Frank Johnson posts again

You can hardly believe that Frank Johnson posts again. Evidently disillusioned by the departure of his junior to Blunderstone. You never thought you would empathize with Frank Johnson, but on this one, you have no choice. You never thought you'd say this, but... "Frank Johnson, I hear you".

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga XV - Frank

The nerve of the guy. He's set up his own blog!!!

http://frankjohnson.blogspot.com/

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga XIV – Blunderstone calls back

Your mobile phone rings. Withheld number. You cautiously pick it up.

“Hello”

There is a brief silence, before you hear the unmistakeable voice of Pete Anderson from Blunderstone.

“Hi, it’s Pete from Blunderstone. Can you talk?”

Wow! Blunderstone. Not calling through a headhunter. Calling you direct. This is it. They want to give you an offer. They’re gonna do it on the spot. You know it. You can feel it. There’s a good reason Frank fucking Johnson lost that deal. It was so that Blunderstone can get it and on that high note, hire you to look after the company for them. What a day! Pete Anderson!

“Sure”

You fire back with the enthusiasm of a five year old who’s about to unwrap its birthday present.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any positive news for you. I wanted to call you in person because you really made a good impression, but we’ve decided to fill in the position with someone with more experience in private equity. We’ve hired a guy from Kruelberg Kretin, who worked on the transaction we announced today. He was so disgruntled working for some prick called Frank Johnson who led the deal at Kruelberg, that he was willing to accept much less favourable employment terms than you. You’re a good guy, and I like you, but this poor guy was willing to do anything to get out of Kruelberg.”

Frank fucking Johnson. You’ve done it again you #@%!*$$£~#.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga XIII – Frank Johnson, you suck!

2:00 pm - Bid deadline (9:00 am NY time)

Bid letter:
Done, drafted and sent to Kruelberg Kretin to put in the final number (Frank doesn’t trust his bankers with shit like this), which he has done, and it has been faxed to the seller.

Bank letters:
Done. All done, credit approved and ready to go.

Frank’s dummy proof database:
Done. Even Frank can’t be caught off guard with this one.

Sleep:
None. It’s for fucking wimps when the biggest private equity deal is in question. Running 36 hours and ready to run some more for that sweet fucking tombstone.

3:00 pm (10:00 am NY time) – no news from Frank

4:00 pm (11:00 am NY time) – no news from Frank

5:00 pm (12:00 am NY time) – no news from Frank

6:00 pm (13:00 pm NY time) – no news from Frank

6:23 pm (13:23 pm NY time) – no news from Frank – Reuters newsfeed hits the wire:

“Blunderstone does largest private equity deal – NY: Blunderstone, the leading private equity house, advised by Shitty Corporate and investment Bungling and Reich Bank has announced that it has been selected as the winner in the highly contested tender that has been making headlines for weeks. Reportedly, Kruelberg Kretin, the favourite contender in the process, reportedly presented an offer that fell well short of the seller’s expectations”

Frank fucking Johnson you’ve fucking done it fucking again! You’ve fucked it up and stolen the sweet, sweet tombstone. You suck!

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga XII – It's All Worth It

There are many things that bug you as an i-banker. The fact that HR leaves at five and you have to crunch useless numbers for Frank fucking Johnson in the wee. The fact that your client is a moronic self important moron who got a lucky break despite the fact that he can’t tell his arse from his elbow. The fact that he wants you to run countless iterations on countless financial models, using structures that have been proven not to work countless times before, despite being told all this countless time. The fact that your boss is so spineless and focussed on the big picture, that he doesn’t care if you do one more useless all nighter as in the grand scheme of things, what’s just one more night of useless modelling in the span of an analyst’s career? It’s all for the greater good, he says. Just think of that shiny tombstone you’ll get when this deal closes, he says. Just think of the money the firm will make, he says.

You ponder on the glory of the tombstone sitting on your desk, which would magnificently state that the firm advised Kruelberg Kretin on the acquisition, paying billions for the company and setting a landmark in being the largest private equity deal ever in the sector. And this will be on your desk. You will be the superhero analyst who worked on the deal. The deal? You must mean THE deal.

You breathe in the fresh air (it’s so much better after 2 AM) and as you close your eyes, you can see the envy in the faces of your class as they pass your desk. They will see the tombstone and stare at it, wanting to have that tombstone. Wanting to share the glory. Wanting to have been part of this groundbreaking deal. Well, wanting to be in your shoes, right here, right now, freezing your ass off in front of the entrance, chainsmoking three Marlboro reds before you head back to the office. Wanting to be the ones doing that useless bit of work for Frank tonight.

You pause for a moment and think again. Really? Wow! These guys are envying me as we speak. You are filled with energy as you feel their envy all around you. You wave to one of your buddies who is heading home for the night, feeling sorry for the poor loser, going home only at 2AM, whereas you will still have the pleasure of spending a few more hours at least, making this landmark deal happen!

