Paul

I remember Paul. Everyone who matters in Manhattan finance has crossed paths with Paul—though most of them wouldn’t recognize him if he stabbed them in the back. He’s the kind of man who blends in perfectly—tailored suits, careful hair, the right reservations, the right drugs, the right laugh at the right joke.

I met him sometime last year, I think, at Winston’s. Or maybe it was at Hanoverian, over overpriced cocktails and hushed talk about [REDACTED]. It’s hard to say. These types of introductions all blur together after a while. We discussed hedge funds, the alarming rise of polyester in men’s suiting, and how no one decent eats at Vertigo anymore.