang. Again the line labeled Moron flashed red, indicating potential danger or pain.
With a long sigh, he picked up the call and rasped: Yen swaps.
A confused babble erupted on the other end, ending in something like Sorry mate, wrong number. and hung up.
Disgusted, he reflected how degenerate a man had to be to try to adopt a British dialect when one was obviously born in Brooklyn. He also wondered just how someone could come up with the concept of dialing a wrong number on a direct line.
Again the phone rang. Again the impersonation of a Yen swaps trader was the answer. Again the other side hung up.
Shrugging, Nathan returned his attention to the many tables and charts hovering in front of him. Nothing was indicating a reversal of todays action. Nevertheless no big sellers beside himself had appeared in the two names he was trying to squeeze lower. Well, so far, so good he mused quietly.
Sir, began an inquiry from his junior Some of these deltas here are getting pretty big. And some of the indications are pointing upwards, so it might be a good time to hedge. Should I start buying some of these?
Nathan looked briefly at the risk monitor and shook his head in the negative: No, leave them on. I wouldnt be surprised if were off by a percent at the close. Maybe more.
Apparently unconvinced, the assistant pointed at one of the screens and asked again: Even the two here where the system points upwards with reasonable confidence?
Nodding, Nathan began to elaborate: Yes, leave them alone. There is a time for thinking pennies
and a time for thinking dollars. Yes, I know. finished the junior trader.
You know, if youre getting tired of that phrase, I can use something else. Like: Make hay when the sun shines or kick em when their down or maybe If you cant stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Scratching his chin he added: Or how about: You cant make an omelet without breaking a few balls I mean eggs.
Then again perhaps something more antique, like Quid quid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.
What does that mean? asked the kid.
Anything said in Latin sounds profound.
He pondered again for a moment, then said: Or maybe something more profound from the Far East like 'Confucius say: Man with big penis must use it now and then or lose it.'
At this the junior trader gave a look of genuine puzzlement: Confucius said that?
Um yeah. He did I think he probably said that. Yes.
Waving his hand in dismissal, Nathan returned the conversation to the matter at hand: Anyway, we cant have all this short index gamma be eating away our delta, now can we?
Having said that he, grabbed his mouse and took out another bid in the S&P 500 futures, printing a new low for the day.
While he was clicking here and pushing buttons there Nathan found himself interrupted in his favorite activity by an attention demanding, no nonsense brooking Ahem uttered by a figure clad in a dark blue suit standing on his right.
The man that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere was Stanley Longfield, proud bearer of the grand title of Director of Global Equity Trading.
He hadnt heard him coming, which meant he should really be thinking about that moat again. Or perhaps a simple tripwire with a bell would suffice. But before he could carry the thought of making his desk more of an impregnable fortress any further, Stanley Longfield began to speak:
Good Morning Nathan.
Morning Stan. What brings you to my humble corner? chimed Nathan, knowing full well what had caused his superior to put in an appearance.
Oh cut the crap, will you? How big is your delta?
Not that big really. Just another one of those days, you know. was his tactical response.
At this, Stanley Longfield slightly raised his voice: Not that big? I tell you how big it is. It wont show up in my risk sheet! Excel shows me a bunch of ........s because it wont fit into the god-damned cell! He waved a sheet of paper that he was carrying for emphasis. Thats how fucking big it is!
Nathan looked toward the ceiling as if involved in genuine contemplation.
Hum. Okay, I can see how that would be a problem. Cant you just make the cell bigger? Like so. He called up an Excel sheet on the screen closest to Stanley and began resizing columns.
The cells size is fine the way it is! Its your position size thats too big!
Sighing in obvious exasperation, the director took a moment to calm himself, then proceeded in a more steady manner.
Look. Its not like Im trying to give you a hard time for nothing. Its just now that the swaptions desk dropped those 300 million, we are looking pretty good all of a sudden compared to the Fixed Income guys. I dont want to give that away in the last two months of the year, you know?
Well, youll have to forgive me for trying to maximize my total contribution to the firm at large rather than maintaining a relative P/L over a swaps desk. Having said that, he pointed at another screen. In the meantime, all I can do is offer you todays 7 digit number as a contribution to the Stanley Longfield Corporate Elevation Fund.
The director bent closer and squinted at the number. Nathan thought he saw a small glitter in his eyes. It was such a clich but the old Fear & Greed principle always worked.
Well, thats a nice number. conceded Stanley who was visibly more relaxed now. But you know, Im just really nervous. If this year ends in the way things are shaping up at the moment, I could have a real shot at heading up Capital Markets. Im not prepared to gamble with that opportunity.
Nathan wanted to say something playful to lighten up his mood.
Would you feel more comfortable if I sold some bonds against it? he offered.
You want to sell Treasuries against this?
Well, I was more thinking to sell some corporates.. get it done Texan style, you know? He stuck his tongue out at Stanley.
Oh stop it. chuckled Stanley and took a playful swipe at Nathans shoulder. Really, this isnt the time for silly games. If I get promoted, youll be upgraded as well. Count on it.