You take a final drag out of cigarette number three, stub it out, rub your hands and put your war face on, ready to finish the job for frank. Tomorrow’s bid day and all the work is done. Frank has, however, asked the firm to provide him an easily accessible database for all the deal docs, models and analyses in excel - in case he gets a call with questions about Kruelberg’s bid tomorrow, he wants to be able to punch in the keyword like in a google search engine, and the spreadsheet to pop open the right analysis. Now most of those unlucky colleagues would just call him an asshole, but you know better than that, given that he will be your path to glory. He will be your stairway to fame, with a tombstone for the biggest private equity deal in this sector, ever, on your desk!

It’s all worth it. It is all so worth it! Forget the fact that all those other guys are getting paid the same as you. Forget the fact that they are all working far less than you. Forget the fact that the work they are doing is far more interesting than the shit you have to do for Frank fucking Johnson. Forget the fact that they don’t give a shit.

It’s simply just worth it!

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga – XI: How Blunderstone Adds Value

It’s 8AM. Sharp. You’re sitting in a conference room at Blunderstone’s offices, waiting for your interviewer to come in as you go over the scrap notes on the firm, their investments, and all the press clippings you have read on them over the weekend in your head. You know everything there is to know about Blunderstone.

Say they ask why you want to work for them. You don’t really know, that’s true, but you at least know the answer they want to hear.

Say they ask what was their most noteable deal. You couldn’t give less of a fuck, but you know their top three and have a speech prepared discussing why you can’t pick just one deal as a favourite.

Say they ask what in your career as an i-banker has prepared you for potentially working at Blunderstone? You know the answer is nothing, but you have countless anecdotes and skills that you can pull out of your hat that will be guaranteed to tick the box of excellent skillset on the interviewer’s checklist.

Your interviewer finally comes in. He’s a Patrick Bateman type, ex i-banker, who unlike Frank, who is more of a Danny DeVito midget with a beer belly type, this guy looks sharp.

After a very brief introduction, and hearing that this guy called Ingo van Abee used to be an investment banker at Lemming Brothers, he pops the shocker question. An out of the blue, out of the box, and out of anything you could have possibly thought would come up, when he asks:

“So, how do we add value to companies in private equity?”

You think long and hard, go through the case studies of deals you read through preparing for this interview, the deals you worked on for private equity clients and anything private equity related that you can possibly remember, and all you can really think of is.

“Well, buy low sell high.”

You’re faced with Ingo’s cold stare for a few moment, after which a smirk and then a smile appear on his closely shaven, ice cold private equity face.

“Very well answered. I’ve had people interview here and spend half an hour explaining how we add value through growing revenues, expanding profitability, using debt and paying it off with the company’s own cash and here you are, hitting the nail right on the head. BUY LOW, SELL HIGH. I’m recommending you for the next round.”

Your jaw drops and you spend the remainder of the interview chatting about the weather and shooting the shit. Definitely a good start to the day.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga – X: Blunerstone Returns

It’s 4:37 in the afternoon and you get a call on your mobile. Withheld number. You pick it up and hey presto.

“Hi, it’s Rebecca Nicholson from Assbury Moron.”

There’s a positive sounding ring to her voice. You can’t tell if it’s the fact that it’s Friday and she’s already packed her bags and ready to take the Eurostar for a shopping weekend in Paris or whether she has something genuinely good to tell you. A trickle of sweat drops onto the desk from your forehead, in anticipation of the make or brake news from Blunderstone that she surely has called to deliver.

It has got to be good. It must. She wouldn’t be so churpy if it weren’t. This is your future she has in her hands. She wouldn’t. Or would she?

“Hi” you reply with a somewhat shakier voice than you intended.

“Can you speak?”

You stand up, walk to a spot where everyone who noticed the suspicious call will at at least not be able to hear the whole conversation.

“Yes, go ahead”

“How are you today? Excellent weather we’re having no?”

This woman is barking mad. There she is, making a call that can change your life completely, and oh so typically English, she begins by speaking of the weather.

“I’m good. Busy. Very busy.”

You posture, pretending you’re super busy and the whole world wants you to advise them.

“Excellent. We’ll you’d better get busier, because Blunderstone want to see you again! You really impressed them”

You jump for joy, thank her and race to your desk. Nobody can tell you’ve just gotten a call from a headhunter. Oh no. Nobody can tell you’ve just gotten good news from a headhunter. Oh no.

You open your diary and pencil in. 8 AM. Monday. Blunderstone offices.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga – IX : Back to Basics…

As you stare into your computer, a new mail message pops up in the corner of your screen. It’s from Jennifer from HR. Shit, you think to yourself. This reminds you of the call you got from her, thinking she knew about Blunderstone (see The Kurelberg Kretin Saga – Episode VIII: Competence).

