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She wiped her nose and smiled. Is it expensive? This was good! This was not a crazy scheme to ask for another raise, especially now that I was probably the highest paid overpaid file manager in any U. This was a way to make money on the side! This was being sensible!
This was what the provider does! He thinks of real solutions that make sense to wives. In that moment, I remembered the iPod and felt even more proud of myself. I might never have bought it. But I owed her the truth. This emboldened me. And after I get home. I decided a bit of restraint was in order. Maybe that much. Maybe a bit less. We could be out of debt in a few months. There are people making a lot of money from this. I watched it for a week and it was just as amazing as they say—it was really making some incredi- ble trades.
I told her that before she did I wanted to give her a gift. I went into the hallway, opened my briefcase, and brought her the present. When she unwrapped the iPod, she threw her arms around me and kissed me. And with that, we went back to sleep, peace- fully and with hope of the brighter future that was now within our reach. I worked at the law firm of I Wakeman, Butterman, and Bailey, and all I did—and I am not making this up—is file stuff away. Motions, briefs, interrogatories, settle- ments.
It was like watching Brady Bunch re- runs while poking my eyeballs out with a fork. This is the type of job that a man will do anything to get fired from. And believe me, I tried. There were times when I wanted to eat my leg just to inject an interesting event into my day. While I never ate my leg, I did all sorts of other things to pass the time. I still finished all the work that I was supposed to do.
What got me the job in the first place was a pretty well connected fa- ther. Mine, to be exact. Harold Banes Sr. He was a janitor. And over the years, he spoke to every one of those lawyers. He became good friends with many of them, and when I graduated from high school, I had already worked three summers in the filing office of the firm, thanks to his relationships. That seemed like a ton of money to me then.
I spent it like money was coming out of the fire hydrants, and I lived like there would be a raise every year. And that was fine for a long time because it was just me, and I was living at home. Soon enough though, my high school girlfriend and I were deciding to get married, and soon enough after that, we were having kids.
Three, to be exact, in the first seven years of marriage. And now we had one more on the way. And on the way up in that elevator, I passed floor after floor of other offices. I never really stopped to wonder who worked on those floors. Anyway, when I got up to my cubicle, Scott was waiting for me just as he had done every day, for the past five years. Today, he looked worried.
He was about the most laid-back guy in the world, but right now he looked as if someone had caught him smoking behind the front desk. For a moment, I worried that this had something to do with trading. I felt relief wash over me. I did not want him touch- ing the account or the software. Scott nodded quickly, like a child would do. I had a lot of filing in front of me for the day, plus I wanted to trade again.
That would be awesome. And things were hopping! There were already seven Amazing Forex orders open—all but two were profitable. I looked at the most re- cent order: It was an order to buy the British Pound against the U. It was only 10 points in the negative right now.
That meant that we could get in on a profitable buy trade and at a better price than had originally been suggested. I opened my trading platform and en- tered the order. I liked that sound. Now we only had to wait for the profit to appear. We also had to keep an eye on the Amazing software, so that we would know when to exit. Yesterday we had exited in a gleeful pandemo- nium resulting from my first profit.
But now I was committed to exiting the trades when the software told me to. I rubbed my hands together. I forgot about the filing that I needed to do. I expected the profit to come quickly again, but after a few moments had passed, the trade still did not budge. Scott answered quickly. You can buy at a price higher than what you can sell for. The spread. That made sense. So I would be negative from the start of every trade.
Minutes passed. It was A. I heard a booming voice down the hall. It was Mr. I heard my name being called and remembered that the big man wanted to see me. I had an open trade! I expected it to be closed by now.
I was becom- ing uncomfortable with this trade out there in cyberspace. I should have some profit by now! You go talk to Herbie. I did not want to leave Scott in charge of my trade, but I had no choice. Just close it when the software says to close it. This meeting with Mr. Johnson could last for a half minute. Or it could take an hour. Herb Johnson was the managing partner of the firm. Newly elected, he was in the position he was because he could get things done. He was a first-class operator.
