Straight to Hell
Page 24
All discretion and subtlety on our part is now gone; we’re laughing, pointing, and gesticulating wildly in full view of the crowd below. The crowd goes wild; there are now well over a hundred people who have gathered below us. I decide to cap things off with a bang, throwing out thirty or forty ₱1,000 bills at once—a finale of Fourth of July proportions.
Perfect timing to wrap it up. In my periphery, I can see three cops and two security guards running toward us. Were they coming direct to the source for a handout? No. They were coming to arrest us for “inciting a riot.”
After a short conversation, we’re able to help them understand how and why arresting any of us is just not an option. So they “decide,” with our help, that the best course of action is for them to escort us back to our hotel “for our own safety.” It makes sense now that a large crowd of people has made its way up to our level, and my pockets are still visibly full.
No sweat; my plan had been to do some more hotel drinking and then take a nap or hit the spa ahead of yet another big night. We return to the hotel lobby with a police escort.
After a few more hours of drinking within the safe confines of our hotel, it’s my bedtime. “I’m calling it. It’s three p.m. right now; I’ll see you back here in four hours.”
, the head of sales at , flags down the head concierge and waves him over. “Excuse me, good sir. I’d like to go up to my room to lie down, but I believe there might still be a love monkey in my bed. Is there any way you could have security check for me and remove her as required? Room 1408.”
“But of course, sir. That is not a problem.”
“The lone Yank on the trip is amazed. “What? They do that? That’s fucking genius.”
Never to be outdone, Varun pipes, “Room 1202 also, please. But you might want to bring some help. There were two of them, and they were pretty feisty.”
This completed the “Day One: Steak Dinner” portion of our itinerary.
Most of us are totally unfazed by the antics thus far; it had long since become our reality. Even the first-timers who had, just hours prior, been terrified at the prospect of the Burgos Street love monkey lock-in, are now leading the charge. “Come on, boys. Naps are for pussies.”
I’m not sure if we had lost our equilibrium, or found it. But I did know that resistance was futile.
Fuck the nap.
Up next: “Day Two: Dancing Girls.”
Epilogue
These are a few of my stories. All bankers have stories just like them, with some variation of degree. Although I am happy to have retired from banking and am now focused on my family, I certainly enjoyed the years I spent on Wall Street, and remain unapologetic for all that I saw and did. I enjoyed the fuck out of it.
Most of the people mentioned in this book have moved on to more senior positions at the biggest and most prestigious firms in the world. They’re held in high esteem by a society that values wealth and success. They’re wielding influence in Washington. They’re sitting on the boards of Fortune 500 companies. They’re taking Communion. They’re leading philanthropic initiatives. They’re married to your daughters.
I will certainly concede that the industry has changed in the time since many of these stories took place. Balance sheets are smaller. Risk appetite is diminished. Compensation and incentive structures have changed. That has undoubtedly impacted the culture. Many of the colorful, big swinging dick characters have left the trading floor for the buy side, entrepreneurial initiatives, or just the beach.
But I know that if I’m on a plane to Hell, the first-class cabin will be full.
A Note on
the Author
John LeFevre has enjoyed a distinguished career in international finance. He joined Salomon Brothers immediately out of college and worked in New York, London, and Hong Kong. In 2010 he was hired by Goldman Sachs to be head of debt syndicate in Asia, a position that he eventually did not take due to a contractual issue. He is a regular contributor to Business Insider and has been interviewed by the New York Times, CNN, the Financial Times, and other outlets.