JOHN Kingman, a top civil servant in the Treasury, strode into the meeting room. He sat down, knitted his hands together on the table and started to talk.
As he spoke clearly, and calmly, the five investment bankers sitting across from him could hardly believe what they were hearing.
Royal Bank of Scotland was bust, Kingman said. It was in the grip of the most astonishing bank run Britain had known. Although the public didn’t know, a torrent of money was flooding out, withdrawn by big companies, central banks and wealthy individuals.
Even on the Bank of England’s most optimistic forecasts, RBS would be dead by Tuesday. Unless a government bailout could be agreed that weekend, RBS would be shut down first thing on Monday.
The bankers from Credit Suisse took a deep breath. It was already 3pm on Thursday, October 9. Monday was little more than three days away. Almost four weeks had passed since Lehman Brothers collapsed, spreading chaos throughout the financial world. Banks were dropping like flies. Iceland’s banking system had blown up, while the Irish had been forced to guarantee all deposits. Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium and Italy were beginning to implement emergency safeguards.
AIG, the world’s biggest insurer, had been bailed out by the US government, along with Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae, America’s two biggest mortgage lenders. Everything was in meltdown.
In Britain, HBOS had agreed a rescue by Lloyds TSB, while Bradford & Bingley had been partly nationalised.
RBS wasn’t only the biggest bank in Britain — it had a bigger loan book than any bank in the world, with assets worth more than pound stg. 1trillion. Britain’s financial system was on the brink of disaster, with one weekend to save it.
A day earlier, the government had unveiled a draft plan to recapitalise the banking system, revealing that it would be willing to pump up to pound stg. 50 billion of taxpayers’ money into the banks and building societies over the coming weeks.
The Credit Suisse team had won the brief to implement that plan. Now that they had been brought into the government’s confidence, it became apparent the bailout had to be put into action immediately.
If RBS collapsed, Kingman continued, one-third of payments made every day would stop.
Wages would go missing, bills go unpaid, savings disappear overnight. The bankers knew it would be a disaster that would make the fall of Northern Rock a year earlier seem an irrelevance.
It could even have a more far-reaching impact than Lehman — RBS was about three times the size, with outposts all over the world.
It would be no good just bailing out RBS, argued the Credit Suisse team, led by James Leigh-Pemberton, the son of a former Bank governor. Doing that would simply move the spotlight to other British banks. HBOS could collapse before a Lloyds deal got through the courts. Barclays could also fall into the firing line.
Kingman told them to stick to RBS. For the next three days, a battalion of bankers, lawyers and mandarins crammed into offices and meeting rooms on the second and third floors of the Treasury would have to see off financial armageddon.
Seventy years before, in the basement of the same building, Winston Churchill had plotted Britain’s tactics early in the second world war.
Two days earlier, on Tuesday, Fred Goodwin, the RBS chief executive, stepped through the doors of 1Horse Guards Parade at 5pm, only too aware that his bank was in deep trouble.
Through its American investment bank, RBS was one of the biggest traders of complex credit market securities. Because of its acquisition of much of Dutch bank ABN Amro a year earlier, it was extremely indebted and overly reliant on global money markets.
“The problem was the absolute size of the bank,” said an RBS insider. “We weren’t the most leveraged bank in the world but we were the biggest bank to be that highly leveraged. We had to go to the international casino of the money markets every night and raise a truly staggering amount.”
For several weeks, Goodwin had been appealing for the government to prop up the money markets to help the British banks through the crisis. He’d been backed up by most of Britain’s other big bankers, including John Varley, his counterpart at Barclays.
The debate had played out for days in meetings at the Treasury, involving Alistair Darling, the chancellor, and Mervyn King, the Bank’s governor.
The longer the talks went on, the deeper the crisis became. Rumours of a bailout were gaining momentum.
By Tuesday morning, RBS was struggling with its overnight funding lines, particularly in US dollars. It wasn’t clear that RBS would survive the day.
