Losing money is one of the loneliest feelings. It was Oct 22nd, 2008. Lehman Brothers, the investment bank, had filed for bankruptcy the month before. The markets were panicking. A thousand people surrounded me, almost all of us slouched in our seats, staring at computer screens. I had eight, all flashing prices of assets that I couldn’t touch, but, oh, I could feel.
I myself was waiting for one price to flash, an interest rate in Brazil. I had bet that rates would lower over time, from 15.10% to 14.50% or so. The size of my bet was 20,000 USD for every one hundredth of a percent (or 20k per basis point). A move from 15.10% to 15.00% would make me 200,000 USD. A move to 15.20% would lose me the same amount.
I sat with a knot in my stomach, nervously chewing a swizzle stick, waiting for the markets to open in Brazil at 7 am. I jotted down worst-case scenarios, and then turned them into doodles. The default of Lehman had unleashed market hell. I closed my eyes. You could hear the markets, a trading floor filled with murmurs and sighs, the cumulative sounds of disappointment.
The Brazilian rate was a tiny yellow box on one of my screens. I had been in the office since 4 am, waiting, trying to extrapolate from other prices, from other assets how much money I would lose (or make). The price the following day had closed at 15.90%.
This day all assets, stocks, bonds, commodities, interest rates, everything, were trading in two distinct camps, going opposite ways. Most prices were falling, dramatically. A full-on Guppy Suck: Prices were spiraling lower like dead fish flushed down a toilet. Money was going into a few lucky assets, safe havens they were called, things considered having no market risk. Short maturity US bonds. Cash. The correlation between assets was approaching one or negative one.
My Brazilian rate started trading. It blinked 17.40%, 1.50% wider than the prior day. I was out 3 million dollars, and I had no chance to trade. No chance to get out at 15.50% or 16.00%. The market had gapped. I got up, shot a bird at my screen, punched it, and then walked to the bathroom.
More here – Scientific American