As the unraveling began, many on Wall Street confronted a market unlike any they had ever encountered—one gripped by a fear and disorder that no invisible hand could tame. They were forced to make the most critical decisions of their careers, perhaps of their lives, in the context of a confusing rush of rumors and policy shifts, all based on numbers that were little more than best guesses. Some made wise choices, some got lucky, and still others lived to regret their decisions. In many cases, it’s still too early to tell whether they made the right choices.
In 2007, at the peak of the economic bubble, the financial services sector had become a wealth-creation machine, ballooning to more than 40 percent of total corporate profits in the United States. Financial products—including a new array of securities so complex that even many CEOs and boards of directors didn’t understand them—were an ever greater driving force of the nation’s economy. The mortgage industry was an especially important component of this system, providing loans that served as the raw material for Wall Street’s elaborate creations, repackaging and then reselling them around the globe.
With all the profits that were being generated, Wall Street was minting a new generation of wealth not seen since the debt-fueled 1980s. Those who worked in the finance industry earned an astounding $53 billion in total compensation in 2007. Goldman Sachs, ranked at the top of the five leading brokerages at the onset of the crisis, accounted for $20 billion of that total, which worked out to more than $661,000 per employee. The company’s chief executive officer, Lloyd Blankfein, alone took home $68 million.
Financial titans believed they were creating more than mere profits, however. They were confident that they had invented a new financial model that could be exported successfully around the globe. “The whole world is moving to the American model of free enterprise and capital markets,” Sandy Weill, the architect of Citigroup, said in the summer of 2007, “Not having American financial institutions that really are at the fulcrum of how these countries are converting to a free-enterprise system would really be a shame.”
But while they were busy evangelizing their financial values and producing these dizzying sums, the big brokerage firms had been bolstering their bets with enormous quantities of debt. Wall Street firms had debt to capital ratios of 32 to 1. When it worked, this strategy worked spectacularly well, validating the industry’s complex models and generating record earnings. When it failed, however, the result was catastrophic.
The Wall Street juggernaut that emerged from the collapse of the dot-com bubble and the post-9/11 downturn was in large part the product of cheap money. The savings glut in Asia, combined with unusually low U.S. interest rates under former Federal Reserve chairman Alan Greenspan (which had been intended to stimulate growth following the 2001 recession), began to flood the world with money.
The crowning example of liquidity run amok was the subprime mortgage market. At the height of the housing bubble, banks were eager to make home loans to nearly anyone capable of signing on the dotted line. With no documentation a prospective buyer could claim a six-figure salary and walk out of a bank with a $500,000 mortgage, topping it off a month later with a home equity line of credit. Naturally, home prices skyrocketed, and in the hottest real estate markets ordinary people turned into speculators, flipping homes and tapping home equity lines to buy SUVs and power boats.
At the time, Wall Street believed fervently that its new financial products—mortgages that had been sliced and diced, or “securitized”—had diluted, if not removed, the risk. Instead of holding on to a loan on their own, the banks split it up into individual pieces and sold those pieces to investors, collecting enormous fees in the process. But whatever might be said about bankers’ behavior during the housing boom, it can’t be denied that these institutions “ate their own cooking”—in fact, they gorged on it, buying mountains of mortgage-backed assets from one another.
But it was the new ultra-interconnectedness among the nation’s financial institutions that posed the biggest risk of all. As a result of the banks owning various slices of these newfangled financial instruments, every firm was now dependent on the others—and many didn’t even know it. If one fell, it could become a series of falling dominoes.
There were, of course, Cassandras in both business and academia who warned that all this financial engineering would end badly. While Professors Nouriel Roubini and Robert J. Shiller have become this generation’s much-heralded doomsayers, even as others made prescient predictions as early as 1994 that went unheeded.
“The sudden failure or abrupt withdrawal from trading of any of these large U.S. dealers could cause liquidity problems in the markets and could also pose risks to others, including federally insured banks and the financial system as a whole,” Charles A. Bowsher, the comptroller general, told a congressional committee after being tasked with studying a developing market known as derivatives. “In some cases intervention has and could result in a financial bailout paid for or guaranteed by taxpayers.”
But when cracks did start to emerge in 2007, many argued even then that subprime loans posed little risk to anyone beyond a few mortgage firms. “The impact on the broader economy and the financial markets of the problems in the subprime markets seems likely to be contained,” Ben S. Bernanke, the chairman of the Federal Reserve, said in testimony before Congress’s Joint Economic Committee in March 2007.
By August 2007, however, the $2 trillion subprime market had collapsed, unleashing a global contagion. Two Bear Stearns hedge funds that made major subprime bets failed, losing $1.6 billion of their investors’ money. BNP Paribas, France’s largest listed bank, briefly suspended customer withdrawals, citing an inability to properly price its book of subprime-related bonds. That was another way of saying they couldn’t find a buyer at any reasonable price.
In some ways Wall Street was undone by its own smarts, as the very complexity of mortgage-backed securities meant that almost no one was able to figure out how to price them in a declining market. (As of this writing, the experts are still struggling to figure out exactly what these assets are worth.) Without a price the market was paralyzed. And without access to capital, Wall Street simply could not function.
Bear Stearns, the weakest and most highly leveraged of the Big Five, was the first to fall. But everyone knew that even the strongest of banks could not withstand a full-blown investor panic, which meant that no one felt safe and no one was sure who else on the Street could be next.
It was this sense of utter uncertainty—the feeling Dimon expressed in his shocking list of potential casualties during his conference call—that made the crisis a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the men who ran these firms and the bureaucrats who regulated them. Until that autumn in 2008, they had only experienced contained crises. Firms and investors took their lumps and moved on. In fact, the ones who maintained their equilibrium and bet that things would soon improve were those who generally profited the most. This credit crisis was different. Wall Street and Washington had to improvise.
In retrospect, this bubble, like all bubbles, was an example of what, in his classic 1841 book, Scottish author Charles Mackay called “Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds.” Instead of giving birth to a brave new world of riskless investments, the banks actually created a risk to the entire financial system.