Warren laughed a little. “I wasn’t exactly sure why I went until this semester, to be honest. I knew I wanted to do something different, but I didn’t know exactly what or for whom. A trader from Merrill advised me B-school would be useful. When I learned about MBS in Professor Fisher’s class, I realized that was what I had been looking for. Something that demanded thought and analysis and wasn’t just making wild bets on the markets, or slowly working your way up some corporate hierarchy. And besides, without an MBA, I doubt your recruiting office would have scheduled me at all. I guess I could have found a cheaper way to learn about fixed-income markets, but school was fun—there seemed to be more girls than tests.” Warren liked Dressler’s manner and found it easy to talk to him.
“So, you majored in English literature in college, traded some futures and made a few bucks, then went back to business school and now you want to trade bonds. Seems logical. Why not? Do you really know anything about mortgages? Do you have any idea what real trading is all about?”
“Well, I knew my dad was always having trouble getting a mortgage,” Warren joked, and Dressler chuckled. “I’ve done a lot of studying. Read about optionality and the different prepayment models. How every MBS pool has unique characteristics, and there are real opportunities to make money through hard work, not just dumb luck or guts. I was a competitive tennis player, and I learned the hard way that really succeeding usually means really applying yourself. I am willing to work harder than anyone when the rewards are there. And, honestly, I want to find a way to make a lot of money that doesn’t require ten years of working up some kind of political ladder. I understand a bit about MBS coupon spreads and relative value. But at the end of the day, trading mortgages seems to me to be all about understanding prepayments. After that, I figure that sales and trading is all about communicating, and that’s something I’ve always been able to do reasonably well.”
“That’s a pretty good answer, and a pretty long one.” Dressler smiled. “Yeah, you definitely have the communication thing down. How’d the communicating go with Bill Pike?”
“I think I got his message,” Warren said with a regretful look.
“Nahhh! Pike doesn’t really hate you, he just resents all the young kids coming in here every day. He’s a dinosaur. He loves to rattle rookies.” Dressler shifted in his seat, and Warren sensed that the interview was just about over.
“Well, he succeeded. But he still pulls all of his putts short left. Maybe I could help him with that.” Warren smiled as he said it.
Dressler met his gaze, smiled back at him, and nodded. “Maybe you could, at that.”
Warren started thinking about his name under the Weldon letterhead.
seven
After his interview with Dressler, Warren worked through four more sessions. The men got younger and obviously less senior as he progressed. He’d enjoyed talking with Jed Leeds, a young mortgage trader, and Hart Campbell, a new salesman who had graduated from Wharton a year before. The last name on Warren’s list was Pete Giambi, and after fifteen minutes discussing everything from the Philadelphia Flyers to prepayment models, futures, and forward pricing, Giambi, the head of mortgage research, cut off the interview.
“Who else are you talking to on the Street?” His high forehead and round glasses imparted a slight sense of age to the youthful face, and a small smile curled Pete’s lip.
“Well, I was planning on seeing Goldman and Salomon, but Weldon is my first interview and my first choice.” Warren decided to commit because he felt his day was going well, and he genuinely liked Giambi. He was enthusiastic, obviously brilliant, and they had a lot of common interests. And Weldon was everyone’s choice as the “hot” firm for new MBA’s—a bulge bracket leader that allowed Associates to advance quickly in growth areas.
“Let me ask you something. If we offered you a job right now, would you take it?”
“I’m not sure. That wouldn’t exactly be smart of me, I don’t think. I mean, what good trader wouldn’t check out the interest away at other firms?” Warren had picked up some of the trading lingo from Leeds, whose speech was peppered with it.
“You’re probably right. Look, with your trading experience and skills, I think you’d do well at any firm. Honestly, the top firms don’t pay new hires any differently no matter how good they think you are. The only thing they can offer you is the promise of a job in the department you want after the training program. That’s your ticket to moving up to the next level in pay quickly. I spoke to Carl Dressler about you before you came in. I think you could get Jillene to promise you a place in the mortgage department if you took a job here right away. That’s pretty unusual.”
Warren knew that few people came into the top firms with a secure job placement. Once they got into the training program, they’d have to prove and sell themselves to department heads in the hot areas. It wasn’t unusual for 10 or 20 percent of a training class not to get placed in the firm at all and to be fired within a year. Giambi was telling Warren he had a good shot at coming into Weldon with a place trading mortgages. There was no better or more desired job on Wall Street. To be in the fastest-growing sector of the fixed-income markets at the firm considered the best in the business was a virtual lock on the fast track to big bonuses and promotions.
“That’s a pretty attractive idea.” Warren understated it, and stayed calm.
“Look, there’s no need for you to spend any more time interviewing here, unless you want to. I’m going to pick up that phone as soon as you leave my office and tell Jillene to hire you and offer you a job anywhere you want it. Carl liked you, and I think you’re the best candidate I’ve seen so far this year. You’d be amazed how few MBAs have any trading experience. Even Bill Pike thought you took abuse pretty well, and that’s an important quality in this line of work.” Pete stood up. “I’m not supposed to do this, and I’m certainly not supposed to tell you all this. But I hope you’ll take the job. Jillene will make you commit before she actually offers it to you, though, so you better make up your mind before you see her.” Pete put out his hand.
Warren shook it and smiled. “I believe the appropriate response is ‘You’re done.’” Leeds had explained that was how traders universally said that a trade was confirmed.
Warren took the elevator up to the forty-first floor and sat down in Jillene Manus’s office. She was the head of Human Resources and Professional Services, and in charge of the recruiting and hiring of business school students. She came in and shook his hand. A tall, heavy-boned woman with gray-flecked and frosted hair, she had a gravel voice harshened by a Rhode Island accent and chain-smoked Kents.
Warren watched her write some notes in his file, her script precise and rounded. “You’ve got the Brearley swirl.”
Jillene looked up. “I’m impressed.”
“My mother was a Brearley girl.” He couldn’t help but smile when he said it. His mom had always been proud of her link to the prestigious Upper East Side girls’ private school. Warren had learned to copy the rounded letters perfectly to forge excuse notes when he cut classes or had to sign a bad report card.
“No kidding.”
“Yup. Class of… maybe 1949?”
Jillene smiled. “A little before my time. What’s she do now?”
Warren filled her in, and Jillene pushed back from her desk.
“Well, sounds just like a Brearley girl. I must say, it wasn’t the most practical-minded place. I majored in philosophy at Smith, for God’s sake.” Jillene paused a moment. “Anyway, Mr. Hament, it seems you have had quite a day at Weldon Brothers.”
Warren grunted.