The Big Short_ Inside the Doomsday Machine - Michael Lewis [61]
Oddly, it was Ben, the least personally conventional of the three, who had the Potemkin-village effect of making Cornwall Capital appear to outsiders to be a conventional institutional money manager. He knew his way around Wall Street trading floors and so also knew the extent to which Charlie and Jamie were being penalized for being perceived by the big Wall Street firms as a not terribly serious investor or, as Ben put it, "a garage band hedge fund." The longest options available to individual investors on public exchanges were LEAPs, which were two-and-a-half-year options on common stocks. You know, Ben said to Charlie and Jamie, if you established yourself as a serious institutional investor, you could phone up Lehman Brothers or Morgan Stanley and buy eight-year options on whatever you wanted. Would you like that?
They would! They wanted badly to be able to deal directly with the source of what they viewed as the most underpriced options: the most sophisticated, quantitative trading desks at Goldman Sachs, Deutsche Bank, Bear Stearns, and the rest. The hunting license, they called it. The hunting license had a name: an ISDA. They were the same agreements, dreamed up by the International Swaps and Derivatives Association, that Mike Burry secured before he bought his first credit default swaps. If you got your ISDA, you could in theory trade with the big Wall Street firms, if not as an equal then at least as a grown-up. The trouble was that, despite their success running money, they still didn't have much of it. Worse, what they had was their own. Inside Wall Street they were classified, at best, as "high net worth individuals." Rich people. Rich people received a better class of service from Wall Street than middle-class people, but they were still second-class citizens compared to institutional money managers. More to the point, rich people were typically not invited to buy and sell esoteric securities, such as credit default swaps, not traded on open exchanges. Securities that were, increasingly, the beating heart of Wall Street.
By early 2006, Cornwall Capital had grown its stash to almost $30 million, but even that, to the desks inside the Wall Street firms that sold credit default swaps, was a risibly small sum. "We called Goldman Sachs," said Jamie, "and it was just immediately clear they didn't want our business. Lehman Brothers just laughed at us. There was this impenetrable fortress you had either to scale or dig underneath." "J.P. Morgan actually fired us as a customer," said Charlie. "They said we were too much trouble." And they were! In possession of childish sums of money, they wanted to be treated as grown-ups. "We wanted to buy options on platinum from Deutsche Bank," said Charlie, "and they were like, 'Sorry we can't do this with you.'" Wall Street made you pay for managing your own money rather than paying someone on Wall Street to do it for you. "No one was going to take us," said Jamie. "We called around and it was one hundred million bucks, minimum, to be credible."
By the time they called UBS, the big Swiss bank, they knew enough not to answer when the guy on the other end of the line asked them how much money they had. "We learned to spin that one," said Jamie. As a result, UBS took a bit longer than the others to turn them down. "They were, like, 'How much do you short?'" recalled Charlie. "And we said not very much. So they ask, 'How often do you trade?' We say, not very often. And there was this long silence. Then, 'Let me talk to my boss.' And we never heard back from them."
They had no better luck with Morgan Stanley or Merrill Lynch and the rest. "They would say, 'Show us your marketing materials,'" said