Bill Browder: Red notice

But when I showed this «softened» presentation to Wolfgang in London, he was furious.

«What is this shit?»

«These are their options».

«What are you, stupid? They don’t have any fucking options. They have to fire everybody, Browder». He was being a complete bastard, but at least he got my name right.

Wolfgang forced me to delete all the other strategic options, then had me pass the presentation off to another consultant to fix the analysis. BCG wound up recommending that Autosan fire the vast majority of its employees.

We returned to Sanok, and Wolfgang insisted I take the lead in presenting our findings. BCG, the World Bank, and Autosan’s entire senior management gathered in the company’s largest conference hall. The lights were dimmed and I started up the projector, my transparencies ready to go. First, I put out the summary slide about the overall level of firings. The gasps were audible. I then described the layoff recommendations department by department. Leschek nervously translated all of it. With every new slide the shock diminished and the anger increased, and people started challenging me at every turn. The World Bank representatives looked at John and Wolfgang, hoping that they would intervene, but both avoided our clients’ gazes and didn’t say a word. When I was done, every person in the room glared at me. The general manager was notably quiet, eyeing me with a look of profound disappointment.

I was supposed to have been Autosan’s knight in shining armor, but instead I was a traitor. I was filled with a mixture of anger, self-doubt, and humiliation. Maybe Eastern Europe wasn’t the place for me after all.

I left Poland knowing one thing for certain, though: I hated consulting.

Over the following months I thought a lot about Autosan, wondering what had happened and if I could have done anything differently. Communication with them was almost impossible, but later I got word that the Polish government had completely ignored BCG’s recommendations and continued to subsidize Autosan. Normally consultants hope that their advice is followed, but in this case I was thrilled that it hadn’t been.

My only remaining connection to Poland was my little stock portfolio, which I regularly checked. After leaving Sanok, they rose steadily. With every percentage point increase I became more and more convinced that I had found my calling.

What I really wanted to do was become an investor in the privatizations of Eastern Europe.

As it turned out, I couldn’t have been more right. Over the course of the following year my investments would double, and then double again. Ultimately, they went up almost ten times. For those who don’t know, the sensation of finding a «ten bagger» is the financial equivalent of smoking crack cocaine. Once you’ve done it, you want to repeat it over and over and over as many times as you can.

I now knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life — only it was in a field that barely existed. Although the Iron Curtain had been lifted, nobody was investing any money in Eastern Europe. I knew that would eventually change, but in the meantime my best option was to simply stay at BCG — assuming they would let me.

After returning from the fiasco in Sanok, I kept my head down, praying that Wolfgang hadn’t submitted a recommendation to fire me. To my great relief, he was either too distracted or had forgotten, because nobody came to my office with a pink slip. I finally knew I was in the clear in late January 1991 when John Lindquist suggested that he and I write an article together. If I were going to be fired, why would one of the top partners in the firm want to write an article with me?

The piece he had in mind was about investing in Eastern Europe, which we would submit to a trade magazine called Mergers & Acquisitions Europe . I looked into M&A Europe and it appeared to have an almost nonexistent circulation, but I didn’t care. I was ready to exploit any avenue that would help me establish myself as an expert on investing in the region.

To write the article, I studied everything I could get my hands on. I read a stack of more than two hundred news stories and quickly learned that fewer than twenty deals had ever been done in the former Soviet Bloc in the previous decade. The most prolific investor was Robert Maxwell, a maverick 350-pound British billionaire who was originally from Czechoslovakia, and who had done three of the twenty deals.

I figured I would impress John if I could get an interview with someone in Maxwell’s organization, so I called Maxwell’s press office, mentioning the article. They must not have done any homework on M&A Europe , because amazingly I was offered a meeting with the deputy chairman of Maxwell Communications Corporation (MCC), Jean-Pierre Anselmini.

The following week I showed up at Maxwell House, a modern building halfway between Mayfair and the neighborhood known as the City of London. I met Anselmini, a suave, English-speaking Frenchman in his late fifties, and he welcomed me into his plush office.

As we made small talk, I arranged my paperwork neatly between us. But just as I started to ask my first question, Anselmini pointed at one of my spreadsheets and asked, «What’s that?»

«That’s my Eastern European deal list», I said, happy that I had come so well prepared.

«May I have a look at it?»

«Of course». I pushed the spreadsheet across the table.

He examined it and tensed up. «Mr. Browder, what kind of journalist makes an M-and-A deal list?» It had never occurred to me that I might be too well prepared for this meeting. «Could you tell me a bit more about this magazine you work for?»

«Well, I–I don’t exactly work for a magazine. I’m actually with the Boston Consulting Group. I’m doing this article freelance because I’m fascinated by investing in Eastern Europe».

He leaned back and gave me a thoughtful frown. «Why are you so interested in Eastern Europe?»

I then told him the story of how excited I was to be an investor in the very first privatizations in Poland, and about Autosan, and my career ambition of investing in the Eastern Bloc.

When it became clear to him that I wasn’t there to spy on Maxwell or his company, Anselmini started to relax. «You know, your coming here today might actually be very fortuitous». He stroked his chin. «We’re in the process of setting up an investment fund called the Maxwell Central and East European Partnership. You strike me as just the type of person we’d like to hire. Would you be interested?»

Of course I would. I tried to conceal my eagerness, but I couldn’t, and by the time I left, I had a job interview scheduled in my calendar.

To prepare for it I spent the next two weeks tracking down anyone who knew what it was like to work for Robert Maxwell. He owned the Daily Mirror in London, a local tabloid, and was regarded as not merely eccentric but imperious, testy, and impossible to deal with — so I had my concerns.

I found an ex-BCG consultant named Sylvia Greene who had once worked for him. I got her on the phone and asked for her advice.

After a long silence, she said, «Listen, Bill, forgive me if I’m being blunt — but in my opinion you’d be totally out of your mind going to work for Maxwell».

«Why’s that?»

«Robert Maxwell is a monster. He fires everybody all the time», Sylvia said with feeling, making me wonder if she’d been one of the people he’d fired.

«That’s not very comforting».

She paused again. «No, it isn’t. There are lots of stories I could tell you, but there’s a dramatic one that’s been making the rounds. About six months ago, Maxwell was on his private jet in Tampa, Florida. The plane was taxiing toward the runway and he asked his assistant for a pen to sign some documents. When she handed him a Biro ballpoint instead of his usual Montblanc, he became furious. He demanded to know how she could be so stupid not to have the right pen. She didn’t have a good answer and he fired her on the spot. She was literally deposited right onto the tarmac. This poor little twenty-six-year-old secretary from Essex had to find her way back to London all on her own».