Martin Vander Weyer

A colourful selection of news items this week seem to have a central thread. Elizabeth Holmes, founder of the Theranos fake blood-test venture once valued at $9 billion, was sentenced to 11 years in prison for fraud. Sam Bankman-Fried, founder of FTX, the collapsed crypto exchange once valued at $32 billion, was holed up in the Bahamas awaiting extradition to face US justice. Despite continuing crypto mayhem, Binance – the Cayman-based rival exchange that declined to rescue FTX – announced the auction of ‘seven animated NFT statues’ celebrating the triumphs of footballer Cristiano Ronaldo.

Note to self: don’t sound smug about the sudden collapse of FTX – the Bahamas-based crypto exchange whose valuation has been zapped from $32 billion to zero – because however much it plays to I-told-you-so instincts about the mug’s game of crypto, the episode may herald a wave of wealth destruction that’s the last thing the financial world needs when there’s already so much bad stuff going on. Still, smugness is a strong temptation here – and what could be more provoking of that sentiment than a photograph in the Daily Telegraph of Sir Tony Blair and Bill Clinton on an FTX-badged stage alongside the firm’s 30-year-old founder Sam Bankman-Fried in his shorts and scruffy trainers?

‘Reparations’, much bandied about at Cop27, is a dangerous word. It speaks of an admission of historic guilt, which no one can deny has a place in public discourse. But its intention is to put a punitive price on guilt itself, rather than to advance collaborative work needed to rectify damage that can be traced back to bad acts, whether committed through greed, prejudice, aggression or ignorance. It says, in short: ‘Don’t send us your supposedly superior expertise and your lectures about how to improve ourselves. Just send cash. And keep sending it until your tortured conscience is assuaged.’ But in relation to climate impacts, the argument over who pays, who receives and how much would rage for decades while the damage gets worse and the repair costs rise.

Cop27? Me neither. Barring a last-minute call to join Boris Johnson’s Sharm El Sheikh entourage, I’ll be minding my carbon footprint at home. But I’m sorry not to be reporting firsthand from a more controversial Middle Eastern gathering of the global elite: the Future Investment Initiative in Riyadh, or ‘Davos in the Desert’. A ticket to Cop27 is a virtue signal in itself. But attendance at last week’s FII, an annual showcase for progressive sovereign spending within Mohammed bin Salman’s otherwise medieval Saudi state, is a moral conundrum.

Let’s hope Tuesday’s partial eclipse of the sun was a good omen for the return of Rishi Sunak to Downing Street, this time as Prime Minister. Understandably, he looked more earnest than triumphant. Business leaders and financial markets gave him a positive welcome but – understandably also after months of turmoil, with huge challenges ahead – rather a tentative one. Ten-year gilt yields dropped from a panic-driven 4.5 per cent to a still worried 3.8 per cent, double their recent lows; the pound blipped up, then settled back to its recent benchmark of $1.13. A ‘dullness dividend’ is what money men are hoping for, we’re told, after Johnson’s narcissistic inattention and the crackpot Truss-Kwarteng entr’acte.

I’ve chosen to write about corporate tax rates this week not because they’re the sexiest subject available but because – unlike the government’s frontbench, the value of the pound and the scale of winter fuel bills – they’re unlikely to change dramatically during the shelf-life of this column. An increase in corporation tax from 19 per cent to 25 per cent, originally announced by Rishi Sunak, will go ahead in April, despite new Chancellor Jeremy Hunt’s own leadership campaign pledge to cut the rate to 15 per cent, which would have placed the UK between Ireland and Singapore in competitive tax tables. The uplift will, we’re told, tip £19 billion (based on HMRC’s reckoner of £3.

Where next for house prices? Clearly, they’re going down as mortgage rates go up – and my forecast in May that they would shed ‘recent froth’ and then stagnate rather than plunge, has been entirely overtaken by events, or at least by Kwasi Kwarteng’s calamitous ‘fiscal event’ last month. Reverberations from the Chancellor’s debut continue apace, with more emergency bond-buying by the Bank of England despite news that the OBR-assessed forecast missing from his September speech will now be unveiled on 31 October instead of on 23 November.

Headlines about ‘alarm over CreditSuisse’ might be read as a sign of normality in financial news, rather than the reverse. The second-ranked Swiss bank (behind UBS) has slipped on so many banana skins in recent years that, as I wrote in February: ‘I sometimes wonder how and why it survives.’ As a recognised basket-case, its difficulties are not usually seen as harbingers of systemic trouble. But in the Kwarteng-induced febrile mood of London’s markets, the question has to be asked. This is October, the devil’s favourite month for provoking crashes. Could Credit Suisse be the tornado on banking’s horizon? Amid rumours of critical balance-sheet weakness, Credit Suisse’s shares have fallen 60 per cent this year.

‘Fury at the City slickers betting against UK plc,’ shouted the Daily Mail on Tuesday, after Monday’s mayhem saw the pound hit an all-time low of $1.03. A more accurate corporate metaphor, though less punchy as headline material, would have been something like this… Activist mavericks seize boardroom control of giant sluggish utility. Novice finance director slashes prices, raises dividends for rich shareholders, shuns in-house forecasters and says he’ll borrow whatever it costs. To which markets reply: ‘Blimey, mate, that’s bonkers. So we’re dumping your shares and the cost of your debt just doubled.’ And that, I’m afraid, is an entirely rational response, not a wickedly speculative one.

Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng – keen to sharpen the City’s competitive edge, we’re told – wants to remove the legislative cap, imported from Brussels in 2014, that limits bankers’ bonuses to 100 per cent of their base salary, or up to 200 per cent with shareholder approval. That raises interesting questions. Was the cap a good idea in the first place? If not, why wasn’t it binned as soon as we left the EU? Is now the ideal moment to do so? And are bankers still a breed of greedy bastards? The answer to the first question is certainly not. This column called the cap a ‘boneheaded’ measure that would merely provoke wily moneymen to find ways of gaming an unwelcome restraint on their wealth.

At His Majesty’s Treasury, it’s all looking a bit like Year Zero in revolutionary Cambodia. Kwasi Kwarteng’s first act was to sack the respected but ‘orthodox’ permanent secretary Sir Tom Scholar. Now the FT reports the Chancellor ordering underlings to focus ‘entirely on growth’, presumably at the expense of financial discipline. I’m picturing a locked basement of fearful officials labouring under Kwarteng’s lash to translate his forthcoming ‘fiscal event’ – tax cuts on top of massive spending to cap energy bills and unlimited borrowing to pay for it – into the sort of Whitehall language that might make it sound reasonable.

My predecessor Christopher Fildes looked at exchange rates through a cocktail glass: three negronis for the Italian lira equivalent of a tenner, good; a $2 martini for £1, even better. That latter ratio applied briefly 30 years ago when, he wrote, the favoured tipple ‘brushed against my lips like an angel’s kiss’. It recurred during the financial crisis of 2007-08, when no one was really able to enjoy it, and has never been seen since. On Monday, as Liz Truss was crowned, the pound dipped below $1.15, in sight of its 1985 all-time low of $1.05. ‘The prospect of …parity versus the dollar,’ said Bloomberg, ‘is becoming ever less outlandish.’ What cocktail of misfortunes brought us to this?