The Man Who Made Too Much

Two young men, traders on John Paulson’s staff, come into his hedge fund’s office seeking advice on whether to buy a certain debt security. Sitting just a few feet away, I have no idea what Paulson tells them. His slightly high-pitched voice is so soft that on the rare occasions he is forced to speak in public, he’s easily drowned out by the rustling of papers or the clearing of throats. When he appeared before a U.S. House committee in November to try to explain how he had lavishly profited while countless others had suffered, Paulson spoke so gently, even when inches from the microphone, that representatives repeatedly, and with growing irritation, had to ask him to speak up.

Paulson is smart enough to know that at this particular moment in history, the less he’s heard from, the better. The simple reason: He is not suffering. In an era in which losers are universal and making a profit seems somehow shady, Paulson is the most conspicuous of Wall Street’s winners. Paulson & Co.’s funds (with an estimated $36 billion under management and growing by the day) were up a staggering $15 billion as the markets teetered in 2007; one fund gained 590 percent, another 353 percent. All this reportedly garnered him a personal payday of $3.7 billion, among the biggest in history. In 2008, his funds didn’t climb nearly as much but were still successful enough to put him at the very top of his profession. By scoring returns of this magnitude, Paulson has dwarfed the success of George Soros, whose currency trades in the 1990s made him so much money that he has spent much of the rest of his career atoning for them.

Paulson makes no apologies. During our conversation in his conference room, he describes in detail how he pulled off the greatest financial coup in recent history—a two-year bet that the calamity we are now experiencing would take place. It was a megatrade involving dozens of financial instruments, along with prescient wagers that banks like Lehman Brothers would eventually go under. (View a graphic showing how much John Paulson has outperformed other indices.)

Left unexamined is the uncomfortable moral dimension of Paulson’s achievement. If he saw all of this coming, was it right for him to keep his own counsel, quietly trading while the financial system melted down? Do traders who figure out a way to profit from our misery deserve our contempt or our admiration, however grudging?

The question has long dogged that most hated species of Wall Street trader, the short-seller who profits by trading borrowed stock. Because of his recent success, Paulson is now their designated king. So it’s no surprise that he is finding himself the object of finger-pointing about who caused the mess we’re in.

On November 13, Paulson and four other titans of the hedge fund world—Soros, Philip Falcone of Harbinger Capital Partners, Ken Griffin of Citadel Investment Group, and James Simons of Renaissance Technologies—were forced to answer questions in the glare of TV lights before the House Oversight Committee, chaired by Henry Waxman, a Democrat from California, the same man who dog-and-ponied tobacco executives into claiming under oath that cigarettes aren’t addictive. The five were selected because they were the highest-paid fund managers in 2007, as ranked by Alpha magazine, an industry trade publication. (View a slideshow detailing the falling fortunes of other hedge fund managers.)

There has never really been a time when short-sellers have been feted. They had a brief moment in the sun following the corporate scandals of the early 2000s, when hedge fund manager Jim Chanos, among others, was credited with uncovering Enron’s fraud. Even though short-sellers red-flagged the dangers of subprime lending years before the crisis—Gradient Analytics, a research firm, issued private warnings as far back as 2002—they have received few brownie points since the housing bust began. “Everybody’s too busy looking out for themselves to come to the defense of people who are perceived as profiting from the misery of others,” Chanos says.

In the view of many C.E.O.’s, short-sellers do more than just profit from corporate misfortune; they inflame it. C.E.O. Dick Fuld of Lehman Brothers and Alan Schwartz, former C.E.O. of Bear Stearns, in their own recent appearances before congressional panels, blamed rumormongers and short-¬sellers for the demise of their firms.

“The shorts and rumormongers succeeded in bringing down Bear Stearns,” Fuld asserted. “And I believe that unsubstantiated rumors in the marketplace caused significant harm to Lehman Brothers.” Schwartz gave similar testimony when he appeared before the Senate Banking Committee in April, saying that there was a run on the bank despite a “capital cushion well above what was required to meet regulatory standards.” He testified that “market forces continued to drive and accelerate our precipitous liquidity decline.” Banking Committee chairman Christopher Dodd chimed in that “this goes beyond rumors. This is about collusion.”
But was it? Chanos, for one, is tired of the blame-the-shorts litany, and he recalls a conversation with Bear Stearns’ Schwartz to make his point.

CONTINUED : Fateful conversation

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