The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine (24 page)

By early June the subprime mortgage bond market had resumed what would become an uninterrupted decline, and the FrontPoint positions began to move--first by thousands and then by millions of dollars a day. "I know I'm making money," Eisman would often ask. "So who is losing money?" They already were short the stocks of mortgage originators and the home builders. Now they added to their short positions in the stocks of the rating agencies. "They were making ten times more rating CDOs than they were rating GM bonds," said Eisman, "and it was all going to end."

Inevitably, their attention turned to the beating heart of capitalism, the big Wall Street investment banks. "Our original thesis was that the securitization machine was Wall Street's big profit center and it was going to die," said Eisman. "And when that happened, their revenues would dry up." One of the reasons Wall Street had cooked up this new industry called structured finance was that its old-fashioned business was every day less profitable. The profits in stockbroking, along with those in the more conventional sorts of bond broking, had been squashed by Internet competition. The minute the market stopped buying subprime mortgage bonds and CDOs backed by subprime mortgage bonds, the investment banks were in trouble. Right up until the middle of 2007, Eisman had not suspected that the firms were so foolish as to invest in their own creations. He could see that their leverage had increased dramatically, in just the past few years. He could of course see that they were holding more and more risky assets with borrowed money. What he could not see was the nature of their assets. Triple-A-rated corporate bonds, or triple-A-rated subprime CDOs? "You couldn't know for sure," he said. "There was no disclosure. You didn't know what they had on their balance sheet. You naturally assumed that they got rid of this shit as soon as they created it."

A combination of new facts, and actual human contact with the people who ran the big firms and the rating agencies, had stirred his suspicion. The first new fact had been HSBC's announcement, in February 2007, that it was losing a lot of money on its subprime loans, and a second announcement, in March, that it was dumping its subprime portfolio. "HSBC were supposed to be the good guys," said Vinny. "They were supposed to have cleaned up Household. We thought, Holy crap, there are so many people worse than that." The second new fact was in Merrill Lynch's second-quarter results. In July 2007, Merrill Lynch announced yet another sensationally profitable quarter, but admitted it had suffered a decline in revenues from mortgage trading due to losses in subprime bonds. What sounded to most investors like a trivial piece of information was to Eisman the big news: Merrill Lynch owned a meaningful amount of subprime mortgage securities. Merrill's CFO, Jeff Edwards, told Bloomberg News that the market need not worry about this, as "active risk management" had allowed Merrill Lynch to reduce its exposure to the lower-rated subprime bonds. "I don't want to get too deep into exactly how we positioned ourselves at any one point in time," Edwards said, but went deep enough to say that the market was paying too much attention to whatever Merrill happened to be doing with subprime mortgage bonds. Or, as Edwards elliptically put it, "There's a disproportionate focus on a particular asset class in a particular country."

Eisman didn't think so--and two weeks later persuaded a UBS analyst named Glenn Schorr to escort him to a small meeting between Edwards and Merrill Lynch's biggest shareholders. The Merrill CFO began by explaining that this little subprime mortgage problem Merrill Lynch seemed to have was firmly under the control of Merrill Lynch's models. "We're not that far into the meeting," said someone who was there. "Jeff is still giving his prepared remarks and Steve just bursts out, 'Well, your models are wrong!' This very awkward silence comes over the room. Do you laugh? Do you try to think up some question so everyone can move on? Steve was sitting at the end of the table and he starts to put his papers in order really conspicuously--as if to say, 'If it wasn't rude, I'd walk out now.'"

Eisman, for his part, considered the event a polite exchange of views, after which he lost interest. "There was nothing more to say. I just figured, You know what? This guy doesn't get it."

