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Federal Reserve documents 15 page


Auctions almost never failed. If there weren’t enough buyers, as happened on occasion, the big investment and commercial banks who sponsored the auctions usually stepped in as back-up bidders. Except in mid-February 2008, when they refused to buy. Many of the sponsoring institutions were wary of adding auction-rate securities to balance sheets already stuffed with other hard-to-sell complex debt instruments. On February 14, an astonishing 80 percent of the auctions failed for lack of investor interest. Issuers with good credit records suddenly faced steep interest penalties through no fault of their own. The Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, for instance, saw its interest rate nearly quintuple from 4.2 percent to 20 percent.

Elsewhere in the market, financial dominoes had continued to fall. On February 11, the venerable insurance giant AIG disclosed in an SEC filing that its auditors had forced it to take a $5 billion write-down on its holdings of derivatives tied to subprime mortgages. (Derivatives are financial instruments whose value depends on the value of some underlying asset, such as a stock or a bond.) Three days later, the massive Swiss banking firm UBS reported an $11.3 billion loss for the fourth quarter of 2007. It attributed $2 billion of the loss to a write-down of its exposure to Alt-A mortgages. UBS’s write-down of its Alt-A mortgage securities forced lenders with similar securities to do the same. Given the level of investor distrust and the vagaries of generally accepted accounting principles, the valuations of the most pessimistic firms and investors seemed to be determining asset prices industrywide.

 

Two hedge funds with assets totaling more than $3 billion, managed by the London-based Peloton Partners and run by former Goldman Sachs traders, failed on February 28. On March 3, Santa Fe, New Mexico–based Thornburg Mortgage, with $36 billion in assets, was missing margin calls—demands from nervous creditors for additional collateral in the form of cash or securities. Thornburg specialized in making adjustable-rate jumbo mortgages (mortgages above the $417,000 limit on loans purchased by Fannie and Freddie) to borrowers with strong credit. But it also had purchased securities backed by now-plummeting Alt-A mortgages. On March 6, an investment fund sponsored by the Carlyle Group, a private equity firm whose partners moved in Washington’s inner circles, also failed to meet margin calls. The fund’s $22 billion portfolio consisted almost entirely of mortgage-backed securities issued and guaranteed by Fannie and Freddie. The holdings were considered very safe because investors assumed Fannie and Freddie had the implicit backing of the federal government. But the Carlyle fund had paid for its securities by borrowing more than $30 for every $1 in capital invested in the fund. It could absorb only very small losses. By Monday, March 10, it had unloaded nearly $6 billion in assets—yet another fire sale.

 

Peloton, the Carlyle fund, and Thornburg had something in common: Lenders in the repo market were reluctant to accept their assets as collateral—assets they had routinely accepted in the past. Until the previous summer, repos had always been considered a safe and reliable form of funding—so reliable that a company like Thornburg felt comfortable using them to finance holdings of long-term assets, like mortgages. Because longer-term interest rates are usually higher than short-term rates, this strategy was




usually profitable. It’s effectively what a traditional bank does when it accepts deposits that can be withdrawn at any time and makes loans that won’t be paid off for months or years.

But Thornburg wasn’t a bank, and, of course, its borrowings were not government-insured. When concerns about Thornburg’s assets surfaced, nervous repo lenders began to pull back. In what was becoming an increasingly common scenario, some repo lenders shortened the term of their loans and demanded more collateral per dollar lent. Others wouldn’t lend at all. With no means to finance its holdings of mortgages, even its high-quality jumbo mortgages, Thornburg found itself in serious trouble— much like a bank suffering a run in the era before deposit insurance.

 

Senator Jeff Bingaman of New Mexico called and left a message for me on behalf of Thornburg cofounder Garrett Thornburg on the afternoon of March 3. (Special pleading from members of Congress on behalf of specific constituents was not unusual and would become more common as the crisis wore on.) When Bingaman called, I was en route to Orlando, Florida, to deliver a speech on foreclosure mitigation at a community bankers’ convention the next day. Bingaman wanted to know if the Fed would declare a Section 13(3) emergency so it could lend to Thornburg and other institutions that could no longer use their AAA-rated collateral in the repo market. I knew the staff would be skeptical, but I was starting to think the time to break out the Hail Mary section of our playbook was drawing near.