Oh jolly good! exclaimed Nathan. Like to what?
Ill create a new position for you. Something reporting directly to me.
Great. Can I invent my own title? he asked.
Oh not this again! Enough of that monkey business. I went out of my way already to let you print those two ridiculous acronyms on your business card. Nathan Corwin, B.A., H.R.E.O. Please! No more of that!
Well, excuse me. began Nathan but I do believe that Bastard Arbitrageur is an officially sanctioned BMA certification. What's wrong with that?
Oh please. And Highway Robber Extra-Ordinaire? We can count ourselves lucky that nobody ever actually asked what it means. No! No more of that.
Nathan shrugged. Well, technically I think thats more of a NASD term...
Will you ever grow up? Then he bent past Nathan so he could see the assistant and posed the same question to him: Do you think hell ever grow up?
Nathan patted his junior trader on the shoulder and replied with a broad smile: Oh, I will eventually I mean. But dont you worry. Ive been training kiddo here in the meantime to take my place when that happens.
God help us all! came the reply from Stanley, his face a mask of mock horror.
Stanley wasnt a bad guy, especially as far as heads of departments went. He was reasonably clued about the market and had, at one time, made quite a bit of money for the bank. He wasnt without a sense of humor, but he played the corporate game like few others could. Given the choice between playtime and politics, he would always choose the latter. That aside, he gave Nathan enough space to breathe and protected him as best as he could.
Nathan picked up again on the possible promotion: So new job, reporting to you. I can do that, but youll have to give me a title of my choosing.
Curiosity got the better of Stanley Longfield in the end: Allright, what would you like it to be?
Nathan tried to look as nonchalant as he could and said: How about Grand Overseer of Algorithmic Trading? Thats reasonably technical, no?
Stanley Longfield knew better than to reply and simply murmured the words again in repetition, noting the first letters of each word. Nathan could tell when he was done by the startled look that showed on his face.
No! You cant have a title that abbreviates to G.O.A.T.! Are you nuts?! Youll be a level below me. Youll show up on the org charts that all the board members look at!
Aw Shucks. Was worth a try though.
If this happens, youll be Head of Equity Prop and thats that. End of discussion.
Stanley rose to leave.
At least make it Head of Equity Arbitrage and Prop! Nathan called after him down the aisle.
His junior trader began to chuckle.
What? asked Nathan, still looking after the blue suit that was disappearing behind a wall.
Oh nothing. was all he got in reply.
Eventually the moment he had been waiting for all morning came. Large offers began flashing in the book for the two companies where his self-orchestrated squeeze was taking place.
“Thar she blows!” quipped Nathan and began pounding the stocks again. At the same time he was filling the book with bids just below the market. He now had the market firmly within his grasp. Any sellers would have to sell to him, at least if everything went according to plan.
As soon as the large bids started to appear the large offers pulled out.
Addressing no on in particular Nathan mused: “Oh, we’re playing chicken, eh? Very well, chicken it is….”
He pulled his own bids and replaced them with offers of the same size, causing havoc in those securities. The other offers appeared again just below him and now other traders began to smell that there was blood in the water. People started queuing sell orders as if they were getting into a waiting line for free beer.
Smacking his lips in anticipation Nathan instructed his assistant to begin buying: “Start reeling her in.”
The junior trader grabbed the mouse and began buying deltas as inconspicuously as he could. He did it manually and in small size. There were programs for that sort of thing but a situation like this required careful handling. Bids had to be placed, bids had to be pulled, offers had to be dispensed to keep the appearance of selling pressure up.
Nathan again placed large buy orders below the market.
They had to buy more than 50 blocks of 50,000 shares each and there was only one real seller in the market for that sort of size. That seller had to be lured out of his bear cave with the proper bait. He had to be persuaded to hit Nathan’s large bids. Only then would the selling pressure hold.
If, instead of patiently waiting for his bids to trade, Nathan began transacting against the offers the market would turn on him, the autocorrelation ripples of his trades eating a sizeable share of the current mark-to-market profits.
Worse yet, the seller might decide to delay his fire sale, making Nathan the largest bidder without offsetting sellers to be had.
Silently the battle between recalcitrant bear and steadfast bull raged. Neither of them showed more than five percent of what they actually needed to do. It was a Mexican stand-off.
Technically Nathan was slightly ahead, as other traders had sold to him and his assistant but it accounted for less than 2% of their total position. Not only did he want his cake and eat it, he wanted to burn the bakery to the ground when he was done.
A large buy order swept the book several cents deep for 50,000 shares leaving a temporary gap in the book.
Nathan cursed something about swine merchants but then stepped in to fill the gap with his own offers. He was now making a two-sided market, which was not what he wanted to do, but at least he could try to dampen any follow-up buying intentions.
To make matters worse S&P futures began coming off the day’s lows causing him to sell more stocks. His position was back to square one except that the square had gotten smaller.
A husky voice breathed seductively into his right ear. “Hello Nathan…. You busy?”