Knowing that you’re not going to make the mistake of crediting HR with intelligence for the second time, you pop open the email and right you are. Nothing to do with Blunderstone whatsoever. HR wants to showcase you on the firm’s recruitment brochure, for which you will need to write a piece on your job and what you do. To be exact, she wants you to describe your job as you would to someone at a bar.

Hmmm. You think to yourself for a moment, struggling to put yourself in the situation. You can’t remember what a bar looks like (thanks to Frank fucking Kruelberg fucking Kretin fucking Johnson). You think really hard and refresh your memory of the last time you went out. Ah. It’s all coming back to you now. The firm Christmas do. Talking to people at the bar. Getting asked what your name is and what you do. Replying that your name is Bob and you’re a photographer from LA.

That’s weird. Why would HR want to publish the bullshit jobs you pretend you do in a social context so that people don’t think you’re a boring finance geek or a wannabe Patrick Bateman American Psycho man? That is really stupid. Even for HR.

You begin typing your reply when it suddenly dawns on you that what they’re really after is the answer you WOULD give if you didn’t feel the need to lie about what you when you’re outside work! Ok. That’s easy. They want the geeky answer. You crack your knuckles and begin to type.

I advise corporate clients when they want to do anything.

If they want to buy another company, I advise them on how to do it. I also charge a percentage of the value of the company they buy. The more the client pays for the company they buy, the more money I make. I naturally, try to make sure they pay as little as possible. Naturally.

When they are getting ready to buy the company and they realize they need to raise money to buy it, I am the guy that tells them how much debt they should get. My bank gets a percentage of whatever amount of debt they get, so again, I will naturally advise them to raise just as much as is necessary. Naturally.

When they’ve bought the company, and they realize that somehow, they have too much debt on their balance sheet (which firstly, I don’t know why or how this happened and secondly, it’s not good), I advise them that they need to raise more equity, to set off the loads of debt ‘someone’ got them to raise. My firm will also get a percentage of any equity amount that the client raises. Naturally, I am as always going to advise them to be prudent and not raise too much money.

Sometimes, clients realize that they simply have too much cash from both the debt and equity they have raised) that they are just sitting on. This is not very good, so they call my firm up to give them some ideas of what they can do with this cash. This is where my boss tells that I need to put together a book with all the possible companies they could buy, merge with or do a joint venture with. This is a highly important task. This is what I do most of the time. I make the most amazing and informative company ‘profiles’. These profiles go into books that are sometimes over a hundred pages long and list countless acquisition opportunities, that the client glances over and almost always rejects.

After the client has sat on all that cash for some time, their shareholders begin to get annoyed. Why? They gave the company their cash in return for shares and the management isn’t doing anything with it. What happens when shareholders get annoyed? They want to sell their shares. So, a private equity buyer like Kruelberg or Blundestone puts in an offer for the company’s shares. This is where I come in again, because the company needs a banker to advise it on how prevent anyone who wants to buy the company from actually doing so, and making something of it. It’s my job here to 9for a lot of cash) prepare a big document that basically tries to come up with reasons why shareholders should not sell their shares to the private equity house. Usually, there are no good reasons, and even when there are, other less objective reasons work best:

“Keep the company in British hands. Don’t sell to the Yanks!”

“Our bankers say that they aren’t giving you a good enough deal!”

In short. I do many, many things that companies can do themselves and in the process make loads and loads of money. I’m an i-banker.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga – Episode VIII: Competence

You’re back at work in the majestic headquarters of the firm, with your feet firmly planted on your desk, as your phone rings.

“Hello”

“Hi Mike, this is Jennifer from HR.”

Shit! They know. How the fuck can they know you’ve seen Blunderstone. Was it a test? Was it a fake interview organised by HR to test your loyalty to the firm? Does the firm have such strong relationships with clients like Blunderstone that they agree to pretend to interview analysts just to help the firm pick out the black sheep?

Erm. No. After a moment of panic, that you realize that your fears are completely unfounded.

Reason No.1:
HR has better things to do. Like go home at 5pm. If they chased every little banker going to do interviews, they would most certainly have to stay far, far, longer, like even until 6pm. As this is truly unacceptable, HR would never do that.

Reason No. 2:
The singling out of black sheep who interview elsewhere is not in the personal interest of HR. The more analysts interview elsewhere, the better the chance that they will move somewhere else, and thus become some other HR professional’s headache. So, HR has no interest in stopping you from moving elsewhere. Actually, the easier they make this, the less people they need to take care of, the earlier they can go home.

Reason No. 3:
Setting up a hoax like this takes time and effort. The first, yes, HR has in abundance, but the appetite for the latter is in tremendously short supply. Why exert effort on something when you can spend that time sipping coffee with your colleagues?

