afford to pay the go-to rate," said Eisman. "They were doing it so that when the borrowers get to the end of the teaser rate period, they'd have to refinance, so the lenders can make more money off them." Thirty-year loans were thus designed to be repaid in a few years. At worst, if you bought credit default swaps on $100 million in subprime mortgage bonds you might wind up shelling out premium for six years--call it $12 million. At best: Losses on the loans rose from the current 4 percent to 8 percent, and you made $100 million. The bookies were offering you odds of somewhere between 6:1 and 10:1 when the odds of it working out felt more like 2:1. Anyone in the business of making smart bets couldn't not do it.
The argument stopper was Lippmann's one-man quantitative support team. His name was Eugene Xu, but to those who'd heard Lippmann's pitch, he was generally spoken of as "Lippmann's Chinese quant." Xu was an analyst employed by Deutsche Bank, but Lippmann gave everyone the idea he kept him tied up to his Bloomberg terminal like a pet. A real Chinese guy--not even Chinese American--who apparently spoke no English, just numbers. China had this national math competition, Lippmann told people, in which Eugene had finished second. In all of China . Eugene Xu was responsible for every piece of hard data in Lippmann's presentation. Once Eugene was introduced into the equation, no one bothered Lippmann about his math or his data. As Lippmann put it, "How can a guy who can't speak English lie?"
There was a lot more to it than that. Lippmann brimmed with fascinating details: the historical behavior of the American homeowner; the idiocy and corruption of the rating agencies, Moody's and S&P, who stuck a triple-B rating on subprime bonds that went bad when losses in the underlying pools of home loans reached just 8 percent; * the widespread fraud in the mortgage market; the folly of subprime mortgage investors, some large number of whom seemed to live in Dusseldorf, Germany. "Whenever we'd ask him who was buying this crap," said Vinny, "he always just said, 'Dusseldorf.'" It didn't matter whether Dusseldorf was buying actual cash subprime mortgage bonds or selling credit default swaps on those same mortgage bonds, as they amounted to one and the same thing: the long side of the bet.
Lippmann brimmed, also, with Lippmann. He hinted Eisman might get so rich from the trade he could buy the Los Angeles Dodgers. ("I'm not saying you're going to be able to buy the Dodgers.") Eisman might become so rich that movie stars would crave his body. ("I'm not saying you're going to date Jessica Simpson.") With one hand Lippmann presented the facts of the trade; with the other he tap-tap-tapped away, like a dowser probing for a well hidden deep in Eisman's character.
Keeping one eye on Greg Lippmann and the other on Steve Eisman, Vincent Daniel half expected the room to explode. Instead Steve Eisman found nothing even faintly objectionable about Greg Lippmann. Great guy! Eisman really only had a couple of questions. The first: Tell me again how the hell a credit default swap works? The second: Why are you asking me to bet against bonds your own firm is creating, and arranging for the rating agencies to mis-rate? "In my entire life I never saw a sell-side guy come in and say, 'Short my market,'" said Eisman. Lippmann wasn't even a bond salesman; he was a bond trader who might be expected to be long these very same subprime mortgage bonds. "I didn't mistrust him," says Eisman. "I didn't understand him. Vinny was the one who was sure he was going to fuck us in some way."
Eisman had no trouble betting against subprime mortgages. Indeed, he could imagine very little that would give him so much pleasure as the thought of going to bed each night, possibly for the next six years, knowing he was short a financial market he had come to know and despise and was certain would one day explode. "When he walked in and said you can make money shorting subprime
The argument stopper was Lippmann's one-man quantitative support team. His name was Eugene Xu, but to those who'd heard Lippmann's pitch, he was generally spoken of as "Lippmann's Chinese quant." Xu was an analyst employed by Deutsche Bank, but Lippmann gave everyone the idea he kept him tied up to his Bloomberg terminal like a pet. A real Chinese guy--not even Chinese American--who apparently spoke no English, just numbers. China had this national math competition, Lippmann told people, in which Eugene had finished second. In all of China . Eugene Xu was responsible for every piece of hard data in Lippmann's presentation. Once Eugene was introduced into the equation, no one bothered Lippmann about his math or his data. As Lippmann put it, "How can a guy who can't speak English lie?"
There was a lot more to it than that. Lippmann brimmed with fascinating details: the historical behavior of the American homeowner; the idiocy and corruption of the rating agencies, Moody's and S&P, who stuck a triple-B rating on subprime bonds that went bad when losses in the underlying pools of home loans reached just 8 percent; * the widespread fraud in the mortgage market; the folly of subprime mortgage investors, some large number of whom seemed to live in Dusseldorf, Germany. "Whenever we'd ask him who was buying this crap," said Vinny, "he always just said, 'Dusseldorf.'" It didn't matter whether Dusseldorf was buying actual cash subprime mortgage bonds or selling credit default swaps on those same mortgage bonds, as they amounted to one and the same thing: the long side of the bet.
Lippmann brimmed, also, with Lippmann. He hinted Eisman might get so rich from the trade he could buy the Los Angeles Dodgers. ("I'm not saying you're going to be able to buy the Dodgers.") Eisman might become so rich that movie stars would crave his body. ("I'm not saying you're going to date Jessica Simpson.") With one hand Lippmann presented the facts of the trade; with the other he tap-tap-tapped away, like a dowser probing for a well hidden deep in Eisman's character.
Keeping one eye on Greg Lippmann and the other on Steve Eisman, Vincent Daniel half expected the room to explode. Instead Steve Eisman found nothing even faintly objectionable about Greg Lippmann. Great guy! Eisman really only had a couple of questions. The first: Tell me again how the hell a credit default swap works? The second: Why are you asking me to bet against bonds your own firm is creating, and arranging for the rating agencies to mis-rate? "In my entire life I never saw a sell-side guy come in and say, 'Short my market,'" said Eisman. Lippmann wasn't even a bond salesman; he was a bond trader who might be expected to be long these very same subprime mortgage bonds. "I didn't mistrust him," says Eisman. "I didn't understand him. Vinny was the one who was sure he was going to fuck us in some way."
Eisman had no trouble betting against subprime mortgages. Indeed, he could imagine very little that would give him so much pleasure as the thought of going to bed each night, possibly for the next six years, knowing he was short a financial market he had come to know and despise and was certain would one day explode. "When he walked in and said you can make money shorting subprime
Similar Books
