hedge fund managers

At least one person isn’t happy about the pending insider trading settlement between the government and SAC Capital Advisors LP and isn’t afraid to make that known — anonymously. In an anonymous email to U.S. District Judge Laura Taylor Swain, who is presiding over the criminal portion of SAC’s settlement, the critic had harsh words for the Justice Department and SAC’s billionaire founder Steven A. Cohen. “LTS, you must be tough like [Judge] Rakoff, kill the plea deal now that SAC trader Mathew Martoma is convicted to force DoJ to put Steve Cohen behind bars,” the person wrote. “His billions were made by insider trading and stolen from investors.” [WSJ]

*Assuming you can’t get them imported to the joint.

Even better than the last time he asked, when the only thing that happened was the opposite of what he wanted, and cost him a large sum of money. Read more »

  • 12 Feb 2014 at 6:19 PM

Ray Dalio: Ninja

“I feel like a ninja in a fight,” Dalio said of the effects of practicing transcendental meditation. “When it comes at you, it seems like slow motion.” [Bloomberg]

Over at Dealbook today you will find an article by Matthew Goldstein and Alexandra Stevenson that takes stock of the government’s futile attempts to ensnare hedge fund manager Steve Cohen, in the wake of last week’s guilty verdict against one of his former traders, Mathew Martoma. According to Martoma’s attorney, his client was but a pawn/grain of sand in the Feds’ quest to nail Cohen for insider trading. While the conviction of Martoma was a win for Preet Bharara and Co in that it brought their record against accused insider traders to 79-0, things didn’t turn out precisely as they had hoped, as Martoma never turned on Cohen by revealing the damning details of a crucial 20 minute conversation the two had over the phone, before SAC began dumping its shares of Elan and Wyeth.

Will Martoma ultimately turn on Cohen in an effort to receive a more lenient sentence? It’s possible, though somewhat unlikely, as 1) He hasn’t up to this point and 2) His “testimony is not worth much to prosecutors now unless he has some email document, or other piece of physical evidence to support any version he would present of his conversation with Mr. Cohen. Plus, the revelations that he attached fake Harvard Law transcripts to his applications for prestigious clerkships did not exactly do wonders for his credibility. Obviously this is good news for Cohen, and adding to the ‘everything is coming up roses for the Big Guy’ column is the fact that, amazingly, people supposedly “still want to work [at SAC.]”

Which brings us to the most important part of Goldstein and Stevenson’s piece: the window it give us into one of the more vital and consequential tasks SAC employees find themselves performing daily: Read more »

Ray Dalio > Louis Bacon > PTJ > Andy Hall

January’s numbers are in and they are… not great. Especially for Andrew Hall of Phibro fame, who, if he is in fact God, is proving the almighty rather fallible. Read more »

Back in October, hedge fund manager Dan Loeb sat down at his desk to pen a letter to auction house Sotheby’s, wherein he informed management that, among other things, they don’t know dick about contemporary art. The Third Point founder went on to list the many ways Sotheby’s had failed shareholders, including “egregious examples of waste,” like a lunch at Blue Hill that cost “multiple hundreds of thousands of dollars,” lost ground to rival Christie’s, its sliding operation margin, and, finally, the continued employment of CEO William Ruprecht, to whom the letter was addressed. Naturally, Loeb offered his services re: fixing the place, writing that he would be happy to join the board and help recruit a few other directors who would come with the requisite “experience increasing shareholder value” and would generally know what they hell they were doing, unlike some people (no names: Bill Ruprecht). Read more »

Two years ago, like a modern day Noah, Nicholas Jacinto arrived at the townhouse of billionaire Phillip Falcone with a menagerie of exotic animals. He carted a sloth, a king snake, a lemur, a marmocet, a hedgehog and a Brazilian aardvark into the hedge fund king’s $50 million Upper East Side home to set up for a birthday party. Jacinto had been hired to provide the entertainment, displaying the rare critters to gawking guests. But before the show could start, city Health Department inspectors swooped in. They ticketed Jacinto, a state and federally licensed wildlife expert, for not having a city permit for the animals, and sent him packing back to his Long Island farm with his tail between his legs. “It was a huge embarrassment what the department did to me,” he recalled. DNAinfo New York, January 21, 2014

Wilbur adjusted the towel around her head. She took a long drag off her Lucky Strike and stared out onto East 67th Street. Phil hated when she smoked in the house, so she’d cracked the bathroom window and had the fan going. But honestly, she didn’t much care what Phil thought right now.

Had she wanted to perform at the children’s birthday? No. Of course not. She wasn’t their monkey and she didn’t do children’s birthdays. But the fact that he’d made the call immediately after their fight felt especially cruel. Things weren’t great with them but she never thought he’d go out of his way to hurt her.

She flicked the rest of her cigarette out the window and stared at her pores in the mirror. Phil used to tease her for spending hours scrutinizing her skin. Lately, though, he hadn’t said anything. Maybe he was no longer paying attention. Maybe he’d noticed the fine lines where things were once smooth, and hoped she would, too. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help but feeling like he was trading her in for a new model.

There was a knock at the door. “Wilbur, can I come in?” Phil asked from the other side.

After all of their fights, the big ones and the small ones, no matter what had been said, no matter how many objects were thrown (Wilbur) or how many tears were shed (Phil), they’d always found their way back to each other eventually. Wilbur was still hurting, but she was ready to hear what Phil had to say, ready to move on. In a couple hours the guests would be arriving, and a little while after that they’d sing Happy Birthday and eat cake, and Wilbur would do her standard, “Are you one, are you two, are you three…” In spite of herself, she was actually looking a little bit forward to the animal display.

She opened the door, ready to reconcile. But Phil didn’t come in. He stood at the threshold, without a hint on contrition on his face or in his bearing. There was no sign that he’d been crying at all. Read more »