Of course I could! It was ridiculous — here I was, a twenty-nine-year-old vice president[8], and the most important global investors wanted to hear what I had to say. I flew all over the world first-class on the Salomon Brothers expense account. I went to San Francisco, Paris, Los Angeles, Geneva, Chicago, Toronto, New York, the Bahamas, Zurich, Boston. After nearly every meeting I was asked, «Bill, can you manage some money for us in Russia?»
I didn’t have a ready answer. Our desk was set up to manage only the firm’s money at that point and couldn’t take outside capital. «I don’t know», I said to them. «Let me go back to the bosses and see whether they’ll let us».
This type of decision wasn’t in Bobby’s domain. He may have been the firm’s best investor, but he had no authority to decide these types of organizational issues. So once I was back in London, I went to the corner office of the head of sales and trading, and pitched him the idea. Unlike my previous experience when nobody wanted to know anything about Russia, he gave me a much warmer reception. «That’s a great idea, Bill. I like it a lot. I’ll tell you what. We’re going to form a task force to study it».
A task force! I thought. What the hell? Nothing was ever simple with these people. Here was a golden opportunity staring them right in the face and they had to bring their organizational nonsense into the picture.
I went back to my desk, and ten minutes after I sat down my phone rang with an unidentified outside caller. I picked it up. It was Beny Steinmetz, a charismatic Israeli billionaire whom I’d met on my Salomon world tour. Beny was in his late thirties with intense gray eyes and close-cropped, wiry brown hair. He had inherited the reins of his family’s rough-cut-diamond business, and he was one of Salomon’s biggest private clients.
«Bill, I’ve been thinking a lot about the presentation you made in New York a few weeks ago. I’m in London and I’d like you to come over to the Four Seasons and meet some of my colleagues».
«When?»
«Now».
Beny didn’t ask questions, he made demands.
I had some meetings scheduled that afternoon, but they weren’t as important as a billionaire who wanted to invest in Russia, so I canceled them and hopped in a black cab up to Hyde Park Corner. I went into the hotel lounge and found Beny sitting with a group of people who worked for him in his diamond business. He made the introductions. There was Nir from South Africa, Dave from Antwerp, and Moishe from Tel Aviv.
We sat. Beny didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. «Bill, I think we should go into business together».
I was flattered that someone as wealthy as Beny would react so strongly to my idea, but I looked at him and his diamond-dealer colleagues and thought there was no way I could be business partners with such a motley crew. Before I could say anything, Beny continued, «I’ll put up the first twenty-five million. What do you think?»
That gave me pause. «That sounds interesting. How do you see this business being set up?»
He and his people then launched into a rambling discourse that showed that they knew next to nothing about the asset management business. All they knew was that they had money and wanted more of it. At the end of the meeting, I was simultaneously excited and disappointed.
I walked out of the hotel thinking that this was exactly what I wanted to do, but exactly the type of people that I didn’t want to do it with. I spent the rest of that day and the whole night turning over this dilemma in my head. If I went out on my own, then I would need seed money, but there was no way a partnership with Beny and his guys would get off the ground because they had no asset management experience, and neither did I. Ultimately, I was going to have to turn Beny down.
I called him the next morning and braced myself for the difficult prospect of saying no to a billionaire. «Beny, I’m really tempted by your offer, but unfortunately I can’t accept. I’m sorry, but I need a partner who knows the asset management business. As accomplished as you are, this isn’t your field either. I hope you understand».
People don’t turn down Beny Steinmetz, and without a trace of disappointment he said, «Sure I do, Bill. If you need someone with asset management experience, then I’ll bring in someone with asset management experience».
I winced as he said this. I imagined him coming back to me with a cousin from some small brokerage firm and putting me in an even more awkward position as I turned him down a second time.
But twenty minutes later he called back. «How would you feel if Edmond Safra did the deal with us, Bill?»
Edmond Safra! Safra was the owner of Republic National Bank of New York, and his name was like gold in the world of private banking. If Edmond Safra was willing to join this venture, it would be like winning the lottery.
«Yeah, that would address the issue. I’m very interested, Beny».
«Good. I’ll set up a meeting».
The same afternoon he phoned back. «It’s all set. Fly to Nice and be on the Carlton pier in Cannes tomorrow at noon».
But I have to work tomorrow, I thought. «Beny, can we do this next week sometime so I can—"
«Safra is ready to see you tomorrow, Bill», Beny interrupted, irritated. «Do you think it’s easy to get a meeting with him?»
«Uh, of course not. O'kay, I’ll be there».
I bought a ticket, and when I woke up the next morning, I put on my suit, went straight to Heathrow, and checked in for the 7:45 a.m. flight to Nice. Before boarding I called the trading desk, faked a raspy cough, and said I needed the day off.
I arrived in Nice, and, following Beny’s instructions, I took a taxi to the Carlton Hotel in Cannes. The bellman thought I was checking in, but instead I asked how to get to the pier. He pointed across the Boulevard de la Croisette at a long gray pier that extended past the beach and into the blue Mediterranean. I crossed the street squinting against the sun (I’d forgotten my sunglasses in cloud-covered London) and stepped onto the pier. I walked over the planks passing beautiful, tanned people in their tiny swimsuits. I was completely out of place with my dark wool suit and my pasty-white skin. By the time I reached the end, I was sweating. I checked my watch. Five minutes to noon.
A couple minutes later, I noticed a bright speedboat approaching from the west. As it got closer, I realized that it was Beny. He pulled his boat — a forty-five-foot, white-and-blue Sunseeker — to a chortling stop at the edge of the pier and yelled, «Bill, get on!»
Beny was dressed like a Côte d’Azur playboy in a light apricot shirt and white linen pants. The contrast between us couldn’t have been starker. I unsteadily hopped aboard. «Take your shoes off!» he ordered. I did, revealing black socks pulled above my ankles.
Beny maneuvered the boat away, and as soon as we were free of the no-wake zone, he punched it. I tried to talk about the meeting and Safra, but the engine and the wind were so loud it was impossible. We rode east back toward Nice hard and fast for half an hour, rounding the Antibes peninsula and crossing the Baie des Anges before arriving at the port of Villefranche-sur-Mer.
Beny pulled into an empty slip, tied off the boat, and had a rapid-fire exchange with the harbormaster in French about mooring for the afternoon. When Beny was done, we made our way to the parking lot, where a pair of armed security guards ushered us to a waiting black Mercedes. The car climbed up through winding roads to one of the highest points above Villefranche. We eventually entered the grounds of a sprawling private residence, which I later learned was the most expensive house in the world. This was La Leopolda. It looked a lot like the Palais de Versailles, the difference being that here dozens of ex-Mossad bodyguards in black tactical gear patrolled the grounds with Uzis and SIG Sauer pistols.
8
If this sounds notable, there were probably more vice presidents than secretaries at Salomon.