Originally published April 2015 | Updated June 2025

Sometimes the most defining moments of our careers happen not when we achieve great success, but when we decide what we won’t tolerate in pursuit of that success. For me, that moment came on a late September morning in 1988, on the trading floor of Merrill Lynch in Manhattan.

The Golden Handcuffs of Wall Street

I had what most people would consider a dream job. As Head of Mortgage Backed Securities Marketing for Merrill Lynch, I analyzed complex financial products, accompanied salespeople on high-stakes customer calls, and spoke at industry seminars. Every morning, I used the squawk box to broadcast trade ideas to the New York trading floor and U.S. branch offices nationwide. The work was intellectually stimulating, financially rewarding, and positioned me at the center of the financial universe.

Our section of the vast trading floor was designed like an amphitheater, with curved rows of desks rising in tiers. Each workstation bristled with multi-line switchboards, Bloomberg terminals, computers, and squawk boxes. It was the nerve center of American finance, and I was proud to be there.

But pride, I would learn, sometimes comes before the fall—or in my case, before the choice that would redefine everything.

When Spectacle Became Standard Practice

The incident that changed my trajectory began like any other trading day. The atmosphere on the floor was typically charged with the energy of deal-making and profit-seeking. Then, around mid-morning, something happened that made me question everything I thought I knew about professional standards in American business.

A stripper arrived to entertain the soon-to-be-married head options trader. From my position, I had a clear view as she removed her top and performed her routine. The spectacle was visible to everyone in our section—men and women alike. I had raised objections to similar incidents with my boss before, but they had fallen on deaf ears. So I shrugged it off and returned to my work, thinking it was an isolated occurrence.

But I was wrong.

That afternoon, another stripper arrived to entertain another trader preparing for marriage. This time, the performance took place just fifteen feet in front of me, in full view of my team members and, more troublingly, in front of a visiting female customer—a bank portfolio manager who had come to discuss business with our firm.

It was a late September morning. Everyone had a clear view of the stripper who removed her top to entertain the soon-to-be-married head options trader. The stripper finished her routine, and I shrugged it off and went back to work. My past objections to my boss had gone nowhere.

The Moment of Truth

What happened next was burned into my memory with crystal clarity. The performer was completely naked, balancing precariously on the arm of the trader’s chair while men gathered around, shouting encouragement and making crude commentary. The scene was being broadcast over Merrill’s internal U.S. network, meaning branch offices across the country could see why business had suddenly ground to a halt in New York.

“She could lose a little weight,” came a voice from my right.

“No way,” another responded, “her tits would be smaller.”

I watched as one of the young women who worked for me walked off the trading floor, scooting past me with obvious distress, whispering, “I’ll be back when it’s all over.” Another team member, a devout Roman Catholic, stared in stunned, angry silence before literally burying her head behind the papers on her desk.

In that moment, a profound irony struck me. I had fled Iran in June 1979, escaping a regime that forced women to wear the chador—a black covering that concealed their bodies and hair. The Islamic Republic sought to control female sexuality through concealment. Now, here in the supposed land of liberty, my college-educated male colleagues were paying a woman to display her sexuality during business hours, controlling it through exploitation instead of concealment.

Different methods, same underlying impulse to control women.

The Career Grenade

I realized I faced a choice that would define not just my career, but my character. I could remain silent, protect my position, and continue climbing the corporate ladder. Or I could speak up, knowing full well the potential consequences.

The decision, when it came, felt both inevitable and terrifying.

I pulled what I now think of as the career grenade. Speaking into my microphone, broadcasting over the music to Merrill Lynch’s entire U.S. trading network, I said: “I wish to apologize to the women who work with me and for me. This performance is not an indication of management’s attitude to the firm’s female employees.”

The words hung in the air, transmitted across the company’s network to thousands of employees. There was no taking them back.

Facing the Consequences

The next morning, I stood outside Mike’s office—he was the Head of the Mortgage Backed Securities Department—steeling myself for what I knew would be a difficult conversation. When I entered, I couldn’t help but notice his favorite poster: an advertisement featuring a nude woman alongside a wine bottle and a Ferrari, with the caption “decisions, decisions.” The poster seemed like a relic from a college dorm room, incongruous in the office of a balding, overweight, middle-aged married executive.

Mike’s response was both predictable and disappointing. “You know I’ve always supported your position one hundred percent,” he said coldly. “I wanted to stop it, but your broadcast tied my hands. It would have appeared to the guys that I was giving in to your demands.”

His logic was circular and self-serving. By publicly supporting professional standards, I had somehow made it impossible for him to enforce those same standards privately. The message was clear: my career in the mortgage department was over.

What I Learned from Career Suicide

In the immediate aftermath, I believed I had destroyed my career. The path I had worked so hard to build seemed to crumble beneath my feet. I had chosen principle over pragmatism, and the cost appeared devastating.

But looking back years later, I recognize that moment as one of the most important in my professional life. It wasn’t just about standing up to inappropriate behavior on a trading floor. It was about establishing a pattern of refusing to accept false narratives and unwholesome compromises, regardless of the personal cost.

The Paradox of Standing Up

What I learned from this experience—and from many similar incidents that followed—is counterintuitive: the more tension-filled situations with uncertain outcomes you confront, the easier it becomes to handle them. Each time you choose integrity over expedience, you build what I think of as moral muscle memory. The next difficult decision becomes slightly less daunting.

This doesn’t mean the choices become easy or the consequences less real. It means you develop confidence in your ability to survive and even thrive after making the hard choice. You learn that careers built on compromised principles are ultimately more fragile than those built on firm foundations.

The Long View

My decision to defy Merrill Lynch’s toxic status quo marked the end of one chapter but the beginning of another. What felt like career suicide in the moment actually positioned me for opportunities I never could have imagined. Sometimes what looks like an ending is actually a beginning in disguise.

The incident taught me that we often face false choices between success and integrity. The real choice is between short-term comfort and long-term authenticity. When we choose authenticity, we may lose some opportunities, but we gain something more valuable: the ability to look ourselves in the mirror without flinching.

In a world full of slick bullies spouting false narratives, the ability to stand firm in your convictions isn’t just personally liberating—it’s professionally essential. The markets, like life, ultimately reward those who can be trusted to tell the truth, even when it’s inconvenient.

This article is adapted from “Decisions: Life and Death on Wall Street.” Read the original excerpt, “Wall Street Tale of Sex, Suicides, and Skullduggery,” at janettavakoli.com. Decisions is Janet Tavakoli’s Wall Street memoir of how personal and professional decisions reshaped people’s lives, drove some to despair, and changed the landscape of global finance.

See also: “Review: Janet Tavakoli’s Decisions: Life and Death on Wall Street“