Reason No. 4:
Making it difficult for people to move deprives HR of the fun of the numerous leavers drinks that riddle Friday afternoons after bonus season in the city. Half the revenues of pubs and bars in the square mile are derived from analysts opening tabs for their teams (and HR) to help them selves to anything behind the bar, in a vain effort to make their departure memorable.

Reassured, you answer.

“Hi Jennifer, what can I do for you”

“Mike, there’s been a bit of a mistake with your tax form this month, the system has mistakenly not deducted any tax payments from your salary. We’ll need to rectify that next month, but rest assured, you will not be charged interest. So happy spending!”

You sigh, as you forget reason No.5.

Reason no. 5
HR is plainly and simply no competent enough to pull it off.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode VII: Blunderstone

The alarm clock rings and you jump out of bed full of excitement, even though you have any managed to scramble three hours of sleep. It’s 6:35 and you only left the office at three, working on Frank’s stupid precedents (yes, like all things in banking, they took longer to complete than you expected).

You have a shower, get dressed and buy yourself a triple shot cappuccino in the Costa coffee on your way to the tube. You have half an hour to spare and the tube should take only ten minutes, so you’re feeling good. Ordinarily, you would have called a cab, but the problem is, calling one is no guarantee of it arriving on time, specially in the mornings (probable because of all the self respecting bankers who cab into work). So, you decide to take the tube.

There is another reason for taking the tube. Nobody you know would even dream of seeing you in the tube, so if anyone actually does catch a glimpse of you, they will brush it aside as firstly, surely you will not be taking the tube and secondly, surely you would not be up at such an early hour.

You sip on your coffee as you walk from the tube station to Blunderstone’s offices. You pass the buildings that are the home of many a private equity shop and hedge fund along the way. You smile as you enter the lobby, sign in your name and make your way up in the lift, announce yourself again and get escorted into a conference room.

You check your phone, to make sure it’s on mute, and you notice a message form your Rebecca at Assbury Moron:

“You’re meeting Pete Anderson this morning. Don’t give away your contact details. Good luck.”

You first think to yourself how nice of Rebecca to wish you good luck. You then realize that what she’s really interested is that they continue having to deal through her, which is why she doesn’t want you to give them your contact details.

Anyway, your train of thought is broken by the meeting room door opening and Pete Anderson walking into the room. Pete looks more like an insurance salesman than a private equity guy. He’s got a square Amercian jaw and is wearing a button down collar smart casual polo shirt that’s more casual than smart. His chinos are neatly pressed and would have matched his shoes and shirt if he were still in his native New Jersey, Playing ball with his kinds.

“Morning. Pete. Nice to meet ‘ya”

“Good morning” you introduce yourself and wait for him to ask you to sit.

“So, you wanna make the move to private equity” he says with a smug smile on his face. What he’s really saying is “I’m here, you’re there, and you wanna be here where I am, and I have the power to say yea or nay, which makes me very cool”.

“Yes” you give him the whole spiel about how that’s where you want to be long term, that you are driven, motivated, numerically excellent, entrepreneurial, blah, blah, blah, blah and some more blah.

“Great. Mike, you remind me of myself when I was your age” says Pete, as you ask yourself how old is this guy really? He looks thirty five, must have spend a few years as an i-banker, whish means he’s really only thirty. He’s below the age threshold for Botox, so add two extra years to compensate and hey presto, you’re there. So you ask yourself whether it really was that long ago that this joker was in your shoes.

“You’re a great guy and I will recommend that we ask you to come in again and meet more of the folks we have here. One final question: what do you expect to get paid?”

You explain what you’re on now (add a 30% markup of course), and how you would want an improvement on that and a reasonable package of benefits that would come with a job like this. To that Pete smilingly responds:

“Mike, the best way to answer that, is to give you a little comparison. See, when I moved to London from New Jersey, I got the company to pay for my house. Back in the states, I had a huge mansion, with a yard, a porch, pillars, a driveway, a garage for two cars and a SUV, three floors, a pool, and a mailbox. I figured, I’m moving to London, all expenses paid, they’re covering my rent up to 10k a week, so I’ll get a mansion. What do I have now? No yard, no garage, no porch, no SUV, no driveway, no pillars, no mailbox, no pool and only two floors. Yeah, but I don’t live in New Jersey any more!”

Jackass. He wants you to move and take a fucking pay cut just so you can waltz around with a business card that says Blunderstone?

Damn it, you were so close to getting back at Frank. So close, and he’s pulled a fast one again.

Frank fucking Johnson, I’ll get you one of these days!

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode VI: The Headhunter Call

You sit comfortably at your desk. Excel is looking you straight in the face. You feel like a concert pianist, performing a masterpiece in front of a concert hall full of appreciating fans, as you format the pie charts on the powerpoint on your screen to absolute perfection. It’s the list of profiles for Frank – who asked for a detailed profile of every single precedent transaction of relevance since 2002. Now a good senior would have picked up on the ‘of relevance’ bit and limited the exercise to three or four profiles. Not Rupert, overjoyed that his mistake landed him an M&A mandate, he asked you to profile every single deal and do a 90 page profiles book for Frank.