This Napoleon-shaped man could return two phone calls, scribble down a defense strategy, and scream at an associate lawyer all at the same time. When I arrived at his office, he was al- ready screaming. Not at me yet, but at someone on the phone. Was he going to fire me? Promote me? No way. Yell at me about missing documents? Oh, yes. That was going to be it for sure. I heard what he was saying, but I was really thinking about my trade. Could it be possible that I was al- ready making some money?
Ohhh, money. How I loved it. How I longed to see the trade! It must be very profitable by now. I wondered how long it generally took an Amazing Forex Profit System trade to reach its profit tar- get. Maybe I would call the company later that day and ask. But for now, I could nearly smell the profit wafting over the cubicles to me; it was a sweet scent that I hoped to smell again many times that same day.
I imagined myself sitting by the midnight blue water, reclining on a lounge chair. Banes, would you like another drink? ME: Why yes. Johnson was still yelling when I snapped back into the present tense. When Herbie was really upset, he growled, and his growling increased as he talked. The bonus discrimination case. I did care about trading, though, and when Mr. I wrote some notes down on the pad of paper that Scott had given me while Mr. Johnson continued his tirade. Johnson was now describing in the most specific detail.
I knew this case because it was on the front pages of every New York business section. We were representing a Wall Street firm—one of the biggest securities firms in the world. The firm was accused of paying a smaller bonus to a physically handicapped trader, or something like that, to force the trader out of the firm.
I thought at any moment he would pounce on me, his little Danny DeVito frame scrambling across the desk to rip out my throat or some- thing. I took a step back. The phone was still sitting on his desk, and I could barely hear a voice calling out to him, wondering where Herb went. I think Herb was partly glad I had interrupted him so that he could get back to billing three people at once.
As he described the letter, he was already in the pro- cess of doing something else entirely. Anderson that I want him to call me and let me know that you delivered it. That was perfectly fine. I could stand that, especially since there were moun- tains of Anderson files that my team and I were going to have to work on for the rest of the day. And now I could check on the trade! He was more than 50 feet away and it was impossible to yell loud enough to get his attention.
I bolted back to my desk to get the update. But the screen was blank— just a screen saver. The Amazing software was closed; the trading account program was no longer open. And I had no idea where to find Scott. And I needed to deliver the letter pronto. Then I heard Mr. Reluc- tantly I left my desk, determined to never again leave it while I had an open trade.
Having to delay my knowledge of the outcome was going to kill me. On exiting the elevator, all I saw in front of me was a small lobby, with furni- ture that appeared to have never been used. I stated my purpose, she made a phone call to check my identity, and then she turned around, swiped a card through a slot, and the steel door unlocked. She pushed it open, and while turning around and leaving me, said something which I never heard.
In fact, I almost had to cover my ears to protect them from the noise I now encountered. I could feel the door close behind me—it hit me in the butt—but I hardly moved. I was staring at the trading floor of a major Wall Street firm, and I thought I had been teleported to another planet. There were at least 20 rows of desks, formed in a giant half-circle, starting directly in front of me, and extending out all the way across the floor to the other end of the building. At least men and a few women were yelling, pounding on their computers, and watching their screens.
There was so much happening right here, just a few floors below where I had been working for 11 years. I forgot entirely about Anderson, and just wandered onto the floor. Glass windows looked out on midtown from the west side, and every other wall had glass conference rooms, one after the other, mostly empty. I felt as if time stood still for me and was moving at 1, miles per hour for everyone around me. It was chaos. Walking a few feet forward, I stood next to a guy who was probably 21 years old, and he was screaming into his phone something about selling stock in November for some price that I cannot remember.
The woman down one more seat was poking her finger into her trading screen, and saying something to the guy next to her about Commitments of Traders, and how she was owed a case of beer. And this scene was repeated, row after row, until I was dizzy.
