Eagle on the Street by Coll Steve; Vise David A.;

Author:Coll, Steve; Vise, David A.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

12

Dr Pepper

Ivan Boesky sat in the back of a long, black limousine on a weekday morning in 1984 as his chauffeur negotiated the congested avenues of the capital, heading toward the corner of Fifth and D streets. He chattered on his car phone, speaking in short and sometimes cryptic bursts, as if this were just another trading day in the business of risk arbitrage, the arcane game of Wall Street stock speculation at which Boesky excelled. As his limo approached the SEC’s headquarters, Boesky called his office in Manhattan, checking in with his secretary for messages one last time. He was late. It was nearly 11:00 A.M., almost an hour past the scheduled start of Boesky’s interrogation by lawyers from the commission’s enforcement division.

While Boesky cruised in his limo, his lawyers and aides had been milling around the SEC’s cavernous lobby, wondering what had happened. They kept checking their watches—10:15, 10:30, 10:45—and still, no Boesky.

It’s not a good idea to keep the SEC lawyers waiting, one of them had remarked anxiously.

Finally, they saw the stretch limo. Boesky hopped out and strode into the lobby. He wore a dark three-piece suit with an antique gold watch chain draped across the vest. With his silver hair, sunken eyes, and long, beaked nose, he seemed a caricature of the Victorian man of finance. In truth, it was an image Boesky cultivated assiduously.

“Gentlemen,” he pronounced grandly as he entered the Securities and Exchange Commission, “I’m sorry I’m late. My plane was late.”

There was no hesitation in his voice, no blinking or sideward glances, but several of the group suspected Boesky was lying. Some of them had taken commercial flights that morning from New York to Washington and had arrived without delay. Boesky had flown in his private jet, telling one of his advisers that he had some other business to attend to in Washington before the SEC deposition. Nevertheless, no one in the entourage challenged Boesky’s account. After all, Boesky was a multimillionaire, he paid their six-figure salaries and exhorbitant fees, and he had risen to become one of the most powerful traders on Wall Street during the 1980s. There was nothing to be gained by confronting him.

Led by Boesky and Henry King, a prestigious trial attorney from the Wall Street firm Davis, Polk and Wardwell, who had agreed to represent Boesky before the SEC, the group passed a security guard’s station and entered a restricted area within the commission building.

“Hi, Mr. Boesky,” a young man piped up, stopping them in their tracks.

Boesky appeared puzzled; he looked at the fellow as if his face seemed vaguely familiar. The young man identified himself as the son of one of Boesky’s friends.

I’m just finishing up with law school and doing an internship here at the SEC, he told Boesky proudly.

Boesky smiled indulgently. This was a chance to talk about himself, the sort of invitation Boesky rarely refused. His voice acquired the peculiar tone of the successful man who tells embroidered stories about his past.

When I graduated from law school, Boesky said, I wanted to intern at the SEC just like you.

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