You truly don’t know who to curse first – Rupert or Frank, so you decide that both of them are to blame, being the useless muppets that they are. But you are in a good mood today, and there’s no room for bitterness. You are one of five lucky analysts working on the task and you have a week to do it so plenty of time to smile and enjoy the sunshine outside.

You are smiling like a baby at your good fortune, when your mobile phone rings to give you a fright. It’s a withheld number, which is not a good sign – it means business. You pick up the phone, look at it for a second, and answer.

“Hello”

“Hi, is that Mike?” says the female voice on the other end of the line. You are a little puzzled by the fact that you do not know this person, yet they know you. What is more puzzling is the fact that someone who is definitely not from the office is calling you as you are by now well past the stage where friends give you a call, as they’ve forgotten you as a lost cause. Finally, it’s a female voice, and let’s face it, you definitely haven’t got a significant other working the hours you’ve been working lately.

“Yeah, that’s me, who’s this?”

“You don’t know me.” She says. No shit. Would I be asking if I did? “My name is Rebecca Nicholson. I’m a recruitment consultant at Assbury Moron.”

“A what?” you ask, thinking what the fuck is a recruitment consultant. This HR chick has obviously misdialed and has no fucking idea that this is not Assbury Moron, or wherever else she’s looking for.

“A recruitment consultant. A headhunter. Are you free to speak for a few moments”

Shit. A headhunter! Wow. Ok. Sure you have time to speak!

“Um, er… yes” you mumble in a whispery voice as you stand up and walk away to find a little privacy. Like it isn’t suspicious enough that an unknown caller rings and after they introduce themselves you get all secretive and hide, but you obviously don’t realize this as it’s your FIRST HEADHUNTER CALL!!!!!

“Um, er… yes… I can speak now”

“Great” says Rebecca “Mike, I’m calling because you’ve been recommended to me and I would like to see if you’ll be interested in coming in to see a private equity firm for an interview.”

Wow! A private equity firm. That’s the kind of shop filled by assholes like frank fucking Johnson. Why the fuck would you want to do that? You remember a bit of advice Rob gave you on one of your first days: don’t dismiss any opportunity. So you decide to humor Rebecca.

“Sure. Who are they?”

“They’re a firm called Blunderstone. Have you heard of them?”

Wow. Blunderstone are competing with Kruelberg on the deal the firm is advising them on. Anything to pull a fast one on Frank, so you accept the interview and pencil it in your diary. Tuesday. 8am. Blunderstone offices.

You have waited long and hard, but you really will get Frank now!

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode V: Fireworks (Frank vs. Rupert)

Bankers are very much used to talking to an uninterested audience and all of Franks questions are beginning to get Rupert suspicious.

“Why is he actually interested in what I’m saying?”

He asks himself again and again. He cannot understand how this one little meaningless company can be so interesting. He was only trying to sound smart and fill the long meeting with some smart sounding comments and look what happens. As Frank keeps amusedly shooting off more questions, Rupert looks at you with this look on his face that almost says:

“I know why he’s so keen. You’ve messed up Mr. analyst man, and now I’m on the spot. I’ll get you for this. I don’t know how, but I just know it’s your fault (probably because it can’t be mine – of course – so it must be your fault Mr. analyst man!)”

After firing questions for some fifteen minutes, Frank stops, stands up, and begins pacing around the conference room. He thanks Rupert for his much appreciated contribution on Seven Seas, and mentions that he is most grateful for the insight provided.

“Rarely have I seen an investment banker exhibit such enthusiasm in identifying what is wrong with a company. Of course, in my experience on the buyside, and of course my previous experience in your shoes at Goldmen, never have I also seen an investment banker come so ill prepared to a meeting. It’s your lucky day, however, that the management board of Kruelberg has been concerned for a while about the performance of Seven Seas, which we own. I sit on the board, having helped Kruelberg buy it in my previous incarnation as a banker. It’s just your luck that your BPM (bullshit per minute) is so fast that you have actually convinced me that all your ramblings over the last five minutes can result in us extracting all this value from the company. Thank you for contributing and damn are you lucky or what.”

A calm silence feels the room. Feelings of anger and relief as on the one hand, Rupert must surely be relieved that the 100 questions are over, at the same time, he needs to find a way to get himself out of this most embarrassing situation. Luckily for him, his incompetence is more than mirrored by that of Frank, the muppet who put the shitty deal together, altogether resulting in a surprising final note from Frank.

