Wired on Wall Street

CHAPTER TWENTY‐TWOTIPPER X

In 2009, as the Great Recession began muscling the Global Banking Crisis off the front page, everything felt like it was unraveling at once. Home prices had cratered nearly 32 percent. Unemployment hovered at 9 percent. And by February, my association with Sedley, and my career as a hedge fund analyst, was on life support. I'd already cleaned out my desk, rehearsed the words I'd use to tell Evan I was done. I couldn't keep walking into that office knowing what I'd done, and what I was still doing for the FBI.

But Evan saved me the trouble.

One Sunday night, Sue and I sat at our kitchen table playing pinochle with her parents. Cards had been their family ritual since the seventies—Bob and Chris could play for hours. I'd always found comfort in those evenings, the soft shuffle of cards, the low hum of conversation. Sue hadn't been feeling well all day, but she brushed it off.

My BlackBerry buzzed.

SUBJECT: Letting You Go

I read it twice before it sank in.

I've decided to let you go. You'll get three months' severance and your stake of the partnership paid out. No need to come in, your building pass won't work. We'll ship your things.

“Tom, it's your turn,” Bob said, snapping me back.

I looked up, dazed. “I think I just got fired.”

Sue's hand found mine under the table.

In that moment I didn't know it, but Evan firing me was a gift in ugly wrapping. If I'd quit the next morning as planned, there'd be no severance, no safety net. My anger gave way to ...