On the surface, these big Wall Street firms appeared robust; below the surface, Eisman was beginning to think, their problems might not be confined to a potential loss of revenue. If they really didn't believe the subprime mortgage market was a problem for them, the subprime mortgage market might be the end of them. He and his team now set about searching for hidden subprime risk: Who was hiding what? "We called it The Great Treasure Hunt," he said. They didn't know for sure if these firms were in some way on the other side of the bets he'd been making against subprime bonds, but the more he looked, the more sure he became that they didn't know either. He'd go to meetings with Wall Street CEOs and ask them the most basic questions about their balance sheets. "They didn't know," he said. "They didn't know their own balance sheets." Once, he got himself invited to a meeting with the CEO of Bank of America, Ken Lewis. "I was sitting there listening to him. I had an epiphany. I said to myself, 'Oh my God, he's dumb!' A lightbulb went off. The guy running one of the biggest banks in the world is dumb!" They shorted Bank of America, along with UBS, Citigroup, Lehman Brothers, and a few others. They weren't allowed to short Morgan Stanley because they were owned by Morgan Stanley, but if they could have, they would have. Not long after they established their shorts against the big Wall Street banks, they had a visit from a prominent analyst who covered the firms, Brad Hintz, at Sanford C. Bernstein & Co. Hintz asked Eisman what he was up to.

"We just shorted Merrill Lynch," said Eisman.

"Why?" asked Hintz.

"We have a simple thesis," said Eisman. "There is going to be a calamity, and whenever there is a calamity, Merrill is there." When it came time to bankrupt Orange County with bad advice, Merrill was there. When the Internet went bust, Merrill was there. Way back in the 1980s, when the first bond trader was let off his leash and lost hundreds of millions of dollars, Merrill was there to take the hit. That was Eisman's logic: the logic of Wall Street's pecking order. Goldman Sachs was the big kid who ran the games in this neighborhood. Merrill Lynch was the little fat kid assigned the least pleasant roles, just happy to be a part of things. The game, as Eisman saw it, was crack the whip. He assumed Merrill Lynch had taken its assigned place at the end of the chain.

On July 17, 2007, two days before Ben Bernanke, the Fed chairman, told the U.S. Senate that he saw no more than $100 billion in losses in the subprime mortgage market, FrontPoint did something unusual: It hosted its own conference call. They'd had calls with their tiny population of investors, but this time they just opened it up. Steve Eisman had become a poorly kept secret. "Steve was one of about two investors who completely understood what was going on," said one prominent Wall Street analyst. Five hundred people called in to hear what Eisman had to say, and another five hundred logged in afterward to listen to the recording. He explained the strange alchemy of the mezzanine CDO--and said that he expected losses up to $300 billion from this sliver of the market alone. To evaluate the situation, he told his audience, "Just throw your model in the garbage can. The models are all backward-looking. The models don't have any idea of what this world has become.... For the first time in their
lives
people in the asset-backed securitization world are actually having to think." He explained that the rating agencies were morally bankrupt and living in fear of becoming actually bankrupt. "The ratings agencies are scared to death," he said. "They're scared to death about doing nothing because they'll look like fools if they do nothing." He expected that fully half of all U.S. home mortgage loans--many trillions of dollars' worth--would suffer losses. "We are in the midst of one of the greatest social experiments this country has ever seen," said Eisman. "It's just not going to be a fun experiment.... You think this is ugly. You haven't seen anything yet." When he was done, the next speaker, an Englishman who ran a separate fund at FrontPoint, was slow to respond. "Sorry," the Englishman said wryly, "I just needed to calm down from hearing Steve say the world is ending." And everyone laughed.

Later that very day, investors in the collapsed Bear Stearns hedge funds were informed that their $1.6 billion in triple-A-rated subprime-backed CDOs had not merely lost some value, they were worthless. Eisman was now convinced a lot of the biggest firms on Wall Street did not understand their own risks, and were in peril. At the bottom of his conviction lay his memory of his dinner with Wing Chau--when he grasped the central role of the mezzanine CDO and made a massive bet against those very same CDOs. This of course raised the question: What exactly is inside a CDO? "I didn't know what the fuck was in the things," said Eisman. "You couldn't do the analysis. You couldn't say, 'Give me all the ones with all California in them.' No one knew what was in them." They learned enough to know, as Danny put it, that "it was just all the pieces of shit we'd already shorted wrapped up together, into a portfolio." Beyond that they were flying blind. "Steve's nature is to put it on and figure it out later," said Vinny.