I heard people talking about millions and millions of dollars. As I walked further toward the center of the floor, I heard a trader say to the guy next to him that he had just dumped a million shares of GE. A million shares of General Electric? That must have been worth tens of millions of dollars.
How did he get those shares? Upon whom had he dumped them? Why did they buy them? How did the dumpee feel about all of this? This was mine. No, this scene in front of me was big time. It was the biggest time of all. I had never seen so many people this animated, this excited, this de- pressed, this wild—all working in the same room, talking about dumping tens of millions of dollars of shares on someone else.
Something clicked in- side me. Or it was more like something snapped. I knew this is what I needed to be doing. Already I knew that I wanted to trade. Already I knew that I had the talent to do it—but this trading floor, this mass of chaotic buying and selling: This is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. There could not have been a more ridiculous thought at the time.
I had taken just one trade of my own. Surrounding me at that moment were men and women educated at some of the finest universities in the United States—I probably was stand- ing among more than a hundred Harvard Business School graduates. I wanted to do what these people did. Now, I remembered my trade. Seeing all these people in a state of vio- lent anxiety over their trades made me feel part of the group. A member of a brotherhood of traders who worried about whether their trade was prof- itable.
Just like me. Looking for Anderson. You look like you stepped in something. Copies of the Wall Street Journal were everywhere, but most of them were unopened. Most traders wore casual clothes. If a guy had a sport coat of any kind, it was strewn over the back of his chair or on the floor. Everywhere I looked around the trading floor, there were computer screens and on those screens, charts. Not so different from the charts I would see if I watched business news on television, which was mostly never.
Every trader I could see—in fact, all of them—had at least three flat panel computer monitors, and some had four. At least one of those screens on each desk was showing some form of financial charts. The charts still made no sense to me. But obviously they were indispensable.
It was one more thing I was going to have to learn. I hurried to the conference room where I saw a thin, blond man, with wire glasses and a bow tie, standing by a sea of papers on a glass confer- ence table. Although he had boyish looks, it was obvious he was an impor- tant person around here, just from the way he stood at the table in deep thought, with his hand rubbing his chin.
Maybe it was his ability to look so calm while there was so much madness happening right on the other side of the glass conference room. He grinned at me when I opened the door. I would not have heard him if the glass conference room walls had not been surprisingly soundproof.
I brought this letter from Herb. Where did you go to school? I must have let my eyes fall out of my head at that moment, because it was easily apparent that I had no idea what he was talking about. I said this with a matter- of-fact tone, as if I visited trading floors all the time and was pleased to see everyone busy at work. CPI rocked the markets this morning.
Sent stocks way up in a hurry. He grinned. That meant selling dollars. I had bought British Pounds. This should not have been so confusing, but it was. And he was telling me that the dollar had gone down! That meant that more sweet profit was waiting for me upstairs. We need to make sure that we keep in touch. Skipped corporations myself. By third year, I was skip- ping class and calling my broker to place trades. I paid more in commissions in my third year than I made in profits on every trade.
Thankfully, our discussion about my law school experience, which I never had, was nearly over. He continued. Will probably raise some eyebrows and need some background checks. This is not just the ordinary setup. Tell him we might need some help with the fund and he should call me. I walked across the entire trading floor to make my way back. Once again, it seemed as if time stood still for me while it moved for every- one else. This was a wild ride that I was going to have to repeat. On the way back to the office, I hoped that Anderson and I could talk again.
Imagine how much he could teach me about currency trading! Poking my head in his office, I gave him a thumbs-up sign, to let him know I had delivered the letter. Just a few minutes in the midst of all those traders, and I had recaptured my optimism.
It hit me so hard when it came back that I got chills up my spine. I could be working down on the 31st floor, I told myself. If I wanted to, I could work there. And if Herb fired me, I could just start trading on my own. I should be trading for a living already. That was where I belonged. The credit card debt seemed so much smaller. No matter how suddenly I had found this new path, it was pointing in the right direction.