Not looking up, Nathan simply said: “Yeah, pretty busy at the moment. Do you think you could play with your lipstick for the next half hour and then come back?”
With a playful pout, the woman floated to Nathan’s left side and continued her idle chatter as if nothing could disturb her. “What are you doing big boy?”
“What’s it look like? I’m playing tetris. Do you see these blocks here? I’m trying to get to Level 8, now do you mind?” he made a shooing motion, not unlike the usual gesture used to herd chickens.
“Well, when you are done playing, could come over to my desk and help me with a problem?”
“What happened? Did you break a nail again?”
“Very funny… No, the blocks in my tetris aren’t moving like they are on yours.”
“That’s because your blocks are actually an Excel spreadsheet.” replied Nathan, still not looking at the blonde creature besides him.
“Well, what spreadsheet are your blocks on? I like the way they move around. Except I’d have to group them together. I don’t like the way the red is between the green.”
Nathan said nothing, but silently stared at the screen in front of him.
Unable or unwilling to take the subtle hint, the blonde, obviously looking for an excuse to linger, asked: “Can I use your phone?”
“No you can’t use my phone. You have your own phone. A pink one, at that.”
The blonde crossed her arms in front of her well-proportioned breasts and was about to say something else, but Nathan cut her off before she could pose another non-sensical question
“Tell you what… Tiffanie. Why don’t you go back to your desk and do your nails. I’ll drop by later… much later… possibly tomorrow…. and help you with whatever problem you have created for yourself this time, ok?”
With a seductive caress around Nathan’s neck the blonde made a motion to leave.
“Oh very well…. I’ll see your grouchy rump later and help you relieve all that stress you’ve been building up back here.”
“You mean you’ll actually let me use you for a punching bag?” asked Nathan, for the first time actually looking at the woman. He raised an eyebrow in imitation of disbelief.
“Very funny… enjoy your games boys…” she let her hand glide slowly along the side of the flat screen panels, cast a last glance at Nathan and disappeared behind the wall.
Nathan yelled after her: “Don’t forget how to breathe!” but whether she heard or not was of little consequence; it was unlikely that she would have understood in either case.
“That woman is going to be the death of me one day.” he muttered and returned his attention to the screen.
The blonde woman who caused Nathan so much mental agony was Tiffanie Townsend. Her friends apparently got to call her T.T. though nobody that worked with her was convinced she actually had any friends. A textbook blonde in her prime, she insisted her name was spelled with an ‘ie’ rather than the traditional ‘y’, presumably because someone had told her that it would look more sophisticated. She had the intelligence of a rabbit caught in the headlights and the depth of a puddle of coffee on a table. Her sole responsibility was to carry things from a printer to various people on the floor, a job she took great pride in because, as she put it: ‘It’s not easy to remember who sits where’.
Occasionally she actually had to punch something into the computer, for which she always elicited help from various male employees.
Her appearance would be called stunning by some, if you were far enough away. She always had perfectly arranged hair which never got unsettled, not even by the static electricity from the scarves she often wore. She liked dressing in outrageous colors, usually involving a scandalous shade of pink and she loved wearing platinum jewelry.
More by accident than by anything else, Nathan had once looked deeply into her eyes. He was fairly confident that he had actually caught a glimpse of the back of her skull through those blue-rimmed pupils.
To him, she didn’t hold any more attraction than, say, a beautifully carved water fountain or an overpriced painting in acrylics.
She pretended to have an interest in modern art. She had once tried to talk Nathan into joining her on a visit to a local art gallery opening, though Nathan suspected that she was going to be more interested in the edible crayons than the actual paintings on display. He had politely declined… no: refused the invitation.
Just what exactly the woman wanted from him was a mystery. Surely there was plenty of male prey to be found on this floor? Though describing them as prey would be giving the implication that she was a predator, which she was certainly not. More like the proverbial fly that just would not go away.
Shrugging, Nathan turned his gaze back to the screen where he was still trying to unload the humongous short position onto the other party. This other party had turned out more steadfast than he thought. But then again not every market participant was an imbecile one could just lead around with a carrot on a stick or beat into submission with a sledgehammer.
Anyway, it wasn’t over yet. Nathan Corwin liked to quote Richard Nixon on this matter who apparently once said: “It’s not over when the fat lady sings, it’s over when you quit.” And he never quit. Ever.
As a matter of fact, when they nailed shut his coffin one day, he had every intention of clawing his way out again through the freshly dug grave one more time, simply as a matter of principle.
As if to affirm his believe structure he said to no one in particular: “It ain’t over yet.” and minimized the window he had used to trade.
“We’ll come back to this later.”
He would have to or Stanley would be unnecessarily upset.
The phone rang again. But no number showed or line flashed. In Nathan’s world only salespeople and cowards suppressed their number in this day and age. And perhaps some hillbillies who still used rotary phones in the middle of Kentucky.
Hesitating for a split second, he then decided against comfort and quiet and in favor of the unknown and picked up the phone.
“Hello?` he rasped.