“Rupert, I am grateful that you have brought all this to our attention, and I will nonetheless be sure to pass these recommendations to the board on the next meeting. Meanwhile, rest assured, that through your intimate knowledge and understanding of this business, you have positioned your firm exceptionally for the sale of Seven Seas down the line.”

A perfect example of the fact that there is no need for intelligence in this business. Long live the banker muppets, and the dumbasses that pay their fees!

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode IV: The Mexican Standoff (Frank vs. Rupert)

Within seconds of sitting down, frank opens up the presentation in front of him and pages through the table of contents. He hovers over the pages, as Rupert talks to them, like a hawk, keenly on the lookout for any errors and omissions. His years of investment banking training have given him the ability to spot errors from miles away. You tremble as he flips the pages with his red pen, circling numbers, letters, words, thinking it might be some major omission, like forgetting to update the table of content, or the page numbers, or not putting two spaces after a full stop.

Frank is altogether uninterested in anything Rupert has to say until he reaches the relevant precedent transactions section. Kruelberg has a good track record of investing in the sector, and it is always difficult to pick the right precedents or to really tell them something they don’t already know.

Frank seems fine with all of the numbers, even commenting on the accuracy of the analysis and how consistent it is with their internal views. Rupert gives you an approving glance that either says “well done mate” or “lucky you, you didn’t mess up”. There’s a big smile of Frank’s face when he sees a very obscure transaction on the list of precedents – July 2004, Seven Seas Associates acquired by a consortium of private equity buyers. He asks Rupert to give him some more details and he does the usual blah around why they paid how much they paid, what a good asset it was and how it is nearing the holding period for the current owners and that it may even be available for Kruelberg to buy.

Frank chuckles and asks some more questions about how the business is performing, to which Rupert comes up with even more blah about how the sponsors who bought it have done ok, but there is so much more value to be extracted, how the management is great but the sponsors are limiting their ability to grow, how they overleveraged the business and now its starved for cash, and the list goes on.

Rupert begins to look a little out of his depth as frank keeps probing his knowledge of the Seven Seas deal and business and looks to you for help. You quickly open your backups book and page through to the precedent transactions full case studies for each deal. You find Seven Seas, and freeze. You cannot believe your eyes. You look up to Rupert, who is busy talking about how the current owners of Seven Seas are really a little bit of a group of muppets, and how what this business really needs is proper private equity ownership, not the mickey mouse excuse for financial sponsors who make up its current board.

You look back at the page and cringe as Rupert continues bashing the deal, as the first bullet point on the deal description reads:

“A consortium of private equity investors led by Kruelberg Kretin acquired Seven Seas…”

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode III: Meeting Frank

Christmas usually comes once a year, but this is your lucky year, and Christmas came early – you’re going to be taken to a meeting with Frank, at Kruelberg’s Mayfair offices. Your attendance has already been confirmed. You naturally feel excited to be given the honour of meeting the great Frank Johnson, who although is really a nobody at Kruelberg, is a nobody at KRUELBERG. The fully staffed team the firm is sending for a meeting with one nobody, Frank, is headed by Al Sikowsky, an executive director in the private equity group who is desperately trying to make a move to the buyside. Al wants to kiss Frank’s ass as much as possible in the hope of frank putting in a good word about him at Kruelberg. He was the first to agree to the firm’s resources being used to cur frank’s account6ants’ and lawyers’ fees as much as possible, and he’s the crackpot banker who’s never been in at the junior level, so he has no idea where the fuckups come from, what happens in the office after 8pm and how absolutely evident it is to everyone else that he’s a muppet beyond any figment of one’s imagination. Rupert beware, you have some serious competition in this space. Come to think about it, he actually has a great chance with frank and Kruelberg – they have a hell of a lot in common.

The meeting is on Monday morning at 9am sharp at Kruelberg’s sixth floor office in the heart of Mayfair. You’ve got all your ducks lined up in a row. You had your best suit pressed on Friday, crisp white shirt, extra starched cuffs and collars so it feels like you are wearing cardboard, you got your shoes buffed, crisp and clean and you are looking 110% i-banker my man. You know your shit, you know the answer to anything frank can possibly ask, you’re confident, you’re ready and you’re 100% there to back the team and help Kruelberg clinch the deal.