And I was going to take it. The head of all trading? The thin, pale guy with the Nerd Club for Men glasses? Most excellent! My new friend on the 31st floor was a master trader! The wheels started turning in my head. Could I go back down there? Could I ask him a bunch of questions about currencies?
Would he offer me a job? What would I say? In this moment of supreme confidence, it seemed like a great idea. That was a good idea. I literally propped myself up against my cubicle to keep from falling. How much time had just passed?
Twenty minutes from the time I went downstairs until now? An hour at the most? Maybe I should go back down there immediately and ask if I could watch the traders for the rest of the day. But I had a trade to check on. How much profit had I made? When I get a flash of euphoric optimism, I believe that I am king of the world and all humanity should bow down before me and do my bidding. I found Scott in the break room pouring himself a gigantic cup of coffee. He smiled when he saw me. I knew it!
Tell me the good news. They call them pips in the forex market. Not more? I told him this. But I exited your trade at 10 pips when the software told me to get out. And it kept moving up, so fast, so I got in again. Did the software tell you to? I had to get a piece of that for you. I traded three times your usual trade size so I could make more money for each point. I had never thought of that. I could trade for more value per point, or pip, when I really thought the market was moving fast.
But I was still not happy that he had taken a trade without permission from the software. He was drinking his coffee in big gulps, obviously excited about his performance that morning. And I could not be too angry with him.
If I could nearly double my account value every couple of days, this was going to be the eas- iest money I had ever made. He was happy to make time for me. I had forgotten the lie that I had told the day before about the emergency room. Charlie Flank. He left to start his own practice on the East Side, writing wills for rich people who want to leave everything to their poodles. Anyway, when Charlie left the firm last week, Herb let me move in.
I appreciate that. Have you ever been down to the 31st floor? He seemed to like that. They could probably raise twice that if they wanted to. They are probably raising capital to do their own fund, rather than sell people shares in other forex funds. These companies take high-net worth clients, even corporations, and put their money in a fund that only trades international currency.
What are they doing? Some of those guys are actually my classmates from law school. From law school? So they interviewed on Wall Street instead. These firms are looking for a pedigree, and Harvard Business or Harvard Law do equally well. It might be a bit tougher for the law guys, but there are fewer of them in the first place that want to go down there and scream and yell for a living. It almost sounded like they were taking a step down when they went to work as traders.
John confirmed that and then rejected it. Or they were sleeping in. Or they were reading the business section or the stocks tables, or watching CNBC. Some of those guys just had it in their blood. One of my friends dated the girl at the front desk on 31—and then spent every day for two weeks at a trading desk down there, acting like he was busy. He called me a few times a day and started shouting into the phone to act like he was doing something.
He got hired on the spot. Anderson knew about it from day one. And Craig knew his stuff. He was smart, he knew currencies—and Anderson picked up on that. He interviewed Craig right there, right in the middle of the trading floor. Maybe I could do the same thing. This guy Anderson seemed like the kind of person who would understand.
Craig thought he was going to be arrested. But Anderson wanted to talk shop. He started asking Craig what he thought about the value of the Euro to the Japanese Yen. He made some passionate speech about interest rates or trade balances, and the current outlook for each economy, and that now was the absolute perfect time for a buy based on his technical analysis.
And the trade worked out, and Craig got the job. Good story. Or Anderson. Or anyone who knows about trading. You want to be a trader? Rather he appeared to be sincere. I want to be a trader. Maybe not down there. But maybe on my own. I do good work for the firm. But something happened when I went down there. It must be what you felt like when you first walked into a big law firm for an interview. Find out what is going on down there on the trading floor. I swear, I would sneak in there and do what Craig did if I had the guts.
I would barf all over the desk on the first day. I could see that something was bothering him. Most likely, it was the fact that he was going out of his way to help me when I had nothing in re- turn to offer him. Or did I? He shrugged. Probably over two million dollars in fees. He nearly hired me on the spot to start work on it. John called Craig, right there, and while they were talking—even from a few feet away—I could hear the roar of the voices on the trading floor.
