On the first day of trading, 911 options changed hands on 16 individual stock issues. By 1978, daily volume had climbed to an average of 100,000 contracts. By mid-1995, a million stock options were changing hands daily. Another 300,000 options were trading on four other exchanges around the country. With each option representing a hundred shares of stock, activity in the option markets is significant relative to the volume on the stock exchanges themselves.
The CBOE now boasts one of the most technologically sophisticated trading centers in the world. It consists of a spacious trading floor, a basement with an acre and a half of computers, enough wiring to reach twice around the Equator, and a telephone system that could service a city of 50,000.
There was a second coincidence. At the very time the BlackScholes article appeared in The Journal of Political Economy and the CBOE started trading, the hand-held electronic calculator appeared on the scene. Within six months of the publication of the Black-Scholes model, Texas Instruments placed a half-page ad in The Wall Street Journal that proclaimed, "Now you can find the Black-Scholes value using our ... calculator." Before long, options traders were using technical expressions right out of the Black-Scholes article, such as hedge ratios, deltas, and stochastic differential equations. The world of risk management had vaulted into a new era.
In September 1976, Hayne Leland, a 35-year-old finance professor at Berkeley, had a sleepless night worrying about his family's finances. As Leland tells the story, "Lifestyles were in danger, and it was time for invention."'
Necessity is the mother of invention: Leland had a brainstorm. He would singlehandedly overcome the intense risk aversion that dominated the capital markets in the wake of the debacle of simultaneous crashes in both the bond market and the stock market in 1973-1974. He set about developing a system that would insure investment portfolios against loss in the same way that an insurance company protects a policyholder from loss when an accident occurs. Insured investors could then take on the risk of carrying a large proportion-perhaps even all-of their wealth in stocks. Like any option holder, they would have unlimited upside and a downside limited to nothing more than an insurance premium. Sugarplums began to dance in Leland's head.
By dawn, he was convinced that he had the whole thing figured out. "Eureka!" he shouted. "Now I know how to do it." But after he got up and faced the day, he was beset by a host of theoretical and mechanical difficulties. He went immediately to the office of his friend Mark Rubinstein, a Berkeley colleague who Leland knew could be trusted with his secret. Rubinstein was not only a keen theoretician and a serious scholar; he had had experience trading options on the floor of the Pacific Stock Exchange.
Groggy but manic, Leland laid out his scheme. Rubinstein's first reaction was, "I'm surprised I never thought of that myself." He be came an eager collaborator, to the point where the two men, at this very first meeting, agreed to form a company to market their product, which would be called, naturally, portfolio insurance.
As Leland described it, portfolio insurance would mimic the performance of a portfolio that owns a put option-the right to sell an asset to someone else at a stated price over a specific period of time. Suppose an investor buys 100 shares of AT&T at 50 and simultaneously buys a put on AT&T with an exercise price of 45. No matter how low AT&T may fall, this investor cannot lose more than five points. If AT&T drops to 42 before the option expires, the investor could put the stock to the seller of the option, receive $4500, and go into the market and buy back the stock at a cost of only $4,200. The put under these circumstances would have a value of $300. Net, the investor could lose no more than $500.
Leland's notion was to replicate the performance of a put option by what he called a dynamically programmed system that would instruct a client to sell stocks and increase the cash position as stock prices fell. By the time the stocks hit the floor that the client has designated-45 in the AT&T example-the portfolio would be 100% cash and could suffer no further loss. If the stocks went back up, the portfolio would reinvest the cash on a similar schedule. If stocks never declined at all below the starting price, the portfolio would enjoy all the appreciation. Just as with a plain-vanilla put option, details of the dynamic program would depend on the distance from the starting point to the floor, the time period involved, and the expected volatility of the portfolio.
The distance between the starting point and the floor was comparable to the deductible on an insurance policy: this much loss the policyholder would have to cover. The cost of the policy would be in its step-by-step character. As the market began to fall, the portfolio would gradually liquidate but would still hold some stock. As the market began to rise, the portfolio would start buying but would still be carrying some cash. The result would be a portfolio that underperformed slightly in both directions; that underperformance constituted the premium. The more volatile the market, the greater the underperformance premium, just as the premiums on conventional insurance policies depend on the uncertainty of what is insured.
Two years later after that fateful meeting, Leland and Rubinstein were ready to go, convinced that they had cleared away all the snags. They had had many adventures along the way, including a catastrophic error in computer programming that had led them to believe for a time that the whole idea was impossible. Rubinstein started playing the system with his own money and was so successful at it that he was written up in Fortune magazine. Marketing began in earnest in 1979, but the concept turned out to be hard for two academics to sell. They brought on John O'Brien, a professional marketer and an expert in portfolio theory; O'Brien landed their first client in the fall of 1980. Before long, the demand for portfolio insurance was so intense that major competitors entered the field, notably the leading portfolio-management group at Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco. By 1987, some $60 billion dollars in equity assets were covered by portfolio insurance, most of it on behalf of large pension funds.
