Free Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man's Fight for Justice by Bill Browder

what I wanted. My dream was to be an investor—the person deciding what shares to buy—not an investment banker, the guy organizing the sale of shares. Moreover, the title wasn’t as good as my title at Maxwell, and it came with a significant pay cut. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I gratefully took the offer. I was determined to put my head down and do whatever was necessary to get my career back on track.
    Unfortunately, Salomon was probably the most unnatural place to do that. If you’ve ever read Liar’s Poker , then you know that Salomon Brothers was one of the most dog-eat-dog firms on Wall Street. Tosay that I was nervous on my first day would be a gross understatement.
    I arrived at Salomon’s offices above Victoria Station on Buckingham Palace Road in June 1992. It was an unusually warm and sunny day, and I walked through a large set of wrought-iron gates and took the long escalator up three flights to the main reception area. I was met by a well-dressed vice president a few years older than me. He was curt and impatient and seemed annoyed at having been tasked with greeting me. We walked across the atrium and through some glass doors to the investment bank. He showed me to my desk and pointed to a box of business cards. “Listen, things are pretty simple around here. You generate five times your salary in the next twelve months and things will be fine. Otherwise, you’re sacked. Clear?”
    I nodded and he left. That was it. No training program, no mentors, no orientation. Just do it or get fired.
    I tried to settle into my chair in the bullpen, the open area where all junior employees sat, unsure of what to do next. As I leafed through the Salomon Brothers employee handbook, I noticed a secretary sitting nearby speaking loudly into the phone about flights to Hungary. When she put down the receiver, I walked over. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but I’m a new associate and couldn’t help hearing you talking about Hungary. Do you know what the firm’s doing over there?”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” she said reassuringly. “We all listen to each other’s conversations. I was making reservations for the Malev privatization team to go to Budapest next week.”
    “Who’s working on that?”
    “You can see for yourself.” She pointed toward a group of men sitting in one of the glass-windowed conference rooms just off the bullpen. While I’d been there for only a few hours, I knew that if I was going to succeed, I needed to take some initiative. I thanked the secretary and marched over to the conference room. As I opened the door, the six people on the Malev team stopped talking, turned toward me, and stared.
    “Hi, I’m Bill Browder,” I said, trying to mask my awkwardness.“I’m new on the East European team. I was hoping you guys could use some help on your deal.” The uncomfortable silence was broken by two younger team members, who giggled under their breath. The team leader then politely said, “Thanks for stopping by, Bill, but I’m afraid we’re fully staffed.”
    That was a little embarrassing, but I didn’t let it affect me. I kept my eyes open and asked around and found another opportunity several days later. The Polish telecom privatization team was having a meeting to discuss the next phase of their project. I knew they were getting a much bigger fee than the Malev team, so I figured they might not be so resistant to having another person around.
    When I showed up to their meeting, the man in charge was much less polite than the Malev team leader. “Who told you to come here?” he demanded. “We don’t need you on this or any other deal we’re doing in Poland!”
    Nobody wanted to share their revenue with me because they were all struggling with the same “five times” formula that I was; everybody was simply fighting to protect their turf in Eastern Europe. For several weeks I racked my brain trying to figure out how I was going to survive at Salomon. But then I noticed something