“In the early hours of Tuesday morning we thought we had time to polish the plan. By 9.30am, we didn’t,” said David Soanes, head of capital markets at UBS, one of seven advisers who had been part of an unofficial team working on a bailout plan for the Treasury. “The drop in confidence in some of the banks accelerated that morning and it was contagious.” Goodwin was ushered into a meeting with Lord Myners, the City minister, in an ante-room next to the office of Nick Macpherson, the permanent secretary to the Treasury.
Myners had only been dragged into government a few days earlier but his new office was full of documents, having become the headquarters of the bailout preparations.
The minister was joined by Tom Scholar, the civil servant leading the Treasury planning for a bailout, and his advisers.
Myners told Goodwin that the government would be willing to give the bank a chunk of cash to boost its capital position and ease market nerves.
Goodwin was quietly furious. “No business ever dies because it’s run out of capital,” he shot back. “Businesses die because they run out of cash.”
He argued that his problems were not more acute than anyone else’s. If the government gave them some short-term cash, it would all blow over.
The two men had never liked each other, having been at odds during RBS’s takeover of NatWest eight years earlier. Myners refused to budge.
RBS needed to be recapitalised — and that was how it was going to be.
After only half an hour, Goodwin was ordered out to make way for Eric Daniels, the chief executive of Lloyds TSB. Myners told him of the capitalisation plans. The American was unfazed, agreeing the system needed capital. Yet he stopped short of saying Lloyds needed help. He could see there might be problems for HBOS, the bank he was acquiring, but the idea Lloyds might need capital did not cross his mind.
By the time Daniels left at 6pm, Treasury officials had started to ring the bosses of other banks and building societies ordering them to a meeting that night with Darling.
At 9pm, Goodwin was back in the Treasury, accompanied by his finance director, Guy Whittaker. Daniels followed soon after, with Tom Tookey, his financial director. After one more private meeting each they were sent off to prepare to see the chancellor.
By 11pm, every bank boss was sitting at a table in Darling’s office, where the chancellor told them what was to be announced, backed up by Myners, business minister Baroness Vadera, Macpherson and Scholar.
The investment bankers helping Scholar, including ex-Citigroup banker Michael Klein, and UBS’s Robin Budenburg, were there to answer technical questions.
None of the banks could fully grasp what was being said. Goodwin was still protesting that he didn’t need capital from the state, just short-term cash.
“I was astonished at how some of the banks could not even see themselves just how bad their position was,” said one of the bankers at the table.
Most of the officials never got home that night, honing the details over a takeaway curry. They thought they had cracked the problem by the time they unveiled the plan the next morning. But on the day, shares in RBS and HBOS dropped 40 per cent, Lloyds fell 15 per cent and Barclays 11 per cent.
Hector Sants, the chief executive of the Financial Services Authority, had spent the past few weeks stress-testing banks, running through doomsday scenarios, such as if house prices fell another 50 per cent.
Once the government had committed to putting in capital, the FSA tried to determine how much each bank might need. HSBC and Abbey were already dealt with as far as Sants was concerned.
Shortly after the government had announced the bailout plan, those two banks were able to reveal that they were transferring a few hundred million from overseas businesses into Britain — and this was enough to keep the FSA happy.
Nationwide, the biggest building society, said it didn’t need the government cash either.
That left the market puzzling over who needed the pound stg. 50bn. Sants was asking the same questions — as was the Bank and the Treasury, backed up by its advisers.
At Barclays, John Varley spoke often to Sants, running through the assets he could sell. He reminded the regulators that the bank had rich friends in the Middle East who had bought shares only a few months earlier at short notice. Sants was not convinced.
At Lloyds, Daniels and his chairman, Victor Blank, were falling over themselves to explain why HBOS needed help — and that they should be allowed to renegotiate their merger. HBOS was starting to crumble under the pressure of it all.
Chief executive Andy Hornby and chairman Lord Stevenson had gone through the wringer already to agree to the deal with Lloyds.