Implementation was difficult at first, because handling simultaneous orders to buy or sell several hundred stocks was complicated and costly. In addition, active portfolio managers of pension funds resented having some outsider give them orders, with little or no warning, to add to or sell off parts of their portfolios.
These problems were resolved when the market for futures contracts on the S&P 500 opened up in 1983. These contracts are much like the farmer's contract described earlier, in that they promise delivery at a specified date and at a prearranged price. But there are two important differences. The other side of the S&P 500 futures contract is an organized, regulated exchange, not an individual or a business firm; this has long been the case with futures contracts on commodities as well. But unlike tangible commodities, the 500 stocks in the S&P index are not literally deliverable when the contract matures. Instead, the owner of the contract makes a cash settlement based on the variation in the index between the signing of the contract and its maturity. Investors must put up cash with the exchange each day to cover these variations, so that all contracts are fully collateralized at all times; that is how the exchange is in the position to take the other side when an investor wants to buy or sell a futures contract on the index.
The S&P futures have another attraction. They give an investor an effective and inexpensive method of buying or selling a proxy for the market as a whole, in preference to trying to unload or load up on a large number of securities in a limited period of time. The investor's underlying portfolio, and any managers of that portfolio, remain un disturbed. The index futures greatly simplified the mechanics of carrying out portfolio insurance programs.
To the clients who signed up, portfolio insurance appeared to be the ideal form of risk management that all investors dream about-a chance to get rich without any risk of loss. Its operation differed in only one way from an actual put option and in only one way from a true insurance policy.
But those differences were enormous and ultimately turned out to be critical. A put option is a contract: the seller of the AT&T put option is legally bo
und to buy if the owner of the option puts the stock. Put options on the CBOE require the seller to post cash collateral to be certain that the potential buyer is protected. Insurance companies also sign contracts obliging them to make good in the event of a claim of loss, and they set aside reserves to cover this eventuality.
Where does the necessary cash come from to reliquify insured portfolios when stock prices are falling? From the stock market itself-all the other investors to whom the insured investors will want to sell their stocks. But no reserves or collateral exist to guarantee that the liquidity will be there when called upon. The market had no legal obligation to bail out Leland and Rubinstein's clients and other insured portfolios against loss. Those other investors were not even aware of the role they were expected to play. Leland's brainstorm assumed that the buyers would be there, but he had no way to guarantee that they would actually show up when called upon to do their duty.
The chickens that Leland and Rubinstein hatched in their laboratory came home to roost on Monday, October 19, 1987. The preceding week had been a disaster. The Dow Jones Industrials had fallen by 250 points, or about 10%, with nearly half the drop occurring on Friday. A huge overhang of sell orders had then built up over the weekend, waiting to be executed at Monday's opening. The market dropped 100 points by noon, nearly another 200 points in the next two hours, and almost 300 points in the final hour and a quarter. Meanwhile, as the managers of insured portfolios struggled to carry out their programed sales, they were contributing to the waves of selling that overwhelmed the market.
When the dust had settled, the owners of the insured portfolios were in better shape than many other investors. They had all done some selling during the bad week that preceded October 19, and most of them got out either at or only slightly below their designated floors. But the selling took place at prices far lower than anticipated. The dynamic programs that drove portfolio insurance underestimated the market's volatility and overestimated its liquidity. What happened was like a life insurance policy with a variable-rate instead of a fixed-rate premium, in which the company has the right to raise its premium as the insured's body temperature rises, degree by degree, increasing the probability of early demise. The cost of portfolio insurance in that feverish market turned out to be much higher than paper calculations had predicted.
The unhappy experience with portfolio insurance did nothing to quell the growing appetite for risk-management products, even though portfolio insurance itself virtually vanished from the scene. During the 1970s and 1980s, volatility seemed to be breaking out all over, even in places where it had been either absent or muted. Volatility erupted in the foreign exchange markets after the dollar was cut free from gold in 1981 and allowed to fluctuate freely; volatility overwhelmed the normally serene bond market during the wild swings in interest rates from 1979 to the mid-1980s; and volatility shot up in commodity markets during the huge jumps in oil prices in 1973 and again in 1978.
These unexpected outbreaks of volatility soon littered the corporate landscape with a growing number of dead carcasses, providing grim warnings to executives that a fundamental change in the economic environment was taking place. For example, Laker Airlines, a fabulously successful upstart in transatlantic travel, ended up in bankruptcy after ordering new McDonnell-Douglas aircraft in response to soaring demand; with most of its revenues in pounds and with the foreign exchange value of the dollar climbing higher and higher, Laker found it impossible to earn enough to pay off the dollar obligations on their DC-10s. Reputable savings and loan associations went under as the interest rates they had to pay their depositors mounted while the income they received on their fixed-rate mortgage loans never budged. Continental Airlines succumbed when oil prices went through the roof during the Gulf War.
