Old Traders Never Die

Chapter 3

'You can't encourage him to drink', Nigel said to me sternly the following morning'.

'He didn't need much encouragement', I joked in reply.

'This is serious, Dave', Nigel continued. 'Peter's an alcoholic. That's the main cause of all his problems. You've got to keep him off the drink'.

'Well how the fuck was I too know he had a fucking drink problem ? Is there anything else I need to know about this man, Nigel ?', I shouted. 'I'm doing the best I can to try and make this work, but you're not doing anyone any favours by hiding stuff from me!'.

'No, No. You're right', he replied. 'I should have told you. There's nothing else though. But for God's sake, please just keep him away from any booze'.

Peter rocked up a little later than me that morning (and without his trademark tie), but that wasn't unusual. I'm an early-bird by nature and am always among the first to arrive. He seemed in good humour, though, and gave me the thumbs up sign as he sat down at his desk. Then he started to trade.

And as he did so, the trading floor erupted. Almost all the traders stood on their feet, clapping their hands in mock applause. They cheered and whistled, and pelted him with screwed up pieces of paper. This was their way of letting him know that they had been watching him. I looked over at him, anxious to see how he would respond to this onslaught. I knew that this was a key moment, as the mockery could easily further dent his confidence. But I needn't have worried, as Peter simply stood up from his chair, bowed, and then gave the floor his middle finger. The floor erupted again, but this time in appreciation of his response. I could hardly believe it, but it looked like Peter might be beginning to win them over.

Peter sat back down, and continued trading. At the end of the day, he closed out his positions and had made a profit of almost 50,000 pounds - not a lot by the standards of the desk, but an encouraging enough start.

If Peter was going to have any trouble with anyone on my desk, it was always going to be Tim. Tim was as brash a trader as they come. He was supremely confident in his owns ability to make money (in fact, sometimes too confident). He seemed to be fearless, and thrived on taking big risks. But he was also a terrible show-off, who liked everyone to know just how well he was doing. And he had a bell which he had started to bring into the office (you know, the kind of bell a teacher would use to signal the start and end of a school day). And Tim had taken to ringing this fucking bell every time he closed out a profitable trade. It was only in hindsight that I realised that I was asking for trouble giving Peter the seat next to Tim.

A few days after Peter started, Tim was in the middle of a very profitable run. And the bell was driving us all crazy. But no one, including me, said anything about the noise and the fact that he was distracting the rest of us from working. Tim was, after all, one of our star traders. And you don't upset star traders.

'Do you think you could keep it down, Tim', Peter asked after the bell tolled loudly once again that day.

'What's that, Noah', came the reply.

'I said 'do you think you could keep it down'. I'm trying to concentrate here'.

'Fucking hell, Noah!', Tim shouted for all to hear. 'You mean to say that you can actually hear the bell ? And to think, we all thought you were deaf as well as fucking dumb', he laughed loudly.

The laughter around the trading floor was somewhat muted this time, and all eyes set upon Peter, whose face flushed a deep red. But he let it go. He wasn't going to take the bait. At least not yet. 'Arsehole', Peter said under his breath, as Tim continued to ring his fucking bell.

Chapter 4

It wasn't long before Tim's run of good fortune started to come to an end. After an incredible few weeks, the markets started to move against him and he began to give back some of his huge profits. At times like this, experienced traders will sit back and take stock. They won't rush into new positions, in a hurried attempt to recoup some of their profits. But Tim was still relatively new to trading. He was the classic case of 'too much, too young'.

In hindsight, I should have given Tim a few days off, and told him to take it easy (although I doubt he would have listened). But, as his losses built up, Tim became bold instead of cautious. And he made the novice trader's mistake of chasing his losses - gambling, instead of trading.

'You need to come with me', Nigel said as he breezed past my desk. 'It's Tim. I think he's blowing up'.

I immediately stopped what I was doing, and followed Nigel to Tim's desk. There was already a guy from Compliance there, and one Hell of a row was going on.

'Who gives a fuck if I'm over my fucking limits!', I heard Tim shout. 'I've made this firms tens of millions. How dare you try and pull me up. Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking fag!!'.

'What's the problem here, Tim ?', Nigel asked as calmly as he could.

'It's this fucking geek', Tim answered, pointing at the Compliance Officer. 'He's trying to stop me making the firm money'.

'It's OK', Nigel said to the compliance guy. 'Sorry about this. I'll catch up with you later. I'll take it from here'.

Nigel and I looked over at the numbers on Tim's screen, anxious to see what all the fuss was about. Incredibly, Tim had purchased stock in a company on our 'avoid' list (a list of companies the firm didn't want us to trade in for a variety of reasons). In this case, the company had recently issued a second profit warning, was in danger of breaching its bank covenants, and there were rumours that it could even file for bankruptcy at any moment. And Tim's position was large. Betting that the stock price would rise before the day was out, Tim was sitting on a paper loss of over 18 million pounds!

'Relax', he said, when he saw the look of panic in our eyes. 'This baby's gonna make us a ton of money before the market closes'.

But Tim looked anything but relaxed. The sweat was poring from his brow, and he was clearly feeling the pressure, nervously fiddling with his pen, his mouse and various other items on his desk. I'd never seen him like this before. He was out of control.

Our eyes were firmly fixed on the numbers on Tim's screen.....The stock dropped another 2%.

'We've got to cut it, Tim', Nigel said. 'It's a bad trade. Cut it, and walk away', he ordered.

'What the fuck are you talking about, Nigel', Tim roared. 'I'll lose over 20 million pounds. Are you fucking crazy ?'.

This was madness. I couldn't believe this was happening. Tim hardly ever traded equities in any case, and when he did, he sold short. What the fuck was he doing taking a 'long' position on this stock ?

As we continued to watch the monitor, the stock fell another 1%.

'That's it, Tim', Nigel shouted. 'Cut it NOW, or I will'.

Tim's hand hovered over the mouse, but he seemed unable to close out the position. I knew what he was going through. I knew what he was thinking - a loss is not a loss, after all, until you close out.

'Now, Tim!', Nigel screamed. Tim looked up, imploring Nigel to let him continue to run with it, but Nigel was adamant. 'It's over', he said.

Tim looked back at the mouse and moved as if to close out the position, when, out of nowhere, Peter's hand came across the desk and pushed Tim's away. Peter looked over at Nigel and shook his head. I was stunned, and I could see that Nigel didn't know what to make of it either. At that very moment, a flash message came across Tim's screen. The London Stock Exchange had issued a notice saying that shares in the company had been suspended, pending an announcement.

When Tim saw the notice, he went into meltdown. The tears were streaming down his face, and he was hyperventilating. 'It's all over!', he screamed. 'The fucking company's bankrupt'. He rushed off to the toilet and promptly puked his guts up. Interestingly, no-one followed him in to check on him.

'I hope you know what you're doing, old man. For both our sakes', Nigel said to Peter as he walked back to his office.

'Well I guess we won't have long to find out', came the reply.

Source: Here Is The City (hitc.com)