On June 7, 2005, the then-new global head of fixed-income trading at Lehman Brothers launched a devastating attack on the U.S. housing market. It was "pumped up like an athlete on steroids," he said in an office meeting. Those muscles gave a "false impression of strength and in the end would not be sustained." Almost instantly the country's housing bubble began to deflate.
On Feb. 9, 2007, Lehman's global head of distressed trading publicly challenged the boss of its mortgage-securitization business, predicting that the "domino effect" of the collapsing housing market would damage the banking sector. He gave warning that Lehman, with its trillions of dollars of debt and high exposure to mortgage-backed securities, was at risk. You don't know what you are talking about, the head of mortgage securitization told him.
Both Lehman traders were right in their gloomy prophecies. Had they been heeded by the investment bank's bosses, perhaps Lehman could have been saved. But both quit, derided for their bearishness. They later returned in a last-ditch effort to rescue the ill-fated investment bank, after a coup weakened Chairman and CEO Richard Fuld and ousted his longtime crony, COO Joe Gregory. But by then it was too late: Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy Sept. 15 last year, becoming the best-known casualty of the financial crisis.
Many blame the sycophantic "court of King Richard" for Lehman's undoing. To feed his desire for ever-bigger bonuses, Fuld encouraged the use of borrowed money to take big bets on rising property prices. He did not help matters by riling Hank Paulson, the former boss of Goldman Sachs turned treasury secretary, at a private dinner in early 2008.
Though Paulson encouraged Lehman's boss to sell the firm, Fuld came away with a different message. "[W]e have huge brand with [T]reasury," he swiftly wrote in a now-famous memo. This smug disregard of what was more an order than advice perhaps strengthened Paulson's resolve to let Lehman go bust -- a decision that was to prove catastrophic within days as the entire financial system panicked.
That, at least, is how Lawrence G. McDonald tells it. The former Lehman trader's inside account of the investment bank's collapse has been branded by Fuld as "absolutely slanderous."
It would come as no surprise to learn that McDonald (who wrote his account with Patrick Robinson) has taken some liberties in his highly readable yarn. He provides no sources for scenes that take place after he was fired in early 2008, many of which show Fuld in a particularly bad light.
Yet "A Colossal Failure of Common Sense" largely rings true.