The Banker

He’s an investment banker. I’ve known him for ten years. “Known” only in the working sense, never in the social sense. His bank is one of the banks that works with my company, so when his bank does a deal with my company, he sometimes shows up on our team, and when that happens sometimes I’m there too, and we end up working together. Sometimes closely. For a while.

We’re not friends, but our relationship is always friendly. That’s because he’s a banker, and bankers are programmed to be friendly no matter what. Even when they’re stealing money from you, they smile.

Years ago he pulled a fast one on me, claimed I’d agreed to pay his bank a ridiculously high success fee. We went back and forth, he ended pulling rank on me, it got very unpleasant and he ended up getting a little of what he wanted and that was way more than he deserved and I solemnly swore I would never speak to him again. I didn’t really care. Plenty of fish in that fetid sea. I was glad to be rid of him.

Then a few years later there he was on my doorstep again, all jolly and happy with a mandate from a higher-up in our company (and a sizable fee discount) and suddenly it was let bygones-be-bygones and onward-and-upwards and arm-in-arm all over again. Nothing I could do about it. Might as well smile and enjoy it. That’s how it is with bankers.

Anyways, there’s something about him that struck me from the minute I first met him. Banking is a macho culture, dripping in testosterone, lots of jocks, thick necks, four-letter words. Even the women bankers swagger. He’s different.

Most bankers love a fight. They live for the moment when they can show their client that they’re fighting for them. He, on the other hand, hates conflict. He will do anything to avoid a fight. “Never ruffle a feather” is his motto. Negotiations with him involved can be excruciating, as he carefully listens to every side, trying to find a way to ensure that everyone’s needs are being met, that the word “no” is never said. In long meetings it is easy to forget who he represents. I often find myself cringing in conference rooms as he strains to find common ground where there is clearly none; on several occasions I’ve had to be the banker, shutting him up and being the one to tell the other side “no.” I hate that about working with him.

He’s also insanely analytical. He actually reads the legal documents and fills the margins with questions and comments that drive the lawyers crazy. You’d be amazed how often the lawyers don’t read their own documents. He recrunches all the numbers in the financials and spreadsheets, often finding errors or thinking of different ways to model things. He’s an equal opportunity nudge, attacking everyone’s documents. By the end of a meeting, everyone who’s brought a document hates him. I love that about working with him.

Looking back, I can appreciate now that his conflict avoidance issues may have meshed well on some transactions with my, shall we say, directness issues. I have a tendency to do the opposite of our banker, to cut to the heart of the matter, tell the other side in the first minute of a meeting exactly where they are strong and where they are weak, and tell them how their deal ought to be done. Sometimes my approach isn’t greeted as the refreshing blast of fresh air that it is. Sometimes people need some hand holding, need to do the dance, need to finger their worry beads, need to lie down on the couch and talk to their analyst, need to confess their sins, need to analyze the problem twenty-eight different ways and prepare three hundred different models before realizing that my solution is the right one after all. For those deals I guess he brings something to the table.

But I’d rather not do those deals. Those are partners I don’t need. In the end, I really hate working with him. I just don’t have the time. Life is too short for all his people-pleasing and detail-obsessing. As my time here feels more finite, I’m more determined to cut people like this out of my life.