The Big Short_ Inside the Doomsday Machine - Michael Lewis [7]
The growing interface between high finance and lower-middle-class America was assumed to be good for lower-middle-class America. This new efficiency in the capital markets would allow lower-middle-class Americans to pay lower and lower interest rates on their debts. In the early 1990s, the first subprime mortgage lenders--The Money Store, Greentree, Aames--sold shares to the public, so that they might grow faster. By the mid-1990s, dozens of small consumer lending companies were coming to market each year. The subprime lending industry was fragmented. Because the lenders sold many--though not all--of the loans they made to other investors, in the form of mortgage bonds, the industry was also fraught with moral hazard. "It was a fast-buck business," says Jacobs. "Any business where you can sell a product and make money without having to worry how the product performs is going to attract sleazy people. That was the seamy underbelly of the good idea. Eisman and I both believed in the big idea and we both met some really sleazy characters. That was our job: to figure out which of the characters were the right ones to pull off the big idea."
Subprime mortgage lending was still a trivial fraction of the U.S. credit markets--a few tens of billions in loans each year--but its existence made sense, even to Steve Eisman. "I thought it was partly a response to growing income inequality," he said. "The distribution of income in this country was skewed and becoming more skewed, and the result was that you have more subprime customers." Of course, Eisman was paid to see the sense in subprime lending: Oppenheimer quickly became one of the leading bankers to the new industry, in no small part because Eisman was one of its leading proponents. "I took a lot of subprime companies public," says Eisman. "And the story they liked to tell was that 'we're helping the consumer. Because we're taking him out of his high interest rate credit card debt and putting him into lower interest rate mortgage debt.' And I believed that story." Then something changed.
Vincent Daniel had grown up in Queens, without any of the perks Steve Eisman took for granted. And yet if you met them you might guess that it was Vinny who had grown up in high style on Park Avenue and Eisman who had been raised in the small duplex on Eighty-second Avenue. Eisman was brazen and grandiose and focused on the big kill. Vinny was careful and wary and interested in details. He was young and fit, with thick, dark hair and handsome features, but his appearance was overshadowed by his concerned expression--mouth ever poised to frown, eyebrows ever ready to rise. He had little to lose but still seemed perpetually worried that something important was about to be taken from him. His father had been murdered when he was a small boy--though no one ever talked about that--and his mother had found a job as a bookkeeper at a commodities trading firm. She'd raised Vinny and his brother alone. Maybe it was Queens, maybe it was what had happened to his father, or maybe it was just the way Vincent Daniel was wired, but he viewed his fellow man with the most intense suspicion. It was with the awe of a champion speaking of an even greater champion that Steve Eisman said, "Vinny is dark."
Eisman was an upper-middle-class kid who had been faintly surprised when he wound up at Penn instead of Yale. Vinny was a lower-middle-class kid whose mother was proud of him for getting into any college at all and prouder still when, in 1994, after Vinny graduated from SUNY-Binghamton, he'd gotten himself hired in Manhattan by Arthur Andersen, the accounting firm that would be destroyed a few years later, in the Enron scandal. "Growing