Jamie Fiore Higgins - Bully Market: My Story of Money and Misogyny at Goldman Sachs

Bully Market

My Story of Money and Misogyny at Goldman Sachs

Jamie Fiore Higgins

For Dan, for everything, forever.

T his book is about my perceptions and experiences as a high-ranking woman in finance. It represents my present recollections and opinions of these experiences over time. I have used journal entries, other written correspondence, and conversations with friends and family to inform the content. Ive changed the names and identifying details of the characters outside of my family. Many of the Goldman Sachs individuals referenced are composite characters, no clients are identified, and no business deals or other nonpublic matters are discussed. While all of this did happen to me, the timing of some events has been compressed. Where dialogue appears, my intention was to re-create the essence of the conversations rather than provide verbatim quotes.

2016

T he money hit, I said, pointing to the credit in the online ledger. My husband, Dan, stood over my shoulder as I sat at the kitchen table. This early in the morning, the room was quiet, the kids still asleep. I felt his warm breath on my neck and smelled the coffee brewing on the counter.

Congratulations, he said. You ready to leave? I looked at the new balance in my account. Even though it was late January, it was Christmas morning at Goldman Sachs. Our yearly bonuses had been paid overnight.

This was a huge windfall, a sinful excess. I knew I worked hard, but so did many others. I felt guilty making so muchforty times more than my cleaning person, twenty times more than my kids teachers, and ten times more than my doctor. My income covered me with a mix of satisfaction and shame.

I also knew my bonus wasnt without strings. Goldman wanted even more from me. The bonus was a carrot and my managing director (MD) title, although Id earned it years before, was an IOU. Only the top 8 percent of Goldman employees achieved this rank, and the firm expected more from me than ever. I owed them my days, nights, and life. If I chose to stay, today started another year. Another 365 days of hardly seeing my family, another 365 days of working in a culture where those in power created a racist, sexist, and intolerant environment, another 365 days where the Goldman gods would dangle the next bonus over my head. No amount of money was worth it. Id almost lost my family in the process of getting to where I was, and I very nearly lost myself.

Todays the day, I declared.

Theyll be shocked, Dan observed as the ice-covered branches of the sycamore outside tapped against our kitchen window.

Maybe, I said, but therell be a dozen guys chomping at the bit for my job. I couldnt blame them, Goldman was a kill-or-be-killed world, and my departure would be someones golden opportunity. One would take my place, but none would resemble me in the slightest, except for probably being white. My replacement would inevitably be single, male, childless. As a womana mom of four, no lessI had never fit their mold.

Lets just review the sheet one last time, I tried to reassure myself. Dan sat next to me at the table as I pulled up the financial planning spreadsheet we dubbed the Spreadsheet of Freedom. Id calculated everything wed need to supplement Dans income as he built his business. I was hard-wired to imagine catastrophe, something my husband of twelve years knew well. He patiently read out our expenses, line by line, and went over our Plan B and Plan C, in case we were hit with something unexpected. The spreadsheet was bulletproof. I had my freedom, if only I had the guts to take it. You can only leave Goldman once echoed in my head, the refrain Id heard countless times during my eighteen-year career there.

With a little distance, I would come to realize that I was just the candidate to fall for this warped world. Starting my career at Goldman without any connections, I felt pressure to be financially successful for my entire immigrant family, for my grandfather who took his life when he couldnt make ends meet, for my parents whod sacrificed. And with the cloak of defectiveness stemming from childhood health issues, I was determined to refute any youll never doubts that I confronted, to prove that I was just as whole as the next person. Not only would I show that I could fit into this foreign land of high finance and privileged access I had never experienced before, much less the many types of discrimination I witnessed and then became a part of, I would prove to Goldman and myself that I could climb the ranks to claim one of Wall Streets most elusive and exclusive titles.

But now I finally had clarity to break this abusive cycle, and knew what I had to do.

After years of looking at my life through Goldmans warped lens, after years of tolerating and perpetuating harassment and abuse, after years of complying with its sexist and outdated culture, after years of questioning who I was and what I deserved, I was ready to quit it all. I was ready to stop being complicit in a broken system and instead reclaim myself and my family.

I couldnt rewind the clock and choose a different first job. I couldnt go back and launch a career that fulfilled me and reflected my values. Or start with a role that had more purpose and balance, so I might have been able to see the first steps of my twins, Abby and Beth, or hear my son Lukes first words. But I could enjoy my life and my family now. I could find a new career path where I could make a difference in the world and help and support others, instead of making rich people richer. I could experience the firsts of my baby, Hannah, help the girls with their homework, and pick Luke up from preschool. I was lucky enough to be able to take a sabbatical from work to reflect on what I had just been a part of and have the opportunity to think about what Id want to do next with my life. I closed the laptop and grabbed my workbag.

Okay, I said. Its time.

July 1998

T he elevator opened to a large lobby, where dozens of people mingled in a sea of black and blue business suits. Bright light shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glistening harbor and the Statue of Liberty. I approached the reception table and looked for my nametag with shaking hands. There it was: Jamie Fiore, printed in bold black lettering that announced that I had a right to be here. Id made it to Wall Street.

I followed the crowd into the pantry where breakfast was served. I scanned the room for other women and noticed only a few, with flawless makeup and hair, like theyd just come from a salon. I put a hand to my hair and felt, to my frustration, that the curl had started to frizz from the humidity. My face, with nothing on it but Cherry ChapStick, felt pasty and dry like pizza dough.

With a bagel and coffee in hand, I went into a meeting room the size of a movie theater, with stadium seating and capacity for more than a hundred people. An empty podium sat at the front, and behind it a large screen displayed the Goldman logo. I chose one of the few seats left at the end of an aisle, next to a tall blond guy with a chiseled jawline and bright blue eyes. He looked like an Abercrombie model.

Taylor Hughes, he said. Wharton, Economics. He sounded so stern and proper, like a soldier, but then again, the Goldman Sachs training program was described as a boot camp.

Jamie Fiore. Bryn Mawr, Mathematics, I reciprocated. It sounded weird coming out of my mouth. His large white hand shook mine with such a tight grasp that my knuckles rolled against each other. Introductions done, he returned to his