Henry Paulson - On the Brink - Inside the Race to Stop the Collapse of the Global Financial System

With Lehman’s failure, major institutional investors ceased lending securities for fear that their counterparties would fail and not return the securities as promised. Among the key investors now balking were reserve managers at some of the world’s central banks, which had been earning extra income by lending part of their vast holdings of Treasuries overnight. Some small central banks had started pulling out of the repo market the week before as rumors had circulated about the imminent failure of Lehman; by Monday, their bigger counterparts in Asia and Europe were doing the same .

In a classic “flight to quality,” everyone wanted to get hold of Treasuries, the safest security in the world. In Tuesday’s midday auction we received over $100 billion in orders for $31 billion in four-week bills. The rate on the bills was an astoundingly low 0.10 percent—a drop of 1.15 percentage points from the previous week. The consequences of this flight were enormous to global credit markets.

The sudden shortage of Treasury securities resulted in an unprecedented level of “fails to deliver,” that is, investors who were unable to deliver securities they had previously borrowed. On September 12, the Friday before Lehman went down, these fails stood at $20 billion; one week later they would soar to $285 billion. By September 24 they would reach $1.7 trillion, before peaking at $2.3 trillion in early October—an extraordinary amount, never experienced before, and multiple times higher than any prior episode in history.

Major investors who desperately wanted Treasuries for safety or to hedge purchases of other securities could not purchase them because no investors were willing to lend securities from their portfolios. Major broker-dealers stopped selling Treasuries for fear that they would not be able to deliver the Treasury securities they sold. And without being able to hedge their positions with Treasuries, investors were reluctant to make any further purchases in other credit markets. The credit markets essentially were grinding to a halt.

Over the next couple of hours that morning, I must have made or taken a score of phone calls from senators and congressmen. These were short and to the point: we were doing our best to hold the system together; the bankruptcy of Lehman was regrettable, but there had been no buyer; AIG was a problem, and we were working hard on a solution.

Its impending failure was sending shock waves around the world. Peer Steinbrück, the German finance minister, called to say that it was unthinkable AIG could go down. Christine Lagarde, the French finance minister, echoed his view: everyone was exposed to AIG, and its failure would be catastrophic. “I assume you are going to do the right thing,” she said to me. I told her what I had told Steinbrück—“I can’t make any commitments”—but I assured her we were doing everything we could.

As I dealt with the phone calls, I learned that McCain had gone on NBC’s Today show earlier and declared, “We cannot have the taxpayers bail out AIG or anybody else.” I didn’t want American taxpayers stuck with a bailout, either, but Ben, Tim, and I could see no other alternative, and I didn’t want McCain—or Obama—to use populist language that would inflame the situation. So I called McCain to encourage him to be more careful in his choice of words.

“You should know that if this company were to go down, it would hurt many, many Americans,” I explained. In addition to providing all kinds of insurance to millions of U.S. citizens, AIG was deeply involved in their retirements, selling annuities and guaranteeing the retirement income of millions of teachers and healthcare workers. I asked him to refer to our actions as rescues or interventions, not bailouts. The next day McCain would temper his criticism, using some of my language, only to be criticized for flip-flopping.

By noon, European stocks had tumbled, the U.S. markets were starting to dip, and the news was about to get worse. Lehman’s failure and AIG’s escalating difficulties had begun to roil money market funds. Typically, these funds invested in government or quasi-government securities, but to produce higher yields for investors they had also become big buyers of commercial paper. All morning we heard reports that nervous investors were pulling their money out and accelerating the stampede into the Treasury market. The Reserve Primary Fund, the nation’s first money market fund, had been particularly hard-hit because of substantial holdings of now-worthless Lehman paper.

Many Americans had grown accustomed to thinking that money market funds were as safe as their bank accounts. Money funds lacked deposit insurance but investors believed that they would always be able to withdraw their money on demand and get 100 percent of their principal back. The funds would maintain a net asset value (NAV) of at least 1.00, or $1 a share. No fund had dipped below that level—or, in industry parlance, “broken the buck”—since the bond market rout of 1994. Funds that broke the buck were as good as dead: investors would all withdraw their money.

In retrospect, I see that the industry’s setup was too good to be true. The idea that you could earn more than what the federal government paid for overnight liquidity and still have overnight liquidity made absolutely no sense. It had worked for so long only because people didn’t ask for their money. But when Lehman failed, people started to ask.

Around 1:00 p.m., Bill Osborn, the chairman of Northern Trust and a good friend from Chicago, called with a firsthand report. “I hate to bother you, Hank,” he said. “But there is no liquidity in the markets. The commercial paper market is frozen.”

Bill proceeded to tell me about problems he was having with his money market funds. Because the market for commercial paper had seized up, the funds were under real pressure from withdrawals, and he was looking for ways to avoid breaking the buck. He was working on a way the parent company could support the funds financially without taking the obligation on its balance sheet. But this solution required accounting relief. He’d already called the SEC but wanted to let me know of the looming problem.

I told Bill that I was focused on AIG, but that the Fed was working on a number of liquidity programs to get people to start buying paper again.

“They can’t come soon enough,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Nor had I. Begun as an alternative to banks for U.S. consumers, money funds had more than 30 million retail customers. In recent years, the business had become increasingly corporate—and global. Companies used the funds for their cash management needs, and money poured in from overseas investors—Singaporeans, British, and Chinese—eager to get a little more yield than on straight Treasuries.

This kind of money was “hot,” likely to flee at the first sign of trouble, and I feared the start of a run on the $3.5 trillion industry, which provided so much critical short-term funding to U.S. companies. I immediately thought of my meeting with Jeff Immelt the day before, and his trouble selling commercial paper. I called Chris Cox, who told me that he was aware of the accounting issue; his accounting policy people were already working on it, but there was no obvious solution.

Tim, Ben, and I spoke throughout the day so Tim could keep us updated on the size of the AIG problem. We had a President’s Working Group meeting set for 3:30 p.m. When I arrived at the Roosevelt Room, the president, the vice president, and my fellow members of the PWG, with the exception of Tim, were all there. I outlined AIG’s dire situation, detailing the incompetence of its management and the need to prevent its collapse, given its worldwide financial products and the number of money market and pension funds that held its commercial paper.