It sounded like sweet music to me. To say the least, my wife was impressed with the profits. We had a conver- sation that I will never forget. Word for word, I can remember it perfectly six years later. ME: Definitely not. ME: I can now increase the size of the trades. From the look on her face, I could tell that my wife was not privy to the obvious wisdom of this strategy.
It was frustrating to have to explain to her the intricate details of how I was on my way to becoming a currency trad- ing tycoon, that I was on a hot streak, and that I was going to have a pool with midnight blue water and with attendants who served me drinks. I told her about my experience on the 31st floor as well. It pleased me greatly to hear that my wife could tell that I knew what I was doing.
I would never have expected it or thought about it. But when I walked through that steel door and saw that trading floor, something clicked inside me. But for the first time in months, maybe years, I felt peaceful about our financial problems. I started to see how we could pay our rent consistently. Something clicked. I was standing on.
It was like I should have been there all along. She realized that I had never felt this way about a job before. My wife! Pregnant, poor, wife of a lowly file manager, but happy! I am having lunch today with Craig Taylor, one of the traders at Ernest Wellington. If I really wanted to turn up the heat and make some coin, I was going to have to make more trades every day.
One or two trades was just not enough. He was a bit T over 6 feet tall, with an athletic frame and a cheerful, charismatic face. This was the type of guy who you knew had been elected class president and who set up the weekly poker tournaments in the dorms, stayed up all night taking money from his friends, and then ran in a track meet the next day. I immediately liked him. Even better still, Craig was happy to help from the first moment that I met him.
I had a zillion questions, and he was ready for them. This was a good omen. I had a friend on the inside. It was lunchtime, and I still had not traded yet for the day, and talking to Craig was making me more anxious than ever to get back to making money instead of just talking about it.
Craig took a bite of his sandwich and spoke with his mouth full. About as long as John Murphy has been wasting his life at the law firm. But really, this was the only job I wanted. I knew I was going to do everything necessary to make it work. Failure was not an option in my mind. I knew there would be bad days. But I was not going to give up. Very no. I was terrible. And that is all I needed to know. I knew that I was supposed to be a trader. Are you trading stocks? On your own? Dude, you do need help.
What kind of leverage are you using? Leverage is credit. That meant that I was using leverage, too. I started to remember something about getting to-1 leverage at my dealer. It was making me want to get back to the office to make some trades. You can trade forex. Whether you trade it with discipline is what makes the differ- ence. But John told me that you had a trade on the Euro against the Japanese Yen that An- derson took for you. That one trade made ten million dollars for the firm.
ME: John told me it was five million. Anderson at first bought five million Euros on the trade—but we made a little over ten million dollars on the trade when I finally got out. I knew that the Euro was falling back to a solid point of support on the charts, and I knew that the economic outlook for the Eurozone economy was much brighter than it was for Japan, which was still in a huge economic slump and had set interest rates at an unbe- lievably low point.
I had been doing my homework, calling around to other young traders that I knew, and we were all convinced that there was no way the currency pair could break and stay below This was late September ME: How did you know you were right? Everyone was telling me that there was going to be a sharp sell-off that would end soon.
They sent me some charts that confirmed what I already suspected— Price had a hard time breaking above it in the first place. In fact, in the first week of , nine months before, price had hit that same level and fallen back points in just a few days. It took nine months and two weeks to finally break above it. For sure. I wanted to put my own money in this trade. I told Anderson all this. Just listened to me make a speech.
I love that man. As soon as I finished, he took my keyboard and made the first trade see Figure 5. ME: So you bought it right at exactly And then I bought more after that at Five million more Euros worth. And then ten million more at And then again and again until I had put five hundred million in the trade. I was so sure of the trade that with any pullback, even slight ones, I added to the winning position. ME: Then what happened? When did you exit the trade?
