The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine Read Free Page B

the first wave of mortgage prepayments. In exchange, he received a higher interest rate. The buyer of the second tranche--the second story of the skyscraper--took the next wave of prepayments and in exchange received the second highest interest rate, and so on. The investor in the top floor of the building received the lowest rate of interest but had the greatest assurance that his investment wouldn't end before he wanted it to.
    The big fear of the 1980s mortgage bond investor was that he would be repaid too quickly, not that he would fail to be repaid at all. The pool of loans underlying the mortgage bond conformed to the standards, in their size and the credit quality of the borrowers, set by one of several government agencies: Freddie Mac, Fannie Mae, and Ginnie Mae. The loans carried, in effect, government guarantees; if the homeowners defaulted, the government paid off their debts. When Steve Eisman stumbled into this new, rapidly growing industry of specialty finance, the mortgage bond was about to be put to a new use: making loans that did not qualify for government guarantees. The purpose was to extend credit to less and less creditworthy homeowners, not so that they might buy a house but so that they could cash out whatever equity they had in the house they already owned.
    The mortgage bonds created from subprime home loans extended the logic invented to address the problem of early repayment to cope with the problem of no repayment at all. The investor in the first floor, or tranche, would be exposed not to prepayments but to actual losses. He took the first losses until his investment was entirely wiped out, whereupon the losses hit the guy on the second floor. And so on.
    In the early 1990s, just a pair of Wall Street analysts devoted their careers to understanding the effects of extending credit into places where that sun didn't often shine. Steve Eisman was one; the other was Sy Jacobs. Jacobs had gone through the same Salomon Brothers training program that I had, and now worked for a small investment bank called Alex Brown. "I sat through the Salomon training program and got to hear what this great new securitization model Lewie Ranieri was creating was going to do," he recalls. (Ranieri was the closest thing the mortgage bond market had to a founding father.) The implications of turning home mortgages into bonds were mind-bogglingly vast. One man's liability had always been another man's asset, but now more and more of the liabilities could be turned into bits of paper that you could sell to anyone. In short order, the Salomon Brothers trading floor gave birth to small markets in bonds funded by all sorts of strange stuff: credit card receivables, aircraft leases, auto loans, health club dues. To invent a new market was only a matter of finding a new asset to hock. The most obvious untapped asset in America was still the home. People with first mortgages had vast amounts of equity locked up in their houses; why shouldn't this untapped equity, too, be securitized? "The thinking in subprime," says Jacobs, "was there was this social stigma to being a second mortgage borrower and there really shouldn't be. If your credit rating was a little worse, you paid a lot more--and a lot more than you really should. If we can mass market the bonds, we can drive down the cost to borrowers. They can replace high interest rate credit card debt with lower interest rate mortgage debt. And it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy."
    The growing interface between high finance and lower-middle-class America was assumed to be good for lower-middle-class America. This new efficiency in the capital markets would allow lower-middle-class Americans to pay lower and lower interest rates on their debts. In the early 1990s, the first subprime mortgage lenders--The Money Store, Greentree, Aames--sold shares to the public, so that they might grow faster. By the mid-1990s, dozens of small consumer lending companies were coming to market each