“Ah yes, hello… may I speak to Nathan Corwin please?”
Well, that certainly could only be either a sales trader or some other creature intent on wasting his time with incomprehensible babble.
“Please hold.” he said sincerely and quickly put the anonymous caller where he put all pesky salespeople: on hold never to be un-held again. It was rather unfortunate that the bank didn’t allow him to add his own music to this Waiting Queue of the Damned. He was thinking something along the lines of “Nine Inch Nails – March of the Pigs” to keep his callers entertained while they patiently waited for someone to fetch them from the tele-communal abyss. He would have to talk to IT again about that.
His assistant rose out of his chair: “I’m going to get another coffee. Do you want one?”
“Sure… I’ll take one. While you’re at it, get me a can of Diet Coke too.”
“Anything else?”
“Hm… actually, yeah. Why don’t you go grab me one of those mozzarella sandwiches they sell at ‘Mussolini’s’ around he corner.”
“One mozzarella sandwich… got it. I’ll be back shortly.”
“You better be.”
The kid disappeared and Nathan pushed back on his chair and stretched his arms. Then he crossed them behind his head and put his feet up on the desk. Finally comfortable, he once more took in the flickering information in front of him.
He saw a few small opportunities here or there, but nothing that really struck as exceedingly worthwhile doing. It seemed that after the earlier excitement things had begun to settle down into the usual lunchtime lull.
With a sigh, he moved his propped up feet back onto the carpet and propelled himself back to his usual position. He called up some risk sheets, looked at a few markets in more detail and read a few e-mails from other traders, bank employees and various sycophants.
With a ‘plop’ a freshly baked mozzarella sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil appeared beside him, followed by a latte in a paper cup and a can of diet coke.
“Thanks.” Said Nathan and reached into his drawer where he had a roll of five-dollar bills stashed away. He pulled out a single note and handed it to his junior.
“Keep the change.” he commented and returned the rest of the bills back to the drawer.
“Um… that cost 8.85…” was the reply.
“Oh… right…. Well, no change for you then.” conceded Nathan and began unwrapping his sandwich.
The assistant stood there a moment longer, then shrugged in resignation and seated himself to enjoy the soup he had bought for himself.
Nathan got up and wandered over to the nearest water fountain to get himself a cup of water and returned to his desk.
Once more he opened a drawer and retrieved a small bottle of dissolvable magnesium tablets. He unscrewed it and tried to maneuver a single tablet into the cub below by slowly turning and shaking the bottle.
With a sudden splash he dispensed 6 pills at once into the cup.
“Damn” was his only comment as he watched the tablets begin to dissolve, unleashing a veritable tropical storm inside the cup.
“Oh well” he said and picked up his coffee.
As he was about to take his first sip, somebody knocked on the rightmost column of screens and a head poked around the corner.
“Knock-knock… may I come in?” said someone he’d never seen before.
“As you can see, I’m currently enjoying my coffee… alone.” answered Nathan gruffly.
Mistaking the hint to take a hike as an invitation to approach, the unknown man skirted around the edge of the desk and planted himself besides Nathan and extended his right hand in greeting.
“How do you do Mr. Corwin. I’m Billy Carrington, your new account manager at Bloomberg.”
Nathan looked at the hand hovering beside him, then looked up to the person offering it and returned his gaze to the coffee in his hand.
The hand hovered there for a little longer then dropped.
Unfazed by, or perhaps unaware of, such rudeness, the Bloomberg drone went on: “I’ve recently replaced Tom Gale and I was in the area and thought: Why not introduce myself to you.”
Taking another sip of his coffee, Nathan put the cup down and swiveled his chair to face this latest pest.
“And just who is Tom Gale?” he quizzed his opposite.
“Why… that was your previous account manager. You don’t remember him?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe we talked on the phone. Once.”
“Right.” responded Billy. “Well, I’m here to take care of you and help you with any issues you have with our product.”
Nathan rolled his eyes once and folded his hands in front of him. His eyes fell on the single cup of water on the desk.
“That’s great, Billy. “ he said, his mood becoming more jovial. H waved a hand to indicate the freshly filled paper cup “Would you like a cup of water before we get started?”
“Um… sure… thank you.” replied Billy and took the magnesium-laden drink. He emptied the cup in four gulps.
After he sat the empty paper vessel back down, he found both Nathan and his assistant looking at him expectantly like children following a magician’s performance.
“Grab a seat and tell me a little.” invited Nathan.
Billy Carrington looked around him in search of an empty chair. Failing to locate one after several attempts he decided there weren’t any seats to be had and remained standing.
He looked at the screens laid out in front of him.
“All right, I’d like to show you some new features we added to our product recently that may be of interest to you.” Glancing at each screen in turn, he tried to find on which one the Bloomberg application was running.
“Where is your Bloomberg?” he finally asked, after seeing neither the ugly, familiar black screen nor catching sight of the hallmark PlaySkool keyboard it was known for.
Nathan nodded to his assistant who slid open a panel door below the desk, revealing several computer cases.
