got to take Mike’s word on that. Or not.”
He sat perfectly still in his chair, looking across at me. Mike sighed and said, “Well, I think we’re done for the moment, yes?” The man slipped his pen back into his pocket and nodded his head very slightly.
“John, could you wait outside?” Mike asked.
I shut the door behind me.
Chapter Two
I sat at the secretary’s desk, and after about two minutes Mike opened the conference-room door.
“Come in and have a seat, John,” he said.
“I passed?” Mike rolled his eyes.
“It’s your winning personality. Come on in.” I came.
“John, this is Rick Pierro. Rick, this is John March.” Mike walked around the table and sat down. Pierro rose, and we shook hands. He was about my height—just over six feet. I tossed my jacket on the table and sat.
“Sorry for making you jump through hoops, but this thing has got me wound up pretty tight.” Pierro’s palms were on the edge of the table, and he leaned forward slightly as he spoke. “What you said about trusting Mike was dead on. I trust him absolutely, and he tells me only good things about you. And you seem like a no-bullshit guy to me—so let’s go.” The accent was Long Island.
“Not a problem,” I replied. “What are we here to talk about?” Pierro glanced at Mike, then took a deep breath and dove in.
“You know much about Wall Street?” he asked.
“Some,” I replied. A smile flickered across Mike’s face.
“I’m at French Samuelson. You hear of it?” he asked.
“The investment bank,” I said. Pierro nodded.
“That’s what we are now—for better or for worse. When I started there, twenty years ago, we were a meat-and-potatoes commercial bank—deposits, loans, checking accounts, all the basics. Now we do it all—everything from traditional banking to mergers and acquisitions, IPOs, even venture capital. And we’re market makers in cash, fixed income, and derivatives, in every major trading center.” He said it with an odd mix of pride and irony.
“I’ve seen the change firsthand. I joined French straight out of college, went into the training program and then into corporate lending. I did well there. For three years I was the top loan producer, and in the meantime I’d gotten through b-school at night. Then I made the switch over to investment banking, and I did even better. I started as a junior associate in mergers and acquisitions. In two years I was running a team. Then I did a stint in London and another in Singapore. And in both places I brought in big deals, and big fees. I got management responsibility, too. From Sing I came back to the States, and ran a couple of different industry groups in M&A. And for the last three years—until six months ago—I ran all of M&A in North America. Six months ago I took over our venture capital unit.” He paused.
“Nice career,” I observed. I didn’t know what else to say. Pierro slipped his pen out of his pocket again. He twirled it in his thick fingers and nodded.
“I’ve done alright—despite what’s happened in the markets,” he said. “And, you know, I’m not an old guy. I got some miles in me yet. Two months ago, I find out I’m up for a spot on the executive committee. That’s the group of about a dozen senior managers that actually runs the whole place; you can’t go much farther at French.” Pierro paused again and looked at Mike, who moved his head minutely. Pierro continued. “A week ago, I get this.” He reached over to his suit jacket and took a thick envelope from a pocket. He slid it across the table.
Inside was a fax. The cover sheet bore only Pierro’s name in bold type, along with the message, “We’ll talk soon.” Vague, but ominous. The fax itself was comprised of five different documents: two letters and a memo, each dated eighteen years ago, and each concerning a company called Textiles Pan-Europa; a two-page list of what appeared to be funds transfers; and a copy of a year-old
He sat perfectly still in his chair, looking across at me. Mike sighed and said, “Well, I think we’re done for the moment, yes?” The man slipped his pen back into his pocket and nodded his head very slightly.
“John, could you wait outside?” Mike asked.
I shut the door behind me.
Chapter Two
I sat at the secretary’s desk, and after about two minutes Mike opened the conference-room door.
“Come in and have a seat, John,” he said.
“I passed?” Mike rolled his eyes.
“It’s your winning personality. Come on in.” I came.
“John, this is Rick Pierro. Rick, this is John March.” Mike walked around the table and sat down. Pierro rose, and we shook hands. He was about my height—just over six feet. I tossed my jacket on the table and sat.
“Sorry for making you jump through hoops, but this thing has got me wound up pretty tight.” Pierro’s palms were on the edge of the table, and he leaned forward slightly as he spoke. “What you said about trusting Mike was dead on. I trust him absolutely, and he tells me only good things about you. And you seem like a no-bullshit guy to me—so let’s go.” The accent was Long Island.
“Not a problem,” I replied. “What are we here to talk about?” Pierro glanced at Mike, then took a deep breath and dove in.
“You know much about Wall Street?” he asked.
“Some,” I replied. A smile flickered across Mike’s face.
“I’m at French Samuelson. You hear of it?” he asked.
“The investment bank,” I said. Pierro nodded.
“That’s what we are now—for better or for worse. When I started there, twenty years ago, we were a meat-and-potatoes commercial bank—deposits, loans, checking accounts, all the basics. Now we do it all—everything from traditional banking to mergers and acquisitions, IPOs, even venture capital. And we’re market makers in cash, fixed income, and derivatives, in every major trading center.” He said it with an odd mix of pride and irony.
“I’ve seen the change firsthand. I joined French straight out of college, went into the training program and then into corporate lending. I did well there. For three years I was the top loan producer, and in the meantime I’d gotten through b-school at night. Then I made the switch over to investment banking, and I did even better. I started as a junior associate in mergers and acquisitions. In two years I was running a team. Then I did a stint in London and another in Singapore. And in both places I brought in big deals, and big fees. I got management responsibility, too. From Sing I came back to the States, and ran a couple of different industry groups in M&A. And for the last three years—until six months ago—I ran all of M&A in North America. Six months ago I took over our venture capital unit.” He paused.
“Nice career,” I observed. I didn’t know what else to say. Pierro slipped his pen out of his pocket again. He twirled it in his thick fingers and nodded.
“I’ve done alright—despite what’s happened in the markets,” he said. “And, you know, I’m not an old guy. I got some miles in me yet. Two months ago, I find out I’m up for a spot on the executive committee. That’s the group of about a dozen senior managers that actually runs the whole place; you can’t go much farther at French.” Pierro paused again and looked at Mike, who moved his head minutely. Pierro continued. “A week ago, I get this.” He reached over to his suit jacket and took a thick envelope from a pocket. He slid it across the table.
Inside was a fax. The cover sheet bore only Pierro’s name in bold type, along with the message, “We’ll talk soon.” Vague, but ominous. The fax itself was comprised of five different documents: two letters and a memo, each dated eighteen years ago, and each concerning a company called Textiles Pan-Europa; a two-page list of what appeared to be funds transfers; and a copy of a year-old
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