1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 132 The Aftermath of Victory

Constantine's finger traced lightly across the map.

It was a specially made map of Athens, marked in red ink with newly acquired properties. Cotton trading houses, shipping companies, suburban estates… now, they all had new owners. The aftermath of the Phoenix Hill incident left a deep imprint on the power structure of Athens in a brutal and direct way.

The oligarchs fell silent. Those who had once spoken eloquently in parliament and dictated affairs in salons were now silent. The crown prince had used direct violence to prove who the true masters of Athens were.

The study was quiet, save for the occasional soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Constantine's gaze didn't linger long on the red markings. He looked past the spoils and out the window. In the Athenian night, the silhouette of a building stood out majestically.

National Bank of Greece.

That was the real battlefield. The Phoenix Mountain incident was merely a noisy and bloody warm-up before the real war.

Alexandros Dimitriopoulos appeared silently in the study doorway, like a weightless shadow. He wore a well-tailored black uniform, with no extra badges on his chest, only the royal coat of arms reflecting a faint golden light in the fireplace glow.

"Your Highness." His voice was low, yet exceptionally clear.

"Speak," Constantine said without turning around.

"At the Phoenix Mountain construction site, progress has resumed and accelerated by thirty percent." Alexandros' report was concise and clear, devoid of any personal emotion. "The German engineering team is in stable condition, and Mr. Schmidt is recovering well. The workers' security team has taken over all security work at the site."

"Where are the villagers?"

"All compensation terms have been finalized. The foundations for the first batch of houses have begun to be excavated. They are now the most steadfast supporters of the project."

Constantine nodded. Everything was going according to plan. Carrots and sticks were the oldest and most effective means of governance.

"However," Alexandros continued without changing his tone, stating the next fact, "we have encountered new obstacles."

He handed over a document.

"The payment for all equipment imported from Germany and high-quality coal purchased from Austria had to be settled through the National Bank. Every foreign exchange transaction was delayed, with reasons given such as 'procedural review,' 'exchange rate fluctuations,' or simply no reason at all."

On the documents, each transaction record is followed by a striking red stamp – “Delay”.

Constantine took the document and flipped through a few pages. Every delay was like an invisible rope, wrapped around the veins of Phoenix Mountain's steel heart. Machines could be delivered, workers could be gathered, but without money, without a continuous flow of funds, this massive industrial behemoth would slowly grind to a halt due to a lack of blood.

The oligarchs backed down in the face of violence, but they switched to a smarter, more lethal weapon.

"The British Ambassador, Sir Charles Harding, requests a visit," Alexandros continued his report.

"He's quick on his feet." Constantine tossed the documents on the table, turned around, his face unreadable. "Let him in."

Half an hour later, Sir Harding entered the study. He was dressed in an impeccable London tailcoat, his hair was neatly combed, and he wore a standard diplomatic smile.

"Your Highness, please allow me, on behalf of the British Empire, to express my sincere appreciation for your decisive actions in quelling the Phoenix Hill riots with swift and decisive force and ensuring the safety of foreign nationals." He bowed slightly, his posture elegant and his words earnest.

"Sir, there's no need for formalities." Constantine gestured to the sofa opposite him. "Please sit down."

Sir Harding didn't mind his directness. He sat down on the sofa, and a servant brought him some black tea. He picked up the teacup and gently blew on it to cool it.

"Your Highness, it is a good thing that Athens has returned to peace. But some turmoil has blown from Athens to London." He put down his teacup, his voice gentle yet carrying an undeniable weight. "The gentlemen of the City of London have felt a certain... concern about the recent 'severe turmoil' in Greece."

He used the word "concern," a typical British diplomatic term that can imply either a warning or a threat.

"They're worried whether the investment environment in Greece is still as stable as it used to be." Sir Harding's gaze swept seemingly casually over the document on the table concerning delays in foreign exchange settlements. "After all, a stable currency is the foundation of all business activities. And the value of the drachma, as you know, has always been closely tied to the reputation of our Bank of England."

This was an undisguised probe, and also a subtle exertion of pressure. He was reminding Constantine that even if he could use violence to control the streets of Athens, the invisible reins of Greece's economic lifeline were still in London's hands.

Constantine picked up his glass and gently swirled the amber liquid inside. "Sir, your reminder is timely. I've been troubled by the same thing."

He pushed the document in front of Sir Harding.

Sir Harding picked up the document, glanced at it, and showed a "just right" look of surprise and sympathy.

"Oh, that's a real shame. The efficiency of the national bank certainly needs improvement." He put down the documents and shrugged. "But as you know, banks have their rules, especially when dealing with large amounts of foreign exchange; caution is essential."

"Caution?" Constantine chuckled. "I'd rather call it 'strangulation'."