Man o man, believe it or not, you’re going to be there in the same room with Frank Johnson. This is the man. The Kruelberg man. You’re going to be shooting the shit with the Kruelbarg man, the client, in their offices, on their own turf. Yeah! This is the kind of master of the universe that doors swing open before he even thinks he wants to go through them. He picks up the phone to an investment bank and bankers jump at his every word. He says jump, the firm asks how high. The firm’s team is sitting in the conference room, waiting for frank to arrive. A secretary comes in, offers tea and coffee and sweet smelling pastries for breakfast and announces that frank is on his way in to the office and will join them directly. The tension builds. Anticipation. Excitement. You feel like a kid on Christmas eve, who can’t wait the next few hours until its morning and you can open your presents. You hear footsteps in the corridor. They get closer. And closer. It must be Frank. Surely, it must be the man. Coming to shoot the shit with you. They get closer. You focus and tune your ears in the direction of the sound. You pause, as you can’t believe your ears. As the footsteps approach, you hear at first a faint, and then louder and louder sound. It’s as if alongside his approach, there is a tune playing in the background, getting closer with his footsteps. You focus more, and recognise the tune. It’s eye of the tiger. You tremble in excitement and anticipation as you expect the doors to burst open and the grand figure of Frank Johnson to appear behind the blasting sound of eye of the tiger. As the doors open, you are breathless as the contour of Frank begins to appear out of the shadows of the corridor. And…yes. Frank does come out of the shadows. Your colleagues smile as they exchange amused glances at the look on your face. It’s been a few moments since he walked in and you still cannot imagine how this BSD, master of the universe, Kruelberg Kravis principal is much more of a Danny DeVito than a Silvester Stallone. He’s short, not fat but has the strong signs of a beerbelly, strategically positioned behind his shirt and creeping over his belt. He’s got a bald patch developing and is wearing an expensive but crumpled shirt.

You are at ease as you finally manage to smile at Frank thinking, oh, I will get you back Frank Johnson.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode II: Carrot and Stick

You drift away in a flash from the warm cozy images of the warm tropical water splashing your face as you sit on the beautiful sandy shores of your private island, surrounded by crystal clear water and palm trees to give you that perfect shade - splash on the face and welcome back to reality – you realize you are in the men’s room again, trying to keep awake, banging your head against the brick wall that is Frank’s idiotic request.

You wonder, and with good reason, why the fuck are you taking this shit from Frank fucking Johnson. Just tell him he’s a moron. Just do it. Yeah!

Why? Because you want Frank to be happy, not to raise too much fuss, compliment your modelling skills in front of Rupert so you get top bonus this year, which will ultimately bring you one top bonus closer to that magical tropical island you have been dreaming about all this time. Ah, that magical tropical island with crystal clear waters will be all yours by the time you make… lets do the maths:

Three years as analyst wont get you anywhere because rather than investing the fucking crazy money you earn, you’ll be spending it on a swish flat in the heart of SW3 and you’ll blow the bonuses on a combination of overprices overluxurious holidays where you’ll be so tired and sleeping most of the time that you won’t be able to enjoy, a Porsche Boxter the first year, which will be upgraded to a 911 (as no i-banker that takes himself seriously can be seen driving a Boxter really), which will then turn into the dream of a 911 turbo. In short, there’ll be nothing left.

Not to worry, associate here you come, where you’ll get a pay rise, sign on bonus and better pay, which will go into safekeeping for that 911 turbo upgrade.

Executive director here you come, you’ll get a moderate pay rise that will probably be enough to cover the increased congestion charge now that you have no choice but driving through the C zone from home on your way to work. Oh yeah, you drive to work. The tube is for analysts and lowly associates who don’t have the common sense to drive to work. And don’t forget the £10 a day parking charge as you’re still not quite senior enough to get your own parking space onsite.

Not to worry though, because all this is peanuts compared to the big payday, when you start being paid in stock. Equity sweet equity. Yeah! Director here you come. Fat paychecks in company stock that is increasing daily with the good fortune of the markets. You accumulate the dough and hey presto, after three years as you make managing director, you’ll be sitting on the equivalent of a downpayment for that sweet island in shares.

Yes! Wait till Frank fucking Johnson sees you then. You’ll be a BSD MD of the firm while he’ll still be lingering as a fucking principal of Kruelberg, hoping to make partner one sweet day. Eat my shorts Frank fucking Johnson are the thoughts you take with you to your desk, as you begin tapping into your excel spreadsheet, trying to figure out how his accounts reconcile, only with a big smile on your face.

The Kruelberg Kretin Saga - Episode I: The Kickoff

You’re on a conference call (on mute) with Frank from Kruelberg on the other line, as you catch yourself wondering how does smugness transfer over the phone wires? It’s amazing. You would have thought that putting frank on mute would have put some sort of protective bubble, blocking the smugness before it reaches you, but no, no, no. The smug bastard is coming across loud and clear, as he dictates how Kruelberg wants to run this transaction.

Frank starts off with an apology for not being able to hold this kickoff meeting in person, but doe to his busy schedule, he has to be on a plane in half an hour so he’s doing it from the overpriced chauffeured car taking him to the airport. Like he really gives a shit about “meeting the team who will be working for Kruelberg on this very important deal”. Ha. I mean let’s face it, if it were an important deal, he wouldn’t be on his way to fly somewhere on another deal instead of focussing on this one.

He highlights that he wants to call this Project Parasol, because the target is an insurance broker. He thinks this is quite smart. It is. Actually, the name he’s picked is perfect, but only because if spoken quickly, it bears a strong resemblance to Project Asshole, which is what Frank really is.

