Sixth Street Capital

Sixth Street Capital
I got my job at Sixth Street Capital when I was fresh out of graduate school. Working for the world’s most successful hedge fund (relative to size) was rare, to say the least, though it does help if your research mentor who wrote your recommendation worked there once himself. As soon as I was notified that I had got the job, I packed my things and booked a one-way flight to Chicago.
The secrets of Sixth Street Capital, also known as SSC, have bamboozled investors for years. Sure, they had smart people, cutting-edge technology, and a convenient location in downtown Chicago; but then again, so did any other competitive hedge fund. SSC’s seemingly never-ending economy of scale was the envy of firms all over the world, and nobody could figure it out. Except, of course, its own employees.
Before I knew it, I was entering the SSC building, a tall, blue shard of glass that barely pokes its head into the visible Chicago skyline. Upon walking in, I was greeted by a tall brunette in a form-fitting black outfit with bright magenta trim. Looking around me, I saw several other women in the same uniform, talking to each other and carrying clipboards. It struck me as odd that every single one looked almost irresistibly attractive, and as I followed my guide some of them shot curious looks at me.
I was soon led upstairs to a vast room filled with cubicles. Men all around were typing furiously at their computers, shouting stock quotes to each other, and running to get from one place to another. In the middle of the room was a large, transparent board with numbers and graphs written all over it. An assistant nearly bumped into me as my guide led me to my cubicle, outfitted with a shiny desktop and a bamboo plant.
“This is where you will work,” said the guide, “For further instructions, see Section Chief Mike.”
I thanked her and she went off.
The next couple weeks were some of the busiest of my life. Coworkers were coming and going from my cubicle, giving me assignment after assignment; I had to work overtime in order to get everything done on time. It was as if everyone was possessed by some mad energy, and nobody had any time for a moment of respite from work.
It was a tired and rainy day when Mike found me asleep at my cubicle. He kicked my chair, and I awoke in shock.
“You—you have just wasted valuable time, idling at your place of work,” he muttered angrily.
I checked the time. “I’ve been asleep for ten minutes, I got four hours of sleep last night—” I protested, but he didn’t hear any of it. He slapped a new assignment file on my desk and stormed off.
It was less than an hour later when I got a phone call.
“Hello?” I asked, tired and disgruntled.
“This is Jill,” a cool voice replied. Jill was the secretary to our CEO, Ms. Manhattan. “Ms. Manhattan would like to see you in her office as soon as possible.”
This couldn’t be good. I put the phone down, got out of my chair, and nervously walked to the elevator. I looked at my reflection in the mirror of the elevator and straightened my tie. A bead of sweat trailed my temple, and I wiped it off. This would be my first time meeting the CEO, and on less than favorable terms.
When the elevator reached the top floor I got out and proceeded to a lobby, where Jill nodded at me from her desk. “She’s waiting for you inside,” she told me. I swallowed and entered the double doors to her office.
Before me was a desk in the middle of a large room.