Wired on Wall Street

CHAPTER ONEWHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

The conference hall at the Four Seasons in Scottsdale was packed—hundreds of hedge fund executives, wealth practically humming in the air. They'd come for a convention, which in their world meant a little business, a little networking, and plenty of golf. It was almost time for the main event, and if the programs on their tables were any indication, they were in for a show.

Speakers included Michael Phelps, the most decorated Olympian in history; Chris Voss, the former FBI hostage negotiator and bestselling author; and Senator George Mitchell, who had helped broker peace in Northern Ireland.

And then there was me.

By now, I was used to these talks—this was my sixtieth as a professional speaker. Still, as showtime neared, a voice in my head kept getting louder: Who exactly do you think you are?

The others were there to talk about winning, about glory and greatness. Me? I was there to talk about what I'd lost. A cautionary tale.

But I'd come to understand that telling my story was its own kind of calling. A way to own what I'd done, to offer something useful, to be someone my daughters could respect. If I wanted them to live with integrity, I had to try to do the same.

So, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, I resolved to ignore the voice in my head and do what I had to do. Sure, sometimes I feel like a fraud. But that's no excuse for inaction. There's work to do. I took a deep breath as the hedge funders found their seats. ...