“Down there” he indicated.
The Bloomberg acolyte bent down slightly to gain a better view and looked at the exposed stacks of computers. He spotted the machine that had so generously been provided by his company abandoned in a corner next to some shiny new machines in elegant aluminum casings.
Like a child’s toy that was broken and no longer of any interest it was carelessly crammed into what looked like too small of a space to allow for proper ventilation. The keyboard with the garish color scheme was unceremoniously taped to the case. It looked like a large animal had chewed through the cables.
“Oh….Um… okay… so… you don’t use it much?” he said after pushing himself back upright.
”No, we don’t… really.” was the reply from the assistant.
”We pay for it though.” added Nathan.
Puzzled, the freshly made account manager scratched his head. He looked from Nathan’s junior to Nathan himself and back. He couldn’t help thinking that he was being the butt of a particularly well engineered joke here. Perhaps it was all a test on how well he would take care of his customers, no matter how eccentric they were? Or perhaps he was having that dream again… but no, there weren’t any striped kangaroos to be seen, so it probably wasn’t that dream.
Pushing the striped kangaroos from his mind, Billy Carrington wondered out aloud:
“But why are you paying for it if you never use it?”
Nathan swiveled in his chair to face him and began to explain:
”In this place, making any change whatsoever to the status quo requires going to three management meetings, filling out request or decommissioning forms and basically being out of business for a month because the guy from IT that was supposed to simply uninstall PowerPoint actually removes the power supplies from all your machines. I’m not taking any chances in that department.”
Billy considered this information. Then he asked:
“Hm… Are you interested in our new features perhaps?”
“Doubtful.” was the negative reply that he got.
Considering this information, disillusioned Billy made a last desperate attempt at showing that he did care about customer service, prejudice notwithstanding:
“Perhaps you could tell me what features you would like to be included in our product so at some point you might find it useful again? Or even better, I could get one of our developers to come down here and you could talk directly to them.”
“You could try.” agreed Nathan. “Just one problem…”
“What problem?”
“How’s your programmer going to get past building security?”
“Huh?”
”They don’t let just anyone in here.”
“But….”
He was interrupted by a strange noise, not unlike a fog siren. Both traders swiftly assumed a position of intent staring at a screen.
Nathan spoke first and announced: “FDAX, Blocked VWAP on the sell side.”
The junior trader frantically clicked his way through a few images. Billy thought that one of them looked remarkably similar to a brain scan showing a hemorrhage but it was gone to quickly for him to be sure.
“Yeah looks like one. I’m on it.” said his assistant.
Numbers started flashing and a Billy thought he could hear quiet ping noises every now and then.
“About time we got some action in there been quiet in that market, been quiet all day apart from….”
Just then the proverbial light bulb could be seen appearing just above Nathan’s head.
“Hold on a sec….”
While moving windows around and clicking things with his right hand he used his left hand to place a call to the person assigned the label “Moron” on his dealerboard.
The phone rang and he got a friendly woman answering the phone.
“This is Nathan. Tell Roger to answer his own phone, why the hell did he ever get that line installed if he’s never there. Some broker…… oh hey Roger there you are. Look, about that price earlier….”
While talking to Robert Rogers, he gesticulated to his assistant to stop selling. While his junior trader didn’t quite understand what Nathan could be up to, he ceased his selling spree and listened to the phone conversation.
“….. the 3100 Calls on a 50 ref… yes, get on that. Yes, of course with delta, you don’t think I’d show you a price like that without delta, do you? That’s going with a 62 delta or not at all. What? Where June Futures are? You still don’t have a real-time feed, huh? Trading 32s. Now get on it! ”
His eyes fell on the figure of Billy Carrington, who while still lingered but looked utterly lost now.
“This is going to take a while. Can you find the way out yourself?”
Billy blinked “Um… yeah I think so.”
“Great. Have a good day… oh and remember: drink lots of fluid.”
“Huh?”
But there was no explanation forthcoming. Nathan was already pointedly ignoring him.
Dejected, Billy made his way to the elevators. This hadn’t turned out quite as he thought. He still had a lot to learn about this business. Selling financial information services was markedly different from selling whirlpools.
Then again, a lot of people bought a Jacuzzi and never used it, so maybe it wasn’t so different after all. This thought did help a little to raise Billy’s spirits as he waited for the elevator.
Back at the desk, Nathan’s phone rang again. He picked up to hear fat Robert wheeze into the phone:
”Warren, you’re done mate.”
“Warren? What is it with you and Warren? Is that some homoerotic fantasy of yours? You and Warren Beatty?”
“Sorry Nathan… nevermind. You’re done at 203.”
“What do you mean 203?! I showed you a 200 bid you idiot.”
“Ah… sorry, wrong ticket. I’m doing all this on Post-It™ notes, you know. They’re all the same color. Now… here we go… yes: 200. Can we still trade 203 though?”
“What?!”
“I thought you might throw in few ticks extra for me cousin.”
“Your what?!”
“Me cousin. Ernest Roberts over at Daiwa.”