In the markets, RBS was still being torn limb from limb. Although the proposed bailout had helped to shore up confidence, RBS was living on handouts from the Bank of England and the US Federal Reserve.
The bank was preparing for the worst, arguing that the size of the bailout should rise from pound stg. 50bn to more like pound stg. 75bn.
“It was obvious that for both RBS and HBOS we had to fix their problems by the Monday morning,” said Sants. “We made a decision at the tri-partite level, between the FSA, the Bank of England and the Treasury, that it wouldn’t be sufficient simply to recapitalise the two weakened institutions.
“We were worried about the knock-on effect. We knew we had to be able to stand up on the Monday and say that all the banks were properly capitalised.”
By Saturday morning, Goodwin had been ousted by the RBS board but was still negotiating on behalf of the bank. At 9am he was told that the government would plough up to pound stg. 20bn into the bank by a rights issue and some expensive preference shares paying a 12 per cent coupon to the government. It would give the taxpayer a stake in the bank of about 60 per cent.
Tom McKillop, then chairman, was incredulous. Goodwin accepted the news in ashen-faced disbelief. Even the Treasury officials were not sure they could pull it off.
“The basic message was: your bank needs radical action taken, we require a credible solution by Monday, this is our view of your capital position and we are going to force you to take these actions,” Sants said.
At RBS’s offices on Bishopsgate, senior executives were being grilled on their exposures by Credit Suisse. The numbers weren’t pretty but they knew what they were, down to the last penny.
RBS was dead but the funeral arrangements were being conducted with dignity. The only big item to be signed off was Goodwin’s pension.
Sorting out HBOS proved tougher. The risky loans in the corporate lending division run by Peter Cummings were often structured in labyrinthine ways. On the Friday, Hornby had considered pulling out of the Lloyds merger to see if HBOS could go it alone but his advisers told him there was little point. His options were to see the bank nationalised or hope for the best with Lloyds. But Lloyds had yet to realise what was happening.
Eric Daniels exploded with rage. It was Saturday morning and he was in the Treasury once again. When he left his office the night before, he thought he had left behind a conservative, risk-averse institution with no need of state aid. Now he was being told he would have to accept the government as an investor. They had yet to finalise the numbers but the message was clear: Lloyds would need government capital irrespective of what happened to HBOS.
Daniels had thought he was in the government’s good books. He’d offered a solution for one of two problem banks by agreeing to save HBOS. So far as he and his chairman Blank, were concerned, the authorities had changed their tune overnight.
Kingman and Myners explained Lloyds would not be able to pay bonuses to executives or dividends. “There was no swearing,” said one insider. “But it got pretty heated.”
By early afternoon, Treasury officials were inside Lloyds’ Gresham Street headquarters, paving the ground for a taxpayer intervention. They were running two sets of numbers — one for Lloyds as a standalone entity, one for Lloyds and HBOS combined — with teams shuttling back and forth between the Treasury and Lloyds.
Separate teams in the Treasury were working on Lloyds, HBOS and RBS. Myners and Vadera were flitting between all three.
“This whole process was a bit like herding cats,” said one adviser. “Myners, Scholar and Kingman were doing most of the government’s hard negotiating but Shriti Vadera was very good at the cat-herding.”
Although Myners had been trying to persuade Barclays to come to the Treasury, Varley had insisted on staying at Canary Wharf, where he had his executives round him. Myners didn’t have time to argue.
Back at the Treasury, it was the third night with next to no sleep.
Food was hard to come by, with the Treasury kitchen supplying no more than dried-out sandwiches, biscuits and a handful of grapes. “All the Treasury guys had their own mugs hidden under the desk,” said one of the advisers.
The high-rolling bankers began to realise that when the civil servants all scurried off, it meant someone had ordered a takeaway. One banker admitted rescuing pizza from the bin.