It immediately moved about pips in my direction, and I felt like the smarted guy in the world. Then it backed off a bit and bounced around in October and most of November. Then in the first few days in December, it skyrocketed. My positions were worth millions of dollars, and I nearly threw up on December 2, It moved pips upward, breaking all resistance.
ME: Why were you so concerned? I had sat on my hands with a trade that was up by a million dollars or so, and then all of a sudden, every trade moved into ridiculous superprof- itability. Never before had I seen that much money in one place.
I un- derstood that if the currency pair fell down again, I would lose all that money. It was nearly the end of the year and I was thinking about what kind of bonus I could get for having done a ten-million-dollar trade. I had taken some other trades during this whole period—lots of short- term trades, and all of those netted out at breakeven.
This was my huge winner. ME: So you closed it? Super yes. They stood up and gave me a round of applause on the floor that day. Everyone except for Anderson. ME: This must have felt really good. My first trade was a winner, too. I re- member that feeling. But he un- derstood that I had just cut off a huge position that was totally prof- itable, that had taken me months to build. ME: Seems greedy to me.
You let your worst trades run to a loss. Why not let your best trades run into mad, psychotic profitability? ME: You have a point. Did this one go up even further? Did you regret clos- ing it? I had let my emotions ruin the trade. I had picked If it got that high, it would be the first time in three years that it reached that level. It would stop there for sure. ME: Did it get there?
If I had held on, I could have made a lot more on that trade. I would have had to hold it for four more months, but I would have made an additional thirty million dollars on this trade alone. Forget a round of applause.
I would have been promoted to managing director or something wild like that. It would have been a monster trade. I really stepped on my own foot on that one. Ride your profits, Harry. Learn to ride your profits see Figure 5. In a furious mo- ment of insanity, I pushed buttons on my keyboard, letting my heart do all the trading. ME: But in the end, when it was all settled, this was an awesome way to start your job. First few months on the job and you had made the firm ten million bucks. Making money on my first trade at the firm was probably the worst thing that I could have done.
ME: Huh? You made millions for Ernest Wellington, and you had barely been hired. I could not. Not even close. I lost on my next 13 trades. All of them. ME: Unlucky 13! This was all purposeful implosion of my trading capital. In the next 13 trades, in January , I lost the ten million. And then some. By February, I had dug myself a fourteen- million-dollar hole.
I got bold when I should have sat on my profits. Think about how I made the money in the first place: I planned a trade using all sorts of research. I planned the entry with knowledge of important sup- port and resistance areas. Instead, I built it up over time. It took me over two months of research to put the trade together.
The planning that I put into it. ME: And the other trades? I thought it had some magi- cal quality—that it had been built just for me and was my new best friend. So I took oversized positions, trying to buy it up to I had no idea what I was doing. ME: Sounds like you were trying to get back the position you had before you closed it. So when I started trading again, I wanted to get all that lost profit, and took monster-size positions. What a mistake. I should have done the same preparation all over again.
But I was angry that I had not made as much money as I wanted! I was upset and greedy and wanted more. And then I met my mentor. The greatest trader in the world taught me that the fear of missing out was the second greatest mistake that I could ever make. ME: And the first? Believing that I actually knew how to trade. I proved it when I lost more than I had gained in just a few weeks.
ME: Did you get it all back? Could you climb out of that hole? The year was great by the end. But it was my most difficult year. ME: Can you tell me about that? There were some awesome trades that year. He was obviously still upset about his huge mistake in his first month. The regular charismatic Craig had turned a bit angry, even, and I could imagine how disappointed in himself he must have been. He expressed his determination that I should never make a similar mistake, and I assured him that I absolutely would not.
It felt like the right decision from the moment I made it. I told Craig that I planned to do this. You are doing what it took me a long time to learn to do. You are taking your gains. Good for you. My end of the promise. Is that what John told you? I just thought it sounded like the right thing to say. Benzinga's complete forex trading guide provides simple instructions for beginning forex traders. Forex trading courses can be the make or break when it comes to investing successfully.
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