Traders had an anxious life; they’d spend the day shouting into a phone, hollering across the room, and nervously eyeballing a computer screen. The Arbitrage Group, right in the middle of this controlled pandemonium, seemed to be a mysterious, privileged subculture. Half the time, the boys were discussing trades in obscure, esoteric language, as if in a seminar; the other half, they were laughing and playing liar’s poker. In their cheap suits and with their leisurely mien, they could seemingly cherry-pick the best trades while everyone else worked at a frenetic pace.
