Wall Street Paytime Review
Julian leaned back. “I thought you might.”
Marcus opened his email. $1.26 million, exactly as calculated. He printed the letter, folded it, and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Then he stood up, walked to Julian’s office, and knocked.
Marcus left the breakout room in a daze. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and stared at his screen. The revised bonus number wouldn’t arrive for hours, but he already knew what it would say. $1.26 million. He pulled out his phone and texted his wife, Elena: Bad day. Don’t book the renovation.
“Come in.”
“You had a good year,” Julian said, reading from the paper. “The Brazil infrastructure desk made money. The CLO desk made money. You personally brought in fourteen million in net revenue.”
“Sit down, Marcus,” Julian said quietly. “It’s going to be a long morning.”
“You said Sterling might not exist in six months,” Marcus said. “If that’s true, I need to know who’s buying us. Or who’s building a team elsewhere.” wall street paytime
He showered, put on a fresh Charvet shirt, and knotted his tie with hands that didn’t tremble but wanted to. Outside, the December air bit hard, but he barely felt it. The walk from his apartment to the glass tower at 85 Broad Street was a ritual he’d performed a thousand times. Today, every step felt like a drumbeat.
She paused. A trader near the back whispered, “Oh God.”
Julian smiled—not his thin smile, but a real one. “There’s a group at Soros Fund Management. They’re putting together a credit distressed desk. They’ve already called me. I told them I’d bring two VPs. One of them is you, if you want it.” Julian leaned back
“Fine,” Marcus lied.
“The European sovereign debt desk,” Victoria continued, “has been running a mismarked book for the last eighteen months. We discovered it last night. The losses are not yet fully quantified, but we believe they exceed $400 million.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus nodded. He knew the revenue number. What he didn’t know was the multiplier—the percentage of revenue that would become his bonus. Last year it had been 12%. A good year. This year, rumors were flying that the pool was up 30%.
Julian leaned back. “I thought you might.”
Marcus opened his email. $1.26 million, exactly as calculated. He printed the letter, folded it, and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Then he stood up, walked to Julian’s office, and knocked.
Marcus left the breakout room in a daze. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and stared at his screen. The revised bonus number wouldn’t arrive for hours, but he already knew what it would say. $1.26 million. He pulled out his phone and texted his wife, Elena: Bad day. Don’t book the renovation.
“Come in.”
“You had a good year,” Julian said, reading from the paper. “The Brazil infrastructure desk made money. The CLO desk made money. You personally brought in fourteen million in net revenue.”
“Sit down, Marcus,” Julian said quietly. “It’s going to be a long morning.”
“You said Sterling might not exist in six months,” Marcus said. “If that’s true, I need to know who’s buying us. Or who’s building a team elsewhere.”
He showered, put on a fresh Charvet shirt, and knotted his tie with hands that didn’t tremble but wanted to. Outside, the December air bit hard, but he barely felt it. The walk from his apartment to the glass tower at 85 Broad Street was a ritual he’d performed a thousand times. Today, every step felt like a drumbeat.
She paused. A trader near the back whispered, “Oh God.”
Julian smiled—not his thin smile, but a real one. “There’s a group at Soros Fund Management. They’re putting together a credit distressed desk. They’ve already called me. I told them I’d bring two VPs. One of them is you, if you want it.”
“Fine,” Marcus lied.
“The European sovereign debt desk,” Victoria continued, “has been running a mismarked book for the last eighteen months. We discovered it last night. The losses are not yet fully quantified, but we believe they exceed $400 million.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus nodded. He knew the revenue number. What he didn’t know was the multiplier—the percentage of revenue that would become his bonus. Last year it had been 12%. A good year. This year, rumors were flying that the pool was up 30%.