Frank wants the firm to conduct a thorough valuation exercise, co-ordinate the other advisers like lawyers, accountants, tax consultants and so on, deal with the seller, deal with the banks… and five minutes later, it all makes sense. Frank has (smugly) agreed what the firm thought is a very nice flat fee on the deal. In exchange for his generosity, he’s offloading every single bit of work that the other advisers and he should be doing to the firm. Why? Because, given’s he’s paying us the flat five million, everything we do is for free, whereas he has to pay everyone else by the hour. Smugass pice of Kruelberg Kretin shit! You then wonder why you’re the poor fucker trying to reconcile the target’s latest management accounts to the last quarterly report they filed. You think to yourself that this is a piece of piss work that an accountant could do in no time. Indeed, but you’re the lucky dumbass sitting in the office at 4am trying to figure out accountancy 101 so you can feed Frank a response first thing tomorrow morning.

Oh, and by the way, that means it needs to reach him by first thing in the morning. He will, of course, only manage to look at it in the late afternoon, once he’s been to the gym, had coffee, gone for lunch and twiddled his fucking thumbs for long enough to realise he asked for this work in the first place. Nice guy, eh?

When he finally gets back to you, which will probably be at 6pm before he leaves the office for the day, it will be along the lines of saying that its an excellent effort but all wrong, and that you need to spend another night trying to get it right, before he sends your work to the accountants to make sure its fine. You are inclined to think “its their fucking job in the first fucking place you fucking twat so no fucking wonder you think its fucking wrong having read it whilst sipping your fucking espresso and reading the paper”, but you naturally do not, as you well know, frank works for Kruelberg which is the financial services community’s equivalent of royalty. He might be a useless, incompetent dubs shit, but he is a useless, incompetent dumb shit working for Kruelberg Kretin.

So yes sir it is, as you vow to one day come up with a trick that will catch frank fucking Johnson off his guard.

Kruelberg Kretin Capital Partners

You’re in the bathroom splashing water on your face and you look at yourself in the mirror and cannot believe what you see. You’re looking at this strange, tired creature that looks five years older, five kilos fatter and way more than five hairs greyer than what you remember from the holiday photo of you and your buddies from your beach holiday before you joined the firm that you constantly look at as the background shot on your computer.

You can’t believe how this transformation happened overnight. You are puzzled by how your perception of how good you looked could have been so off the mark. What happened?

You splash another handful of water on your face and try to reconstruct the sequence of events that led to this. You scratch your head and think through what you’ve been doing lately that led to this. Sure, it all starts coming back, the late hours, the work, the pitches, the meetings, the presentation, the models, all of it! But no! It can’t be all that! That’s the run of the mill – “I eat shit like this for breakfast” – stuff that a master of the universe does eat for breakfast. It cannot be just that.

You splash yourself with some more water, attempting to jig your memory once more and as if by magic, it works. It all starts coming back to you. The answer is Frank Johnson. What an asshole. Frank fucking Johnson. Frank fucking principal at a private equity shop Johnson. Frank fucking principal at the fucking private equity house that is your client fucking Johnson. Frank fucking “these numbers don’t make sense” and “I know because I used to be a banker” wiseass fucking asshole private equity fucking principal Johnson. Yes, that’s the right Frank Johnson.

Frank is a principal at Kruelberg Kretin Capital Partners. Frank thinks he’s some kind of uberhot shit, working for kruelberg, one of the hottest private equity shops on the street. They do the biggest, baddest, sexiest LBOs on the street and are probable the only form of financial life form that is more BSD that the i-banker BSDs. They are truly the hot shit. The problem is, that even hot shit stinks, and as far as stinking goes, Frank is truly the hottest piece of shit on the street.

He thinks he’s some kind of hot shot, just because he made it into private equity. He used to be an associate at Goldmen, before making the move. He used to be just like you. He used to change decimal places on comps, and say that he updated them. He used to back-solve for the valuation he knew the client wanted to achieve and then put his fantastic modelling skills to make the model come up to that valuation (or just ever so slightly below so that the client would not be suspicious). He used to pull all nighters working on models, and when the balance sheet wouldn’t balance 5 minutes before the book needed to be printed, he manually plugged numbers he knew nobody would check to make it balance. You can say, he’d been there, done that, and gotten a whole load of fucking T-shirts. The problem was, now every time you tried to pull a fast one on him, he’s look at each of these T-shirts on his wall and remember the same trick that he used to pull on his clients, and you didn’t have a chance.

Asshole. Smartass Frank fucking Johnson. Fucking Frank Kruelberg Kretin fucking capital fucking Partners Johnson. I will pull a fast one on you. Don’t know how, don’t know when, but I’ll come up with a trick you haven’t seen before you freaking asshole.