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Libor matters because it sets the rate for a range of financial products as crucial as they are terminologically obscure: swaptions, interest syndicated loans, collateralized debt obligations.In its simplest form, Libor represents the rate at which banks are prepared to lend money to each other. High Libor = there isn't much spare cash in the market. Low = take all you want. That then influences the rate at which they will lend to the public—it establishes a base-line for what's happening with interest rates outside of the Bank of England or US Federal Reserve's own rates.The value of the market for Libor has been estimated at $450 trillion—that's pretty-much-everything-sized, which is why manipulating it has implications everywhere. The city of Baltimore, for instance, tried to sue Barclays for their role in Libor fixing, after the interest rates on their loans were kept artificially high by the fix, costing them millions.The extraordinary thing about Libor is not that it was rigged, but that there was ever a time when it wasn't rigged. Libor was a gentlemen's agreement enacted in an environment where everyone was a scuzzy street pimp pounding their a knuckle-duster.The British Banking Association was in charge of setting this global rate, which is why, in a charmingly ramshackle British way that Richard Curtis might have been proud of, all this bogglingly complex trillion-dollar financial architecture was kept safe by a system about as effective as paper locks.
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The trial was a vast encyclopedia of tedium that extended from May until yesterday: days of people testifying about the floor plan in Citigroup's Tokyo HQ.A month in, the star finally made his way into the witness box. And when he did, he wasn't alone. By his side at all times, sat a woman in a suit, her long dark hair tied-off neatly. Occasionally, she would lean in and ask the judge whether Tommy could have a little time out, or whether an ambiguous question could be re-worded. But she wasn't a lawyer.Hayes's other nickname in his early trading days was "Rainman," and it turned out that the pop diagnosis of some bully-boy banker down the pub can also be right from time to time. During the early days of the case, Hayes was been diagnosed as spectrum autistic: He had mild Asperger's. Her role was to make sure he understood the questions—to tell the barristers when they changed the subject too rapidly, or to advise against the making of jokes, most of which Hayes admitted he "doesn't really get."Hayes admitted his diagnosis could explain why he'd kept the same superhero duvet from age eight to age 24. Or his general "obsessionality." "I wanted to do my job as perfectly as I could," he said, about teenage McWork jobs. "It doesn't matter if I was cleaning a deep fat fryer or picking chicken off the bone, those jobs were left to me because I'd do them the best possible."On July 10, as his spirited, often combative self-defense peaked, he broke down in tears on the stand. "I wanted to tell them… I haven't done anything wrong," he wept, before going full Jerry Maguire: "At the time I didn't think about any of it, whether it was right or wrong. People go to work every day… on the train or on a bike… or however they get there… and they do a job. They don't sit and think, 'Is doing my job honest or dishonest?' They do their job."
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