Lots of big issues were still to be decided. Stephen Hester had been approached to replace Goodwin but wanted a cast-iron guarantee he could run RBS as a commercial organisation. That prompted the creation of UK Financial Investments to run the Treasury’s investments at arms-length.
Despite Daniels’ protests, the banks also agreed to pay no cash bonuses to their directors that year.
“Is being a minister always this much fun?” Myners was heard to ask Kingman.
By 10am on Sunday, most of the key players had been home for a few hours’ sleep and a change of clothes. Nobody was sure what to wear for a bailout.
The ranks of investment bankers had swelled. Lloyds and HBOS had both pulled in their advisers to lead the renegotiation of their merger deal. Morgan Stanley’s Simon Robey, running the HBOS team, drew tuts from the mandarins for his “tatty” cardigan.
UBS’s Alex Wilmot-Sitwell looked like he’d stepped off the grouse moor in a green tweed jacket.
The arrival of Merrill Lynch’s Matthew Greenburgh raised eyebrows. Although he was there to advise Lloyds, a year earlier he had orchestrated RBS’s disastrous takeover of ABN Amro, one of the reasons they were all there. In Australia, RBS this month completed the rebranding of all ABN affiliates.
Daniels — in jeans, loafers and a crisp white shirt — looked like he had been interrupted on a weekend in The Hamptons. And he was in for another shock.
The tripartite committee had decided how much capital Lloyds would have to raise. At pound stg. 17bn, it was much bigger than Daniels had bargained for. Some pound stg. 11.5bn of the total figure was for HBOS, with pound stg. 5.5bn for Lloyds itself.
Astonishingly, if Daniels decided to break off the merger with HBOS, Lloyds would have to raise pound stg. 7bn, an extra pound stg. 1.5bn. The Treasury bankers said the difference was due to a quirk in accounting rules.
Daniels exploded for a second morning in a row. He felt he was being ambushed, and made no secret of it. “The numbers that the FSA presented were significantly more than the figures the banks expected us to say,” Sants said.
“They didn’t agree with our numbers, with our decisions, but those were the numbers and that was that. All of our forecasts have proven to be remarkably accurate, especially given the circumstances.”
Daniels and Blank remained adamant they wanted HBOS, but they felt their arms had been twisted.
As the debate was raging, Scholar was getting close to agreeing to a deal with Barclays. Varley still refused to budge from Canary Wharf.
By about 8pm, the Barclays team had persuaded the authorities they could raise more than pound stg. 6.5bn from outside investors and had no need of government cash. That was what would be announced the following morning — and they would go on to get an outline deal in place within a few weeks.
That left Lloyds. Day turned to night again. At one point in the early hours, Daniels stormed off for a cigarette. Blank followed to talk tactics. By the time Daniels had lit up on the Treasury steps, his entire advisory team was there.
On the second floor of the Treasury, Kingman was irritated by the delay. A scout was sent down. When he didn’t return, two more went down. Five minutes later, they were all out on the street, conducting the negotiations on the steps in the dead of night.
At the suggestion of a security guard, they filed back inside. There was little time left before the market opened at 7am, when the financial world was expecting to learn what would happen to Britain’s banks. In the end, Lloyds agreed to a deal that valued HBOS at about pound stg. 5bn, a good pound stg. 7bn less than the deal agreed earlier.
At 6.25am, a two-page Treasury statement popped up on traders’ screens, outlining the terms of a pound stg. 37bn bailout for RBS, Lloyds and HBOS — along with details of the bonus restrictions and some token measures to boost the economy. By the end of the day, the FTSE 100 had bounced back more than 8 per cent.
Paul Krugman, the Nobel prize-winning economist, lavished praise on the deal.
“Has the prime minister saved the world financial system?” he wrote in The New York Times. “The British government went to the heart of the problem and moved to address it with stunning speed.”
Three months later, the taxpayer’s RBS stake would climb even higher. For now, however, the banking system had been pulled back from the brink.
The Sunday Times