“You’re crossing me with your fucking cousin?!”
“Um… sure. Trying to keep in the family, you know.”
“What the…” Nathan was speechless for a moment. Could this piece of Eurotrash be any more obvious?
“Look… hillbilly… just put me through to him so we can get it cleared, all right?”
“Sure mate, hang on.”
Another voice, with an even more obnoxious accent croaked in Nathan’s ear:
“Ernest speaking.”
“Ernest my ass.” dripped Nathan. “Just gimme your block trade number on the option so I can book this.”
A stream of numbers followed which Nathan duplicated on his own screen.
Meanwhile the DAX was printing new lows on the day courtesy of some amateur portfolio trader. The spread then dragged the EuroStoxx lower. It was already 3 ticks lower than were it was when he traded the package.
When Nathan and Ernest, whose real name was Ernesto thanks to a heritage that was one quarter Sicilian, got to the price there again was a disagreement.
“No. Not 203! 200. Two-zero-zero.”
“But Robert said that you….” complained Ernest.
“Don’t even get me started on your retarded brother…”
“Cousin.”
“… Cousin, Brother whatever. Two-zero-zero, got it?”
“Yeah, all right mate. Take it easy. Robert said I can buy this back from David Morris so I’m okay I s’pose.”
Nathan jumped from his chair. What was this imbecile babbling about?
“David who?” he probed carefully.
“David Morris, you know… the geezer from ACME.”
Chewing furiously on the phone cord, Nathan tried to figure out what was going on.
He began to connect the dots, which in his mind looked like meatballs linked together with overly done spaghetti.
Not only had Robert given Nathan’s business to his cousin, but he had also made sure that paper would be flowing to said cousin on the other side.
Seeking to confuse Ernest Rogers, he said: “But I just got off the phone with ACME, they are a buyer too”
“But Robert said…”
“I bet your cousin got mixed up in his Post-It™ system again. You better double check that.”
He made a hand signal to his assistant with two fingers that in England would have been construed as an insult. The assistant started buying against the slow but steady stream of sell orders that was coming his way.
Ernest thanked Nathan: “Thanks, I’ll give Robert a call. This could be problematic otherwise. I’m not supposed to take this much risk on.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He hung up the phone and turned to his assistant:
“Okay, so I got plenty of deltas on at 32, if we can average 4 ticks lower on those buys your doing we got this gamma and vega reasonably cheap. Got it all from David Morris, apparently.”
His assistant thought for a moment then said: “And when I can take this VWAP down we’d be reasonably flat on global index delta too, huh? So Stanley should be less worried?”
“Yeah, the only thing that’s getting to me is that Roger’s and his clan make money out of this.”
He paused to scratch his nose.
“Anyway… we still have this one to take care of.” Nathan tapped a screen with a pen, then began twirling it skillfully through his fingers. There were still more than two million shares to be bought back and the close was drawing near. If something didn’t give sooner or later he’d have to start bidding it up, even if it ended up wiping out a big part of his gains for that particular trade.
He could try to carry it overnight but the temporary supply side economics he had set in motion were unlikely to persist for another session.
He started making faces at the screen, willing a solution to jump out at him from the myriad of numbers. From his vulture’s eye perspective, the overall market didn’t look that healthy. It was quite likely that some more selling would develop tomorrow.
Having being said that, he did need to do something about this stock. With the close or tomorrow’s opening at the latest, he could see a veritable horde of mean-reversion monkeys, drunken on expectation values, charge in there and gorge their skewed bellies at his expense.
The pen was spinning idly in his left hand. With a sigh, he stopped its circuitous journey and tossed it on the desk. He had decided to throw in the towel. There was no point in beating your head against the wall if the wall wouldn’t give. His ploy had worked, after all. Not quite as well as he had hoped, but still well enough.
“We start buying it back. All of it.” Was his only remark as he began clicking the mouse.
Nathan would be drawing all sorts of unwanted attention to himself by lifting the few large offers that were sitting in the book, but that couldn’t be helped at them moment. The feeding frenzy that would ensue would cost him a little but he figured he could still show enough digits to Stanley at the end of the day to make him happy.
“Index has come back a bit but probably won’t go above the 13s. So let’s sell that beta off as it comes in and then….”
He was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. “Ahem.”
Stanley Longfield was leaning against the monitors, in his right hand another sheet of paper.
“Hello Stanley. What’s happening?”
“I’ve just got off the phone with the Head of Equity Trading over at Commerz.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” replied Stanley coldly.
“What are they up to? Working on another blowup of some kind?” inquired Nathan, sounding genuinely ignorant.
“Oh cut the crap!” came the reply. Stanley was beginning to build up steam. The piece of paper was beginning to flutter sporadically.
“I just spend 30 minutes on the phone with him. Calming him down because you’re refusing to out-trade a butterfly with one of their traders that was way out of line!”
The piece of paper, obviously a confirmation sheet, fluttered in front of Nathan’s eyes for emphasis.
Nathan squinted as if trying to make out what the sheet said.