Then came news. Eisman had long subscribed to a newsletter famous in Wall Street circles and obscure outside them,
Grant's Interest Rate Observer
. Its editor, Jim Grant, had been prophesying doom ever since the great debt cycle began, in the mid-1980s. In late 2006 Grant decided to investigate these strange Wall Street creations known as CDOs. Or, rather, he had asked his young assistant, Dan Gertner, a chemical engineer with an MBA, to see if he could understand them. Gertner went off with the documents explaining CDOs to potential investors and sweated and groaned and heaved and suffered. "Then he came back," says Grant, "and said, 'I can't figure this thing out.' And I said, 'I think we have our story.'"

Gertner dug and dug and finally concluded that no matter how much digging he did he'd never be able to get to the bottom of what exactly was inside a CDO--which, to Jim Grant, meant that no investor possibly could either. In turn this suggested what Grant already knew, that far too many people were taking far too many financial statements on faith. In early 2007 Grant wrote a series of pieces suggesting that the rating agencies had abandoned their posts--that they were almost surely rating these CDOs without themselves knowing exactly what was inside them. "The readers of
Grant's
have seen for themselves how a stack of non-investment grade mortgage slices can be rearranged to form a collateral debt obligation," one piece began. "And they have stared in amazement at the improvements that this mysterious process can effect in the credit ratings of the slices..." For his troubles, Grant, along with his trusted assistant, was called into S&P for a dressing-down. "We were actually summoned to the rating agency and told, 'You guys just don't get it,'" says Gertner. "Jim used the term 'alchemy' and they didn't like that term."

Just a few miles north of
Grant's
Wall Street offices, an equity hedge fund manager with a darkening view of the world was wondering why he hadn't heard others voice suspicion about the bond market and its abstruse creations. In Jim Grant's essay, Steve Eisman found independent confirmation of his theory of the financial world. "When I read it," said Eisman, "I thought,
Oh my God, this is like owning a gold mine
. When I read that, I was the only guy in the equity world who almost had an orgasm."

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Long Quiet

The day Steve Eisman became the first man ever to take
almost sexual pleasure in an essay in
Grant's Interest Rate Observer,
Dr. Michael Burry received from his CFO a copy of the same story, along with a jokey note: "Mike--you haven't taken a side job writing for
Grant's
, have you?"

"I haven't," Burry replied, seeing no obvious good news in the discovery that there was someone out there who thought as he did. "I'm a bit surprised we haven't been contacted by
Grant's
..." He was still in the financial world but apart from it, as if on the other side of a pane of glass he couldn't bring himself to tap upon. He'd been the first investor to diagnose the disorder in the American financial system in early 2003:
the extension of credit by instrument
. Complicated financial stuff was being dreamed up for the sole purpose of lending money to people who could never repay it. "I really do believe the final act in play is a crisis in our financial institutions, which are doing such dumb, dumb things," he wrote, in April 2003, to a friend who had wondered why Scion Capital's quarterly letters to its investors had turned so dark. "I have a job to do. Make money for my clients. Period. But boy it gets morbid when you start making investments that work out extra great if a tragedy occurs." Then, in the spring of 2005, he had identified, before any other investor, precisely which tragedy was most likely to occur, when he made a large, explicit bet against subprime mortgage bonds.

Now, in February 2007, subprime loans were defaulting in record numbers, financial institutions were less steady every day, and no one but him seemed to recall what he'd said and done. He had told his investors that they might need to be patient--that the bet might not pay off until the mortgages issued in 2005 reached the end of their teaser rate period. They had not been patient. Many of his investors mistrusted him, and he in turn felt betrayed by them. At the beginning he had imagined the end, but none of the parts in between. "I guess I wanted to just go to sleep and wake up in 2007," he said. To keep his bets against subprime mortgage bonds, he'd been forced to fire half his small staff, and dump billions of dollars' worth of bets he had made against the companies most closely associated with the subprime mortgage market. He was now more isolated than he'd ever been. The only thing that had changed was his explanation for it.