The headline is “Broken Promises,” the special report “Duping Main Street.” Words clad in mulberry explain: “Wall Street created $7 billion in bonds for housing and schools. The tax-exempt deals were a ruse; banks and advisers collected millions in fees and investment gains. The public got nothing.”
A large photo of seven children and their mother standing in front of a Pensacola housing project, the matriarch staring forcefully into the camera, illustrates the plight of one Florida family.
The publication? Bloomberg Markets magazine.
The initial effect of this introductory two-page spread is startling, coming as it does from “The magazine for and about people who move markets.” But judging by its current issue, and its relentless 18-page “Broken Promises” package, Bloomberg Markets takes a more expansive view of business news, one that values that seemingly quaint notion of the public good.
In this case, Bloomberg’s William Selway, Martin Z. Braun and David Dietz outline a scandal of staggering proportions, then make their case through exhaustive research and reporting that backs up the splashy start.
Their story begins with Pastor Willie Williams in Pensacola, Fla., as he remarks that the Oakwood Terrace complex of 300 apartments for low-income residents “looks like a concentration camp.” It didn’t have to be that way, as the complex was one development “eligible to benefit from $220 million in bonds issued by a public agency in 1999 to promote affordable housing in Florida.” But, says Bloomberg, “None of the money went to Oakwood Terrace. Not a penny of the $220 million bond issue — which was underwritten by JPMorgan Chase & Co., the third-largest bank in the U.S., and insured by a unit of American International Group Inc., the world’s largest insurance company — was ever spent on low-income residences.”
“During the past decade, local governments across the U.S. have issued more than 70 of these phantom bonds — at least $7 billion of them,” Bloomberg continues, explaining that the money generated by the sale of these tax-exempt bonds should be used for, say, housing renovations or computers for inner-city schools. But “Taxpayers never get most of those benefits; the winners are the banks, insurance companies and financial advisers that get paid millions of dollars for crafting these transactions and then profit by using bond proceeds for their own investment gains.”
This sort of behind-the-scenes scam is possible because these complicated “black box deals,” Bloomberg says, “sometimes contain secret agreements that promise to pay the financial middlemen higher fees if none of the money from the bond offerings is used to help the public. The agencies that issue the bonds buy them back from investors. The money goes untapped, and the advisers keep their fees.”
Municipal bonds might not naturally come to mind when considering financial corruption, but Bloomberg’s writers manage to make this obscure, arcane issue come alive for Street obsessive types and general readers alike. (Our only quibble is that the story is too long, but we’ll take this kind of business reporting any day. Not surprisingly, searches in LexisNexis of major papers, magazines and news wires and in Factiva of the Wall Street Journal and Reuters turned up no relevant articles on black box bond deals over the past six months.)
Bloomberg does so by zeroing in on a number of case studies, from Fulton County, Georgia to Manitowoc, Wisconsin, but for our purposes one example will suffice: the $220 million bond deal involving the Capital Trust Agency in Florida, a narrative at the heart of the story.
An “invisible” public authority, the Capital Trust Agency “consists of three people working out of a ranch house that’s situated behind the police station in the city of Gulf Breeze,” pop. 6,455. In fact, it was only created after Charles LeCroy, a former JPMorgan Chase banker, pitched the idea for the housing bond in question to the city. As “part of a growing national trend in municipal finance,” JPMorgan won its underwriting gig without competitive bidding.