 

“Don’t say no immediately,” I instructed Brian Madigan, who was preparing to call Garrett Thornburg on the Fed’s behalf. “I would like to at least discuss it.” When I got back to Washington the next day, I called Thornburg. I was sympathetic. He and his company were caught up in a panic not of their own making. But in my heart I knew that use of our emergency authority could only be justified when it served the broad public interest. Whether the firm was in some sense deserving or not was irrelevant. Lending to Thornburg would overturn a six-decade practice of avoiding 13(3) loans—a practice rooted in the recognition of the moral hazard of protecting nonbank firms from the consequences of the risks they took, as well as the understanding that Congress had intended the authority to be used only in the most dire circumstances. The failure of this firm was unlikely to have a broad economic impact, and so we believed a 13(3) loan was not justified. We would not lend to Thornburg, and it would fail.

 

 

CONGRESS HAD ADDED Section 13(3) to the Federal Reserve Act in 1932, motivated by the evaporation of credit that followed the collapse of thousands of banks in the early 1930s. Section 13(3) gave the Federal Reserve the ability to lend to essentially any private borrower. At least five members of the Board needed to certify that unusual and exigent circumstances prevailed in credit markets. The lending Reserve Bank also had to obtain evidence that other sources of credit were not available to the borrower. And importantly, 13(3) loans, as with standard discount window loans, must be “secured to the satisfaction” of the lending Reserve Bank. In other words, the borrower’s collateral had to be sound enough that the Federal Reserve could reasonably expect full repayment. This last requirement protected taxpayers, as any losses on 13(3) loans would reduce the profits the Fed paid each year to the Treasury and thus add to


the budget deficit. But the requirement also limited the interventions available to the Fed. Invoking 13(3) would not allow us to put capital into a financial institution (by purchasing its stock, for example) or to guarantee its assets against loss.

 

The Fed used its 13(3) authority during the Depression, but only sparingly. From 1932 to 1936, it made 123 such loans, mostly very small. The largest, $300,000, was made to a typewriter manufacturer; another, for $250,000, was extended to a vegetable grower. As the economy and credit markets improved in the latter part of the 1930s, the Fed stopped making 13(3) loans.

 

 

BY THE END of February, I was convinced that we needed to address the mounting funding problems faced by shadow banking entities that relied on repos and commercial paper. Around this time, Lehman Brothers CEO Dick Fuld had urged the Board to include Wall Street investment banks like his own in our regular TAF auctions of discount window loans to commercial banks—a step that would require us to invoke Section 13(3). In a phone call on February 28, Lloyd Blankfein, Paulson’s successor at Goldman Sachs, told me he thought that broader access to the discount window would help both the investment banks themselves and the markets. I was most concerned about the markets. Firms squeezed for funding were reacting by dumping securities and other assets indiscriminately. Everyone seemed to be trying to sell and almost no one seemed to want to buy, sending prices into a tailspin. “Our situation seems to be getting trickier by the day,” I wrote in an email to Tim Geithner.

 

At 8:30 a.m. Friday morning, March 7, the financial markets, already fragile, would learn what we had learned confidentially the evening before—that the nation’s payrolls had fallen by 63,000 jobs in February, the second consecutive decline. Dave Stockton’s staff was now projecting a recession in the first half of the year and little or no growth in the second half.

The jobs news was a tangible indication that financial instability, contracting credit, and falling confidence were seriously damaging the economy. Instead of waiting until the following week, as originally planned, we decided to announce, before the markets opened Friday morning, two new measures aimed at increasing the availability of short-term funding. First, we’d increase our March auction of twenty-eight-day discount window loans to $100 billion, from the $60 billion we had announced a week earlier. Second, to make investors more comfortable holding mortgage-backed securities guaranteed by Fannie and Freddie, we said that we would accept those securities in monetary policy operations with the twenty securities dealers that regularly conducted transactions with the New York Fed. These so-called primary dealers, which included the five large stand-alone investment banks (Goldman, Morgan Stanley, Merrill, Lehman, and Bear Stearns), would be able to swap Fannie and Freddie securities for cash from the Fed for twenty-eight days. The emphasis on mortgage securities was a new twist on the New York Fed’s usual operations, which generally involved only Treasury securities, and its staff had planned to start at $10 billion a week. I spotted the figure in a memo hastily circulated to the FOMC Thursday evening. Relative to the enormous size of the mortgage market, the number seemed


small to me. I emailed Geithner and he agreed. A half-hour later, we were at $25 billion a week, or $100 billion for the month of March.