“I vaguely remember doing that, I think.” was his conclusion.
“It was two days ago!” added Stanley, who was now wildly waving the sheet like a cavalry flag signaling a charge.
As if it was slowly coming back to him, Nathan admitted: “A yes, that one. I do remember now. I think I bought it for 77.”
“And how much is it worth, you think?”
“Hum…. 290, 300 maybe.”
“So you think buying it for less than a third wasn’t a bit out of line?” asked Stanley irritably.
“Of course it was out of line. Why do you think I bought it?”
“Oh please! You knew that wouldn’t stand!”
“Well, in all honesty I was hoping it was one of their new models and was planning on coming back for more.”
“Well apparently not! They are claiming that the kid that gave you that price was using the wrong interest rate and want us to tear it up.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows: “Wrong interest rate? What was he using? The Brazilian curve from ’89??”
Stanley thought about this for a moment, then said: “Well whatever! I’m tearing it up. Here see?” He tore up confirmation sheet in front of Nathan’s eyes. Not once but three times and then tossed the pieces in the wastebasket.
“It was only like a hundred grand. Don’t really see what the big deal is. I’m surprised they noticed actually, given their history of badly marked books.”
Stanley didn’t rise to the bait and brought up another point:
“They also complained that you were apparently quite rude on the telephone to this kid.”
“Well… what can I say. It was a long day, there might have been some language.”
“Did you have to bring his mother into it?!”
“Technically, no I didn’t. But I was trying to make a point. I don’t remember what the point was, but I’m certain there was one.”
“Well, they are threatening to pull the line.”
“It's more of a thread, really.”
“Huh?”
“A thread. A line implies something quite big, able to sustain a substantial weight. Whereas a thread, well, you know....”
Stanley shook his head in apparent frustration. He made to leave but before he did, he left instructions for Nathan to call the trader at Commerzbank and apologize.
“Bah.” snorted Nathan. “Bunch of crybabies over there, I’m telling you.”
He browsed the various pages of his dealerboard to find Commerzbank while murmuring to himself:
“Commerz… Now where did I put them again… under ‘C’ as in ‘clumsy’ or ‘S’ as in ‘slow’?”
The trading session was slowly drawing to a close. All in all, it had been a good day. Some might have even called it a very good day, despite having had to revise the day’s P/L downward by a good portion.
But Nathan Corwin was of the relativistic persuasion that it could always be better.. or worse.
The close was always an interesting time, as things always picked up speed in a final, frantic rush towards the exit. And by definition, it wasn’t wide enough for everybody.
Occasionally a 700 pound gorilla got wedged in the doorway, causing people to get squeezed and trampled in a mad frenzy to get out before the doors were locked for the night. Whoever was left behind would either have to climb out through the smaller windows or remain inside until the morning. Remaining inside was not an option for many people, which only made the rush all the more interesting… and potentially profitable.
Nathan quizzed his junior: "What do you see happening on the close?"
The kid began searching screens and flipping through a few analytics.
A reply was slow in coming: "Hmm… hmm… I see… buyers?"
It was more of a question, indicating that he had guessed more than known.
Nathan let it slide.
"Correct. Indeed we see buyers at the close, so let’s get some." he began buying index futures as there was need for immediacy and there would be little point in loading up individual names even if they did offer better value. They’d end up either holding the idiosyncratic risk overnight or trade out of them after-hours… neither a particular appealing option considering the size of the expected gains. The exit was right here and Nathan Corwin was planning to charge people admission.
"Yo! Sleepyhead! You’re going to hedge that delta this side of the close?"
"Um… Um... "
"Don’t ‘um’ me son. You gotta be value-driven with everything you do or the only thing of any value you’re going to be driving will be an MTA bus around Manhattan!"
The phone rang. Nathan picked up a handset and answered the call:
"Hello there. What can I do you for? … I mean what can I do for you? Uh-hu. Uh-hu. Uhhhh-hu. Yap, I can do that. Allrighty, talk to you later."
He turned to his assistant: "That was Joey. He needs us to warehouse 1300 short NQs."
His assistant nodded and made an entry in some database. Every piece of information was carefully stored for later retrieval, no matter how irrelevant it seemed at the time.
Nathan frequently warehoused trades for a handful of traders from various banks whose risk management procedures allowed that sort of nonsense. In Joey’s case, his bank calculated his intraday VaR at three times the overnight VaR… with the result that Joey simply put on a position at the intraday VaR limit, offset it before the close (which also served as the risk cut-off) and immediately re-opened the position in after-hours trading.
Of course he could do this without parking the position with Nathan and just go to the market, but after-hours trading was not exactly what you called liquid. It tended to be more gooey… not unlike snot in consistency.
So the traders crossed their inventory into Nathan’s book, who promised to give it back to them at whatever time they needed it back for a charge of a tick or two. Technically, there was some risk involved, but on average, the risk netted out and the fee remained. The fee was small, but every little bit counted. And if the other side kept doing this for few days in a row, which they tended to do, it added up quickly.
