I’m Kevin, a Vice President at a bulge bracket bank in New York. I've survived the analyst years, endured the associate phase, and now I live in the eye of the storm — where I’m too senior to touch Excel and too junior to skip calls with procurement. My job is part deal execution, part fire control, part therapist.

I woke up to 47 overnight emails and 3 calendar conflicts. After a coffee strong enough to qualify as a meal, I start scanning work done by associates and analysts overnight. Some of it is great. Some of it reminds me that I’ll be rewriting it anyway.

At 9:00 AM, I lead the team check-in. I ask the associate if we’re on track for the pitch. He says yes. I don’t believe him. I ask the analyst about the model. He says, “Almost done.” I ask how close. Silence. I take that as a no.

My phone rings nonstop. Clients, MDs, lawyers, sometimes even my mom (I don’t answer). I join three diligence calls, review a draft teaser, and prep for a client meeting. I also send 12 “Circling back on this” emails.

Lunch? Technically yes. Realistically, I eat a salad while scrolling through a 60-slide pitch deck. I spot a misaligned chart and a typo in the executive summary. I tell the associate it needs “a tighter narrative.” He nods. He doesn’t know what that means, but he’ll Google it.

I jump between internal calls, client calls, and calls where I pretend to be listening. I brief the MD on a deal status update, then immediately re-brief the associate on how to prep for the MD’s follow-up questions.

At 5:30 PM, the client asks for three alternative scenarios by tomorrow morning. I say, “Absolutely,” then call the associate and say, “Sorry.” The analyst pings me to say the comps aren’t tying. I respond with, “Let’s discuss,” and then forward it to the associate.

At 7:00 PM, I review another “final” version of the pitch deck. It's not final. I add comments like “tighten this,” “clarify messaging,” and “make this client-ready,” which is code for “I’ll fix it myself.”

I have dinner at my desk while replying to four MD emails. Each contains one sentence but requires two hours of work. At 10:30 PM, I call the associate. We talk through last-minute MD comments. I say, “Let’s send it tonight.” I mean, you send it tonight.

The day begins with 100 unread emails and 12 Slack messages from the analyst team. Most are questions that start with “Quick one—” but are never quick. While sipping burnt office coffee, I review overnight edits from analysts, check calendar invites for client calls, and prepare for the daily team check-in.

By 9:30 AM, I’m already juggling three things: calming down a VP who’s upset about a missing footnote, editing a pitch deck that “just needs a few light tweaks,” and trying to understand the MD’s cryptic 2 AM feedback that reads, “Needs more edge.”