 

The bad employment report and our new liquidity measures competed for markets’ attention on Friday. The Dow fell 147 points, but, in a positive sign for our newest initiatives, the difference (or spread) between interest rates on Fannie and Freddie’s mortgage-backed securities and the rates on Treasury securities had narrowed—a sign that investors weren’t shunning the mortgage securities to the extent that they had been.

 

 

WE PLANNED TO announce additional measures on Tuesday, March 11. First, we’d increase our two swap lines with foreign central banks by half—to $30 billion for the European Central Bank and to $6 billion for the Swiss National Bank. More importantly, starting in two weeks, we’d vastly expand our lending of Treasury securities from the Fed’s balance sheet to the primary dealers—up to $200 billion. Since 1969, the Fed had been lending a modest amount of Treasury securities, in exchange for other Treasury securities of different maturities and issuance dates, in an effort to ensure that traders could acquire the specific Treasury securities that best met their needs. In a significant new step, we would now also lend Treasury securities against collateral that included not only Fannie and Freddie mortgage-backed securities but also the so-called private-label mortgage securities packaged by investment banks and other private firms.

We’d been talking about such a move for months. The program would put plenty of Treasuries, the most readily accepted collateral in the repo market, in the hands of the dealers and other market participants. The recipients could then take the Treasury securities to the repo market and obtain funding. By helping the dealers maintain access to funding, we would also be increasing their ability to lend to other market participants, thereby supporting the flow of credit to households and businesses. And we hoped that, by accepting AAA-rated private-label mortgage securities as collateral, even at depressed market prices, we’d encourage wholesale funding providers to begin trusting them again as well. This last feature—lending to primary dealers against private-label mortgage securities—meant that we’d have to at last invoke Section 13(3).

Over the weekend, Don Kohn—who was attending a central bankers’ meeting in Basel—paved the way for the expansion of the swap lines and encouraged central banks without U.S. swap lines to announce their own liquidity measures as we announced ours. Meanwhile, in Washington, I made the case to FOMC members for lending Treasury securities to the primary dealers against a range of mortgage collateral. We proposed calling the new program the Term Securities Lending Facility, or TSLF—the latest Federal Reserve acronym. “This is unusual but so are market conditions,” I wrote in an email. “I strongly recommend that we proceed with this plan.” I needed a yes vote from all five Board members. Also, because it concerned the New York Fed’s transactions on behalf of itself and the other Reserve Banks, I needed a majority vote of the FOMC.


I had a sense that we were making history when I opened yet another unscheduled FOMC call at 7:15 p.m. on Monday, March 10. I explained that some of the new market turmoil was a natural reaction to bad economic reports, but that some of it could be attributed to what I called “self-feeding liquidity dynamics.” In other words, fear begat fear. The steps we had taken the previous Friday and the measures we would announce on Tuesday aimed to mitigate or break that dynamic. Bill Dudley reviewed the deteriorating financial situation, mentioning Peloton, Thornburg, and the Carlyle fund, and added, “There were rumors today that Bear Stearns was having funding difficulties.” With nearly $400 billion in assets, Bear was roughly six times the size of Peloton, Thornburg, and the Carlyle fund—combined. Jeff Lacker spoke against the TSLF. He opposed targeting Fed policy at a particular class of assets—mortgage securities in this case—and warned that this precedent would make it difficult to resist pressure from Congress to bail out other sectors.

 

In reply, Don Kohn quoted one of the central bankers from the weekend meeting in Basel: “Sometimes it is time to think the unthinkable,” the central banker had said. Don added, “I think that time is here for us right now.”

 

“We’re crossing certain lines,” I acknowledged. “We’re doing things we haven’t done before. On the other hand, this financial crisis is now in its eighth month, and the economic outlook has worsened quite significantly. . . . I think we have to be flexible and creative in the face of what really are extraordinary challenges.”

