A very cool research on a very space cadet issue that our modern world, no matter how sophisticated we think it be, was prone to at up until a very recent point. (And probably still is, I don't see this process becoming separate from judgement!)
Q: Spread out across time zones and continents, a group of bankers, brokers, and traders had tried to skew interest rates that served not only as the foundation of trillions of dollars of loans, but also as an essential vertebra of the financial system itself. It all boiled down to something called Libor: an acronym for the London interbank offered rate, it’s often known as the world’s most important number. Financial instruments all over the globe—a volume so awesome, well into the tens of trillions of dollars, that it is hard to accurately quantify—hinge on tiny movements in Libor. In the United States, the interest rates on most variable-rate mortgages are based on Libor. So are many auto loans, student loans, credit card loans, and on and on—almost anything that doesn’t have a fixed interest rate. The amounts that big companies pay on multibillion-dollar loans are often determined by Libor. Trillions of dollars of exotic-sounding instruments called derivatives are linked to the ubiquitous rate, and they have the ability to touch virtually everyone: Pension funds, university endowments, cities and towns, small businesses and giant companies all use them to speculate on or protect themselves against swings in interest rates. If you bought this book with a credit card, you quite possibly brought Libor into it. So, too, if you drove to the bookstore in a car not yet paid off—or if you’re carrying a mortgage or student loans, or if your town borrowed money to pave its roads, or if you work for a company that issues debt. So if something was wrong with Libor, the pool of potential victims would be vast. As it turned out, something wasn’t wrong with Libor, everything was. (c)
Q: … this was a misadventure like none other. (с)
Q: Of course, traders being traders, Davies teased Hayes about the fact that his mother still cut his hair and that he was still sleeping under a duvet cover decorated with superheroes. He suggested that his mentee read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a novel whose autistic main character reminded Davies of Hayes. (Behind his back, Davies nicknamed him “Kid Asperger.” Other colleagues christened him “Rain Man.”) (c)
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Derivatives really exploded in popularity in the 1970s, in large part due to unprecedented volatility that hit financial markets. Oil prices ricocheted up and down. Governments delinked their currencies from the gold standard, causing exchange rates to swing wildly. Rapid inflation spurred central banks to jack up interest rates. Companies and individuals needed ways to protect their fortunes from these new risks—and banks and brokerages were there to help, peddling a growing array of derivatives. A company that offered hot-air-balloon rides might purchase derivatives whose value rose the more rainy days there were in a season, thereby shielding the company from the adverse effects of bad weather. The banks or other companies that sold those instruments would charge a fee and then would try to balance out their positions by offering the opposite positions—say, a derivative whose value climbed based on the number of sunny days—to other customers, such as umbrella manufacturers. Boiled down to their essence, derivatives were designed to help people or institutions protect themselves from future circumstances. And no matter the sunshine or the clouds, one party in the transaction always came out ahead—that was the bank that, for a fee, engineered the derivative.
Derivatives were uniquely suited for speculation, because traders could dabble without actually having to own a product. Someone who bought or sold pork belly futures, for example, was unlikely to actually own, now or ever, any actual pig parts. But future swings in the price of pork bellies might be a good gauge of expectations about the weather or a harvest or a disease’s severity or just basic macroeconomic trends. And so investors might buy or sell pork belly futures to get a piece of that action. (c)
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And in 1998, the chaotic collapse of the giant, derivatives-investing hedge fund Long-Term Capital Management, run by mathematicians and Nobel Prize–winning economists, further underscored the instruments’ risks (c)
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In 1981, IBM turned to Salomon Brothers for help. The Wall Street firm approached the World Bank—one of the leading issuers of debt anywhere, and an entity with a tolerance for bonds denominated in a variety of currencies—and convinced it to sell a slug of bonds that were identical to the IBM debt except for one crucial difference: They were in dollars. Then IBM and the World Bank simply swapped responsibility for making interest payments and eventually repaying the principal on their respective bonds. It was the birth of a new financial derivative: the swap. (c)
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From the start, though, Libor was prone to problems. Chief among those was the potential for banks to manipulate it for their own benefit. Doing that was alarmingly easy. In the 1990s, junior bank employees would simply pick up the phone and call in their submissions to financial data company Thomson Reuters every morning around eleven o’clock. A low-level Reuters employee punched all the banks’ data into a computer and calculated the averages. Nobody of any seniority monitored the process. Virtually all it took for a bank to skew Libor was for it to skew its own submission. As long as the bank’s figures weren’t the very highest or the very lowest of all that day’s submissions, a change in its data would ripple through the average.
In 1991, a young Morgan Stanley trader in London named Douglas Keenan was placing bets on interest-rate futures. Their value was calculated based on where Libor moved. After the market moved against him one day, Keenan came to suspect that someone—he wasn’t sure who—was somehow manipulating the instruments to suit his or her own trading positions. He shared his suspicions with his colleagues. They laughed at his naïveté. It was common knowledge that banks tweaked Libor to benefit their own trading positions. It seemed that everyone other than Keenan already knew it was happening.
