Paytime | Wall Street

She paused. A trader near the back whispered, “Oh God.”

Julian smiled—not his thin smile, but a real one. “There’s a group at Soros Fund Management. They’re putting together a credit distressed desk. They’ve already called me. I told them I’d bring two VPs. One of them is you, if you want it.”

“Come in.”

Marcus didn’t hesitate. “I want it.” wall street paytime

Marcus left the breakout room in a daze. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and stared at his screen. The revised bonus number wouldn’t arrive for hours, but he already knew what it would say. $1.26 million. He pulled out his phone and texted his wife, Elena: Bad day. Don’t book the renovation.

“You had a good year,” Julian said, reading from the paper. “The Brazil infrastructure desk made money. The CLO desk made money. You personally brought in fourteen million in net revenue.”

The room gasped. Marcus felt his stomach drop. The European desk was led by a man named Henrik Voss, a brilliant but arrogant German who had been the firm’s golden boy. Henrik was standing near the front, his face ashen. She paused

“You said Sterling might not exist in six months,” Marcus said. “If that’s true, I need to know who’s buying us. Or who’s building a team elsewhere.”

“Because you’re smart, and you’re young, and you have options,” Julian said. “I’m telling you because in six months, Sterling & Hale might not exist. Not in its current form. Start making calls. Protect yourself.”

Julian leaned back. “I thought you might.” They’re putting together a credit distressed desk

Then he deleted it and wrote instead: Bonus cut. Tell you tonight.

Victoria went on. “As a result, the bonus pool is being recalculated. Everyone’s payout will be reduced by 40%, effective immediately. Additionally, anyone whose bonus was below $500,000 will receive nothing this year. We will issue revised letters by 5:00 p.m.”

“Fine,” Marcus lied.

The silence that followed was the loudest thing Marcus had ever heard. Then the chaos began. Shouting. Accusations. A managing director from equities threw a water bottle at the wall. Someone started crying—not quietly, but wailing. Tommy, the crying analyst from earlier, simply sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands.

Marcus nodded. He knew the revenue number. What he didn’t know was the multiplier—the percentage of revenue that would become his bonus. Last year it had been 12%. A good year. This year, rumors were flying that the pool was up 30%.