 

The FOMC approved the TSLF, 9–0. Lacker didn’t have a vote that year. His fellow hawks who did —Richard Fisher of Dallas and Charlie Plosser of Philadelphia—went along, despite misgivings. Board member Rick Mishkin, who had missed the FOMC’s emergency call on Martin Luther King Jr. Day while cross-country skiing, was skiing in Finland and had missed this vote, too. Before the Tuesday morning announcement, he registered his approval as a Board member for invoking Section 13(3). “This is bad karma,” he emailed. “Maybe I should never leave the Board and then financial conditions will improve.”

 

 

OUR MARCH 11 announcement described the TSLF in technical financial language and lacked any mention of emergency powers or 13(3) authority. (We worried that trumpeting the invocation of emergency powers last used in the Depression would deepen the panic.) But market participants applauded the new facility. They recognized that its creation showed our willingness to lend to financial institutions that weren’t banks but which had become critical to the flow of credit and to the smooth operation of financial markets. The Dow rose 417 points that day, its biggest jump in more than five years. Despite the short burst of euphoria, Bear Stearns stock, already hammered, eked out only a 67-cent gain, closing at $62.97 —a far cry from the all-time intraday high, fourteen months earlier, of $172.69. The stock had plunged in the morning but recovered after SEC chairman Chris Cox told reporters that his agency “had a good deal of comfort” with the capital cushions of the big five investment banks, including Bear.

 

But Bear’s situation wasn’t improving. Moody’s had just announced it was downgrading fifteen bond


deals sponsored by a Bear fund that specialized in Alt-A mortgages. Moody’s wasn’t downgrading the firm itself. Nevertheless, fears that Bear might run out of cash to pay its creditors were spreading. Its eighty-year-old former chief executive, the balding, burly, cigar-chomping Alan Greenberg, told the cable station CNBC that rumors of a cash squeeze at Bear were “totally ridiculous.”

 

BEAR STEARNS HAD been a Wall Street fixture since 1923, when it was founded by Joseph Bear, Robert Stearns, and Harold Meyer. It survived the stock market crash of 1929 without having to lay off a single employee. Over the years, it built a reputation as a scrappy firm that took risks in markets where others feared to venture. During World War II, when Franklin Roosevelt commandeered the railroads to move war matériel, the firm bought up the deeply discounted debt of railroad companies. It subsequently sold the debt at an immense profit, after the war, when it became clear that the companies wouldn’t be nationalized. Bear made a practice of hiring talented outsiders overlooked by its competitors. Greenberg called them “PSDs”—Poor but Smart employees with a deep Desire to get rich. Greenberg, the son of an Oklahoma City clothier, started at Bear as a clerk in 1949, working his way up to CEO in 1978. His nickname was Ace; he was an avid bridge player and an amateur magician (card tricks were a particular favorite). In 1993, he handed over the reins to James “Jimmy” Cayne, a former professional bridge player hired by Greenberg in 1969 as a stockbroker.

 

Cayne, a college dropout, cemented Bear’s outsider reputation in 1998 when he refused to join fourteen other large banks and investment firms in the $3.6 billion rescue of the hedge fund Long-Term Capital Management, even though Bear was the firm that held LTCM’s accounts and cleared its trades. The New York Fed had arranged the private-sector bailout when the highly interconnected fund’s trading strategies blew up in the aftermath of the Russian debt default. Greenberg remained at the firm after Cayne became CEO and was still there, as chairman of its executive committee, in March 2008. Together, the two men had presided over Bear’s plunge into mortgages.

 

Bear’s stock peak coincided with the start of a steep two-year slide in U.S. house prices. In addition to packaging mortgages into securities and marketing those securities, the firm was both an originator of mortgages (through subsidiaries) and a holder of mortgage-backed securities. Its managers were bullish on both subprime lending and structured credit products and invested accordingly. The business had helped propel Bear to a fifth straight year of record earnings in 2006. But the unraveling of its two subprime mortgage hedge funds in June 2007 had hurt investor confidence. As a consequence, Bear decided to rely less on (uncollateralized) commercial paper for short-term funding and more on (collateralized) repo borrowing. Repo lenders would be less likely to run if the firm’s troubles worsened, they assumed. At the end of 2007, Bear was borrowing $102 billion in repo and less than $4 billion via commercial paper.

