You let leak an internal memo on a merger where the acquirer was going to pay a 50% premium to the stock price of a target. A bunch of your mom's friends bought the stock at $20 and were shocked to learn that they (and you) were being indicted and likely convicted of all kinds of bad things when the stock was bought at $30 six weeks later. Have fun dating Bubbah in your new home. Hope you look good in stripes. They''re horizontal, so they probably won't be slimming.
You wash out. You just didn’t have the chops. Maybe you become an accountant or some other type of controller/financial bean counter in some flavor. You live in a small home and wistfully recall the few years you were "in the show." You try not to notice whether or not anyone is listening. Hopefully you develop a decent golf game.
You have an okay career at a mid-level bank. You retire at 50 with $5 million in savings, live a simple life, and spend the next 5 years following The Grateful Dead on tour with what's left of your brain.
You have a great career at SilverSlacks—you are invited into the top few dozen most senior managing directors. You retire with $250 million at age 60 (you last longer at higher altitudes) and have just oh so many options. Your third wife is smokin' hot and you married her on her 26th birthday, just like the first two.
You quit your bank and start your own. By the time you retire at 65, you have banking services globally, a series of hedge funds, and you are in the multi-billionaire class of rock stars. You have a realllllly pretty jet.