The predawn air over Wall Street on Monday, December 18, was bitter, sharp, and smelling of salt off the East River.
By 7:30 AM, a dense, metallic-gray fog hung heavy over Foley Square, clinging to the towering granite columns of the New York Stock Exchange. Streetlights along Broad Street cast long, pale beams through the mist, illuminating small clusters of financial press reporters, photographers, and anxious mid-level traders gathered behind police barricades outside the building of Vance & Sterling Associates.
I arrived in a sleek, black chauffeured sedan.
I wore a floor-length tailored wool coat in ivory, crisp black trousers, and high-heeled boots that struck the wet pavement with a sharp, rhythmic authority. My hair was gathered into a low, polished chignon at the nape of my nec