Bear reported its first-ever loss in the fourth quarter of 2007. In January, Cayne, 73, resigned as CEO. He had often been absent from the office, at bridge tournaments and golf outings, when Bear was dealing


with its imploding subprime mortgage funds. Alan Schwartz, a polished investment banker who had run Bear’s mergers and acquisitions business, took over. He would occupy the CEO suite for two months.

 

SCHWARTZ’S TRYING WEEK turned nightmarish after Monday, March 10, when the firm held roughly $18 billion in cash reserves. By close of business Wednesday its cash was down to $12 billion. On Thursday the firm’s liquidity began to drain away in earnest. Hedge funds and other brokerage customers started withdrawing funds, the firms with whom Bear normally traded derivatives were refusing to transact, and lenders were getting ready to stop renewing Bear’s repo the next morning. Uncertain about Bear’s near-term survival, some repo lenders refused to lend to it even against Treasury securities, the safest possible collateral. The company ended the day with about $2 billion in cash, but by the next day that too would surely be gone. If Bear had been an old-fashioned bank, its depositors would have been at its door. In this new world, the clamoring was electronic, but it was just as dangerous as a traditional run.

 

That evening, an attorney working with Schwartz telephoned Jamie Dimon, the CEO of JPMorgan Chase, to request a loan that would allow Bear to open on Friday. JPMorgan, the nation’s third-largest bank holding company at the end of 2007, was Bear’s clearing bank, serving as in intermediary between Bear and its repo lenders, and thus was familiar with its holdings. JPMorgan countered that it might be interested in buying some of Bear’s financial assets or business lines but made no commitment. Schwartz called Tim Geithner and told him Bear was in danger of not having the cash to meet its obligations and might have to file for bankruptcy in the morning. Tim sent a team to examine Bear’s books, as did Dimon. What if Bear did file for bankruptcy the next morning? As midnight approached, Don, Tim, senior

 

staff, and I tried to come up with something we could do to cushion the blow at least a little. Brian Madigan submitted some options, the strongest of which was to publicly declare the existence of “unusual and exigent circumstances” and to stand ready to lend directly to Wall Street investment banks, a new application of 13(3) powers. It might stop the run from spreading beyond Bear. If the emergency aspects of TSLF had been deemphasized before, here they would be explicitly acknowledged. Tim proposed that we also cut the discount rate by a further half percentage point, bringing it even with the federal funds rate, to encourage bank borrowers to come to the Fed.

 

The news from the New York Fed and JPMorgan teams in the early morning hours was grim. Bear’s balance sheet appeared full of toxic surprises and JPMorgan concluded it would need more time to evaluate the holdings. In the meantime, it told us it could not lend to Bear without Fed assistance. Even with its vaunted “fortress balance sheet,” which at $1.6 trillion was four times larger than Bear’s, JPMorgan was unwilling on its own to stand behind it.

 

 

JPMORGAN CHASE’S ROOTS extended to the earliest years of the United States. In its modern incarnation it was largely the product of the merger, in 2000, of J.P. Morgan & Co. and Chase Manhattan Corp. Chase traced its history to 1799, when Aaron Burr founded Manhattan Co. to compete with Alexander


Hamilton’s Bank of New York. J.P. Morgan & Co. had been established in 1871 by J. Pierpont Morgan, the financial savior of Wall Street during the Panic of 1907.

 

James “Jamie” Dimon—silver-haired despite his relative youth—had been the CEO of JPMorgan since the end of 2005. The grandson of a Greek banker, he had enjoyed early success. (He was celebrating his fifty-second birthday with family at a Greek restaurant the night he received the call from Bear’s attorney.) After earning an MBA at Harvard in 1982, he got his start in finance as an assistant to Sandy Weill at American Express Co. He later helped Weill build Citigroup into a financial supermarket. After the two men had a falling-out in 1998, Dimon rebuilt his career in Chicago, rising in 2000 to CEO of Bank One, the fifth-largest bank in the country at the time. He returned to New York when JPMorgan merged with BankOne in 2004. At the end of 2005 he was named CEO of the combined company, and a year later he became chairman of the board as well. I found him to be smart and very tough. (His heavy New York accent contributed to that impression.) He understood the severity of the crisis early on and was determined to steer his bank through the maelstrom.