As a consequence, a new kind of customer appeared in the financial markets: the corporation seeking to transfer the new risks in exchange rates, interest rates, and commodity prices to someone better equipped to carry them. The corporation was responding as Kahneman and Tversky would have predicted, but with an added flourish. As we might have expected, the pain of potential losses loomed larger than the satisfaction from potential gains, so that risk aversion influenced strategic decisions. But when volatility exploded in areas where it had never been much of a concern, corporate managers, like the farmers of yesteryear, began to worry about the very survival of their companies, not just about a sequence of earnings that was more irregular than they or their stockholders might have liked.
Even though corporations could execute hedges in the liquid and active markets for options and futures-which now included interest rate and foreign exchange contracts as well as commodities and stock indexes-these contracts were expressly designed to appeal to as many investors as possible. The risk-management needs of most corporations are too specific in terms of both coverage and time spans to find ready customers in the public markets.
Wall Street has always been a hothouse of financial innovation, and brokerage houses are quick to jump into the breach when a new demand for their talents arises. Major banks, insurance companies, and investment banking firms with worldwide business connections lost no time in establishing new units of specialized traders and financial engineers to design tailor-made risk-management products for corporate customers, some related to interest rates, some to currencies, and some to the prices of raw materials. Before long, the value of the underlying assets involved in these contracts-referred to as the "notional value"was in the trillions of dollars, amounts that at first stunned and frightened people who were unaware of how the contracts actually worked.
Although approximately two hundred firms are in this business today, it is highly concentrated among the giants. In 1995, commercial banks alone held derivatives with a notional value of $18 trillion, of which $14 trillion was accounted for by just six institutions: Chemical, Citibank, Morgan, Bankers Trust, Bank of America, and Chase.6
Almost all of these arrangements function like the cash settlement conditions of the futures contracts, as described above. Each side is obliged to pay to the other only the changes in the underlying values, not the far larger notional amounts. When the same institution or the same corporation has a variety of contracts in effect with a counterparty, payments frequently net out the impact of the entire set of contracts instead of treating each contract as a separate deal. As a result, the functional liabilities are far smaller than the staggering magnitudes of the notional values. According to a survey conducted during 1995 by the Bank for International Settlements, the notional value of all derivatives outstanding around the world, excluding derivatives traded in organized exchanges, amounted to $41 trillion, but if every party obligated to pay reneged on their payments, the loss to their creditors would run to only $1.7 trillion, or 4.3% of the notional value.7
These new products are in essence combinations of conventional options or futures contracts, but, in their most sophisticated versions, they incorporate all the risk-management inventions I have described, from Pascal's Triangle to Gauss's normal distribution, from Galton's regression to the mean to Markowitz's emphasis on covariance, and from Jacob Bernoulli's ideas on sampling to Arrow's search for universal insurance. The responsibility of pricing such complex arrangements goes well beyond what Black, Scholes, and Merton had so painstakingly worked out. Indeed, all three men ultimately showed up in Wall Street to help in designing and valuing these new risk-management products.
But who takes the other side of contracts that come into existence precisely because they are too specific in their coverage to trade in the public markets? Who would be in a position to play the role of speculator and assume the volatility that the corporations were so urgently trying to shed? Few of the counterparties to these tailor-made corporate deals are speculators.
In some instances, the counterparty is another company with opposite requirements. For example, an oil company seeking protection from a fall in the price of oil could accommodate an airline seeking protection from a
rising oil price. A French company needing dollars for a U.S. subsidiary could assume the franc obligations of an American company with a French subsidiary, while the American company took care of the obligations of the dollar requirements of the French subsidiary.
But perfect matches are hard to find. In the majority of instances, the bank or the dealer who originated the deal assumes the role of counterparty in exchange for a fee or spread for executing it. These banks and dealers are stand-ins for an insurance company: they can afford to take on the volatility that corporations are trying so hard to avoid because, unlike their customers, they can diversify their exposure by servicing a large number of customers with different needs. If their books become unbalanced, they can go into the public markets and use the options and futures contracts trading there to hedge their positions, at least in part. Combined with the risk-reducing features of diversification, the ingenuity of the financial markets has transformed the patterns of volatility in the modem age into risks that are far more manageable for business corporations than would have been the case under any other conditions.
In 1994, a few of these apparently sound, sane, rational, and efficient risk-management arrangements suddenly blew up, causing enormous losses among the customers that the risk-management dealers were supposedly sheltering from disaster. The surprise was not just in the events themselves; the real shocker was in the prestige and high reputation of the victims, which included such giants as Procter & Gamble, Gibson Greetings, and the German Metallgesellschaft AG.B
Against the Gods: The Remarkable Story of Risk Page 34