Banks had multiple incentives to push or pull Libor. One was that, because each bank’s submission was made public, investors scoured the data for indicators about the bank’s financial health. A bank that reported a spike in its borrowing costs might be in trouble—after all, why else would rival institutions suddenly be charging it more to borrow row money? That gave banks a reason to keep their submissions low, especially during periods of market unease. Another enticement for banks to tinker with Libor was to increase the value of the vast portfolios of derivatives that the banks’ traders were sitting on at any given time. Those positions could incentivize a bank to move Libor higher or lower—or both, in the frequent event that different traders at the same bank had amassed different positions. It all depended on what their traders had recently bought or sold. (c)
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When the CFTC invited the public to comment on the Merc’s proposal, Marcy Engel jumped at the opportunity. Engel was a lawyer for Salomon Brothers, then firmly established as one of Wall Street’s most aggressive bond-trading houses (it soon would become part of Citigroup). She worried that linking Libor to the Eurodollar futures would provide banks, which had huge businesses trading those contracts, “an opportunity for manipulation . . . to benefit its own positions.” Richard Robb, at the time a thirty-six-year-old trader at a small Japanese financial company, DKB Financial Products Inc., also wrote to the commission to caution that Libor was vulnerable to manipulation and therefore shouldn’t be embedded in the contracts. “If two banks worked together, they could raise the average” substantially, he warned.
During Bill Clinton’s presidency, the CFTC had earned a reputation as a hands-off, probusiness regulator. In December 1996, staffers wrote a memo to the agency’s leaders saying that Libor “does not appear to be readily susceptible to manipulation.” The commission approved the Merc’s application. The next month, Libor officially became an integral component of the fast-growing derivatives market. (c)
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One way for the BBA to wring more revenue out of Libor was to create new versions of the benchmark. The most prominent versions of Libor were the British pound and the U.S. dollar varieties, but by 2005 Libor came in ten flavors: The pound and dollar were joined by the Australian dollar, the Canadian dollar, the Swiss franc, the Danish krone, the euro, the Japanese yen, the New Zealand dollar, and the Swedish krona. And within each of those, there were fifteen subcategories, broken down by time periods. For example, a three-month U.S. dollar Libor was supposed to measure how much it would cost a bank to borrow dollars in London for a three-month period. Other time periods included one month, six months, one year, and so on. (c)
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Smith had basically no clue what he was doing. He didn’t know how to go about figuring out the bank’s borrowing costs, which were supposed to be the entire basis of the bank’s Libor data. He didn’t even know whom to talk to internally. … So Smith, lacking much other relevant information, would make up his submission based in part on what the brokers were predicting. …
Brokers weren’t Smith’s only sources. One of the investment bank’s priorities at the time was to improve collaboration between different parts of the company. The idea was to transform UBS into a more efficient, collaborative beast, with everyone aware of what his colleagues were up to and pulling in the same direction. The directive was communicated down the chain of command by a senior manager named Holger Seger, a veteran trader who’d worked at UBS and before that Swiss Bank Corp. since 1990. It might have sounded like a vacuous corporate platitude, but UBS employees, at least some of them, took it seriously. Smith was supposed to coordinate with UBS’s traders who specialized in buying and selling interest-rate swaps, instruments whose values rose and fell based on movements in Libor. Sometimes the swaps traders would lob a request in his direction about where they wanted him to submit the bank’s Libor data that day. Even as a rookie on the desk, he understood what was going on. The traders had big positions whose values hinged in large part on Libor—precisely what Marcy Engel and Richard Ross had warned the CFTC would happen. A lot of money was on the line. So Smith generally followed their requests when it came to what he entered into his spreadsheet. He didn’t see any reason not to. (c)
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Around 7 a.m., he sent out an e-mail called a “run-through” to a slew of bank traders. The dispatch contained a simple spreadsheet—basically just a box of numbers—pasted into the body of the message. It listed where every tenor—the technical term for time period*—of yen Libor had stood the past day or two and where Goodman expected it to end up that day. He called that last figure “Suggested Libors.” Each morning, he prefaced the data with the same simple note: “GOOD MORNING YEN RUN THRU.”
The run-throughs had been an ICAP fixture since the late 1990s. Before long, ICAP’s marketing team had sensed their commercial potential. Every so often, an executive traipsed around to a bunch of banks and touted the run-throughs as a valuable service ICAP provided important clients. And so the number of recipients on Goodman’s run-through list grew. Libor submitters received it. Derivatives traders received it. Even Bank of England officials received it.
Read and Goodman had realized something interesting about the mundane run-throughs. Employees at some banks—including Citigroup, J.P. Morgan, Royal Bank of Scotland, WestLB, and Lloyds in Great Britain—who were in charge of submitting Libor data sometimes appeared to simply copy ICAP’s data rather than go through the onerous process of coming up with their own hypothetical estimates of what it would cost to borrow across different currencies and time periods.
… Once, when Goodman’s run-through contained a typo, suggesting six-month Libor at 1.10 instead of 1.01, Read noticed that Citigroup and WestLB copied it, even though it represented a huge leap from the previous day’s level. When Goodman corrected it the next day, the banks again followed suit. (c)
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Nobody ever told him it was inappropriate—legally, ethically, or otherwise—to lobby outsiders for help on Libor. What kept him up at night wasn’t that what he was doing was wrong. It was that he wasn’t doing it well enough.
Hayes was so open about, and preoccupied with, his strategy that he would change the status on his Facebook page to reflect his daily desires for Libor to move up or down, a self-deprecating poke at his nerdy fixation. (c)
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In December 2007, UBS’s CEO, Marcel Rohner, gave a presentation to investors in London. Projected on a screen in front of the audience, the presentation cited “structured Libor” as one of the bank’s “core strengths” and as a “high growth/high margin business.” (c)