 

 

I WENT TO BED Thursday as work continued in New York, slept fitfully for a few hours, and woke on Friday for a 5:00 a.m. call with Don, Kevin, Tim, Hank Paulson, and Bob Steel. I dialed in from the kitchen table in our Capitol Hill town house. Bear seemed unlikely to make it through the day without help. The TSLF, through which Bear could have borrowed Treasury securities, wouldn’t be operating until March 27. We ran through the options.

Tim proposed a plan to keep Bear open that the New York Fed’s general counsel, Tom Baxter, believed wouldn’t require the use of 13(3). JPMorgan, as the clearing bank between Bear and its repo lenders, would be holding a large amount of Bear’s securities during the day. Tom suggested that we lend to JPMorgan, a deposit-taking commercial bank eligible to borrow from the discount window. With Bear’s securities as collateral, JPMorgan would then lend the Fed’s cash to Bear. Our loan would be nonrecourse, meaning that if Bear didn’t repay, JPMorgan was off the hook, and we’d be stuck with Bear’s securities. Basically, the plan was for the Fed to take the place of Bear’s fleeing repo lenders. However, the Board’s general counsel, Scott Alvarez, had a different legal interpretation. Because the loan was effectively for the benefit of Bear, he said, we would have to invoke 13(3).

 

I thought Scott’s reading made the most sense, at least in terms of the spirit of the statute. I put great trust in Scott’s advice. I had always thought of lawyers as tied up in formalisms, but Scott impressed me as deeply knowledgeable and concerned about both the underlying logic of the law and the policies the law was intended to implement.

 

An hour or so into the call, SEC staffers joined but not Chris Cox, who apparently didn’t have the dial-in information. The call continued for about two hours as the sky changed from dark to light. At one point my security detail rang the doorbell. They had expected me to be out an hour earlier and wanted to be sure I was all right. I told them to stand by. Back on the call, Don, Tim, Hank, and I discussed what to


do. Was Bear so large and entwined in the financial system that its collapse would substantially worsen the panic and, perhaps, lead to failures of other major firms? In other words, was Bear systemically important? We hadn’t put Thornburg Mortgage in that category. This was a much more difficult judgment.

 

As always when difficult decisions loomed, I tried to think of precedents. Two came to mind. In 1990, the government had declined to intervene when Drexel Burnham Lambert had gone down in flames amid a junk-bond trading scandal. It was the nation’s fifth-largest investment bank when it got into trouble, just as Bear was in 2008. But Drexel’s troubles were idiosyncratic, unrelated to a broader systemic crisis.

 

Moreover, Drexel was far less interconnected than Bear to major firms through derivatives contracts and other financial relationships. Fed officials under Alan Greenspan had reviewed the Drexel situation carefully and decided—correctly, it turned out—that its demise would not pose risks to the broader financial system. They let it go. In contrast, in 1998 the Fed had judged that markets in the wake of the Asian crisis and Russian default were too fragile to withstand the disorderly unwinding of the large, complex, and highly interconnected Long-Term Capital Management. The New York Fed, led at the time by Bill McDonough, had accordingly engineered a private-sector rescue, without government funds. The hedge fund would be liquidated in an orderly way less than two years later.

 

We didn’t have time to arrange a nongovernment rescue of Bear that morning, but we were reasonably sure that its unexpected bankruptcy filing would ignite even greater panic. Bear had nearly 400 subsidiaries, and its activities touched almost every other major financial firm. It had 5,000 trading counterparties and 750,000 open derivatives contracts. The problem of how to handle troubled financial institutions like Bear has been labeled TBTF—too big to fail. But size alone wasn’t the problem. Bear was big, but not that big compared to the largest commercial banks. Actually, it was TITF—too interconnected to fail.

 

Among Bear’s creditors were prominent money market funds that catered to mom-and-pop investors. We worried about the broader effects on confidence if those funds, supposedly very safe, began to take losses. A bankruptcy proceeding would also lock up the cash of many other creditors, potentially for years. Additionally, the unwinding of Bear’s derivatives positions could prove chaotic—both because of the sheer number and complex features of the derivatives contracts and because Bear’s derivatives counterparties would have to scramble to find new hedges for the risks opening up in their portfolios.


Date: 2016-04-22; view: 755


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