But the spread he charged was only half the reason of why he did this. The other reason was that it allowed him to keep tabs on the positions of a few desks around Wall Street and being contrarian by nature, that information was very valuable indeed.
Nathan pointed out that Stanley Longfield was probably going to have another fit, if he saw that instead of reducing the size of their delta, they had simply changed the sign.
"Oh well, it’s only for a few more minutes. I think he’ll be able to handle it."
As an afterthought he added: "And besides, this morning he thought that our total delta was too low, now he’ll think it’s too high. That makes us flat on average."
His junior trader shrugged.
Five minutes remained to the close of the Big Board. Things were beginning to get more hectic and colors started flashing rapidly across all of the screens as computers began firing trades in rapid succession.
The market was rising, albeit under quite a bit of volatility.
Nathan kept moving his offers higher then pulled them.
"You pulled the futures?" asked his junior trader, obviously confused.
"Yeah. I’m thinking she is really going bid in Chicago."
The New York Stock Exchange closed it’s doors at 16:00 Eastern. However, the futures market, based at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange continued trading until 16:15 Eastern.
The seconds ticked away.
"NY closing in 3… 2… 1…" with a faint bell sound from one of the computers, most of the screens stopped flashing.
"Run mark-to-market and then we’ll give ‘em a run for their money over in the City of Winds."
Actually, the market had gone electronic a few years back and the system was really an interconnected network spanning half the world, but Globex, as the system was called, was still often referred to by it’s geographical origin.
A printer began to hum as the first pages of the mark-to-market reports appeared. They ran them to coincide with the close of the NYSE as a matter of convenience.
Nathan Corwin always kept paper copies, even though he preferred to use computers for storing any information. But there was something tangible about holding an account statement with a positive balance in your own hands that even he didn’t want to forego for a few electrons somewhere inside a computer chip.
A female voice sang into Nathan’s ear: "Hey Nathan. Are you done playing computer games now?"
Nathan started, as he had not heard her coming.
Already annoyed by the fact that someone had managed to sneak up on him, he rasped: "Not now Tiffanie! I said after the close! After!"
Tiffanie Townsend pouted and crossed her arms before her ample breasts. "But the close was 5 minutes ago. I know that. Emilio told me so."
Nathan gritted his teeth: "Emilio... is… a… swaps… trader. I’m surprised he knows what a stock is, let alone when they close."
The blond woman was not fazed: "But you are a swaps trader too, aren’t you?"
Nathan was about to lose his composure: "Look, woman: the Chicago Close! Okay? 4:15. Get your parents to draw you a schedule, like they did in elementary school."
"Why… sometimes you can be downright rude, you know that? I really wonder why I bother."
"You should try pondering instead of wondering sometime."
All he got in reply was a blank stare. Then, as if she had snapped out of some kind of trance, Tiffanie said:
"You know what? Just forget it. I’ll get Emilio to help me. He’s much nicer."
"My condolences to Emilio. Now if you don’t mind, we are trying to pay your salary here…"
With a last look that could have maybe withered something already quite dry, Tiffanie Townsend stalked away.
The assistant chuckled.
"It’s not funny." emphasized Nathan. "It really isn’t."
He returned his attention to the screen in front of him: "Okay, 4 to 1 that we’ll end up plus 5 over NY."
"5 plus at 4:1? I’ll take that bet." offered Nathan’s assistant.
"Allright kiddo, you are on. 20 bucks?"
"Yes, I can do that."
7 minutes remained until the close of Globex regular trading hours. The system would close for 15 minutes, then re-open for the overnight session.
Nathan Corwin had presumed correctly. The futures did indeed see more buying interest. Slowly but steadily, the market ground higher, chewing through price after price.
The phone rang. "There’s Joey." anticipated Nathan and picked up the phone.
"Hey. You ready to do this?" he asked.
"All right, I’m currently offered at 17.50 and 18.00 for size. We still have 5 minutes left, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to trade that, before we close, so feel free to lift that. If you can’t within the next two minutes, give me a call and we’ll have to see where we can try to cross it, but I’d really prefer doing the 17 half or 18s ‘cause of market supervision."
He listened to what the other side had to say then said "OK, let’s see if this works. Talk to you later."
The market was still grinding higher. It was already three and half points above where it had been when New York had shut it’s doors.
With three minutes left, a surge of buying activity set in and the market popped another three points. Nathan watched with a smug smile as the 17.50 and 18.00 were paid for on the NQ side and his S&P futures were torn from his hands at plus 5.
"That’ll be 20 bucks." commented Nathan as he dialed Joey’s number to confirm that he had managed to cover at the prices they had talked about.
The assistant pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill and put it on the table.
"That was amazing. Really, I wish I could do that!"
"Well son, maybe some day you can. Until then, with the powers invested in me by the grand office of 'Master of Business' I’m willing to grant you the temporay, but still official title of 'Master of Business Administration'. Here: File these."
And with that he unceremoniously dumped the pages of today’s market-to-market report in the kid's lap.
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
