Hey — I’m David. I’m a Vice President at a mid-market private equity firm based in New York. I’m not an analyst grinding in Excel or an associate doing five jobs at once. I’ve graduated from all that — and now I manage people doing those things.

But let’s not get carried away. I’m not calling the shots like the partners are. I’m somewhere in between — responsible for pushing deals forward, crafting the narrative, handling diligence, and making sure nothing blows up before the Monday morning partner call.

You know those 90-page IC decks that look effortless? That’s me making sure 15 people’s half-baked inputs turn into one coherent story — without missing a footnote or offending a partner’s font preferences.

I start my day reviewing the mess left in my inbox overnight. One partner sent feedback at 1:27 AM. Another wants a “refreshed view” on our portfolio company's valuation. A banker I don’t remember meeting has sent me a teaser marked “Highly Proprietary” — it’s the fourth time I’ve seen the asset in two years.

I check in with the associate:

“Where are we on the IC deck?”

He says, “We’re close.” That means 40% done.

I glance at my calendar. Back-to-back calls from 10:00 to 4:00. I mentally prep to sound sharp on each one while secretly responding to email during half of them.

My first call is with our commercial diligence provider. I ask questions like “Can we get a directional view on churn by customer cohort?” It sounds smart. The answer is vague. I nod and ask them to summarize it in two slides — we’ll make it work.

At 11:30 AM, I join a check-in with the founder of our target company. The partner leads the call. I keep notes and flag the five things we’ll need to follow up on — financial transparency, customer concentration, potential earnout structure, founder equity rollover, and the part where the CEO casually mentioned “major system upgrades” in Q4. That last part? A potential red flag.

Lunch doesn’t happen — I eat trail mix while reviewing the revised LBO model. Something feels off with the exit multiples. I ping the associate:

“Can you rerun sensitivities at 9.0x and 10.5x and refresh the waterfall?”

He sends it back. The IRR drops to 15.8%. I sigh. The partner is going to ask if we can “get to 20 clean.”

At 2:30 PM, I lead an internal working session with the analyst and associate. We walk through the latest version of the IC pack. I give rapid-fire comments:

“Slide 5: move the use-of-proceeds table earlier.”

“Slide 8: change 'strong' to 'scalable' — we’re not selling a gym.”

“Slide 12: add a mini-case study on the add-on we exited last year. Looks better to tie it back to track record.”

At 4:00 PM, I prep for tomorrow’s partner review. I already know what’s coming:

“What’s the real upside here?”

“What are we missing?”

“How are we creating alpha, not just paying up for beta?”

I tweak the positioning memo and email it to the partner with a one-liner summary:

“Draft attached — let me know where you’d like to go deeper.”

At 6:30 PM, I respond to our legal counsel on deal docs. I summarize everything for the associate and tell him what to flag to the lawyer. I’m not doing markup line-by-line — that’s his rite of passage now.

At 7:30 PM, the partner calls. “Hey, quick question. Can we underwrite the cross-sell opportunity more aggressively?” I say yes — and immediately call the associate to reframe the revenue build.

At 8:15 PM, the banker sends a revised term sheet. I skim it, highlight a few changes, and draft a short summary for the partner. The legal and tax implications are above my pay grade — but I know which bullets will matter to him.

At 10:00 PM, I get the “final” version of the IC memo. It’s 62 pages. I read every slide, editing phrasing, adjusting tone, and removing fluff. I send it back with comments like:

“Slide 17 is duplicative.”

“Slide 22: reposition as upside optionality — not baked into base case.”

“Slide 29: remove, or be ready to defend that chart.”

At 11:45 PM, I send the final version to the partner. I shut my laptop close to midnight. I didn’t model anything today, but I reviewed three, rewrote half a deck, led four calls, and kept six people aligned — all without anyone screaming. That’s what winning looks like at the VP level.

This is the role where you become the deal quarterback — balancing execution with communication, pushing hard but knowing when to pause. You’re managing up, down, and sideways. It’s pressure-packed, but also strategic. You own the process now. The decisions still sit above you, but the responsibility? That’s all yours.