Sir Harding laughed too. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the outline of the National Bank in the distance, as if he were the master of the city.

"Your Highness, let's speak frankly. Greece is a beautiful but fragile ship, and England has always been its most reliable ballast. We don't want to see it veer off course, or even... capsize, because it's going too fast."

"So, you want me to slow down?"

“No,” Sir Harding turned around with a sincere smile, “we want to help you replace your engine with a more reliable one, one with the technology we provide and the maintenance we handle. That would be better for all of us.”

After Sir Harding left, the study fell silent once more.

Constantine summoned two men.

Finance Minister Spiros Melas, and his economic advisor, Professor Andreas.

Melas looked worried; he had just learned of the National Bank's obstruction. Professor Andreas, on the other hand, placed a report he had hastily completed overnight on Constantine's desk.

"Your Highness, the situation is more serious than we imagined." Andreas's voice carried the rigor and worry characteristic of a scholar. "I have analyzed all the accounts of the National Bank over the past five years. The conclusion is that this bank, named 'National,' is actually just an accounting office for British capital in Greece."

His fingers tapped on the report.

"Governor Stephenos Stretter was groomed by the British. He was educated in London, his wife is British, and his entire family is deeply intertwined with British import and export trade. He doesn't serve Greece; he serves the pound."

“What’s even more deadly is this,” Andreas turned to the last page of the report, which contained a chilling chart: “More than 80 percent of the reserves for the issuance of our national currency, the drachma, including gold and silver, are stored in the underground vaults of the Bank of England. Our foreign exchange reserves are also almost entirely managed by banks in London.”

"What does this mean?" Andreas looked up, his gaze intense. "It means we have no control over our financial lifeline. They can tighten monetary policy at any time, devalue our currency, and cause our economy to collapse instantly. We're like a prisoner in golden shackles."

Chancellor of the Exchequer Melas was sweating profusely. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, he only knew the general outline of these matters, but he never imagined the problem had become this serious.

Constantine listened to the report without saying a word. He walked to the fireplace, looked at the flickering flames, and remained silent for a long time.

The atmosphere in the study was so oppressive it was hard to breathe.

Just when Melas and Andreas thought the crown prince would fall into anger or helplessness, Constantine suddenly turned around.

His face showed no anger or worry, but rather a resolute determination to burn his bridges.

“Since they bind us with the old rules,” his voice was soft, but like a stone thrown into a calm lake, “then let’s create a new game.”

Melas and Andreas were both stunned.

"I'm going to establish a brand new bank." Constantine slammed his hand heavily on the British sovereign-backed "National Recovery Bonds" issuance document on the table. "It will be called—the Greek National Development Bank!"

"We used British-backed bonds as seed capital; we didn't compete with the old banks for existing market share. Our target was those clients they had overlooked—all the small and medium-sized enterprises eager to develop but unable to obtain loans, and the Greek diaspora around the world who still yearned for Athens!"

"We want to use this new bank to build our own blood supply lines outside their system!"

The decision was so astonishing that Professor Andreas's breathing became rapid. He saw the enormous risks involved, but he also saw the infinite possibilities that lay behind it.

"Your Highness, this plan... is very bold, but who will take charge of this new bank?" Andreas raised the most crucial question. "We need a scalpel. Someone who understands finance, has enough prestige and skill to carve out a bloody path amidst the oligarchs and the British."

Andreas is a scholar, not suited for the front lines. Metaxas is a soldier; his battlefields are the training grounds and maps. Petaras is a businessman, but he's more of an executor, lacking the ruthlessness to dance with wolves.

Silence fell again in the study.

Just then, Alexandros, who had been standing in the shadows, silently stepped forward.

He placed a thin file in front of Constantine.

Constantine picked up the file and opened it.

On the cover was a name he never expected.

Alexius Mavrokodatos.

He continued flipping through the files. The archives detailed all the actions of this Fanar noble leader after the Phoenix Mountain incident. Unlike the others, he didn't panic; instead, he remained unusually calm. He quickly sold several of his less important estates and properties, converting all the proceeds into pounds and francs, which he deposited in a Swiss bank.

The last page of the file contained a photograph. It was somewhat blurry, but still clearly showed Mavrokodatos alighting from a carriage and entering through a side entrance of the British Embassy. He was to meet Sir Harding's second secretary.

Constantine stared at the photograph, speechless for a long time.

He slowly closed the file.

The firelight in the study cast shifting shadows on his face.

He did not choose to summon Mavrokodatos, nor did he order continued surveillance.

He stood up, walked to Alexandros's side, and spoke in a deep, clear voice.

"Prepare the car. To Mavrokodatos's mansion. Tonight, I'm going to personally 'pay a visit' to this clever gentleman."

He planned to use a counter-strategy, placing this most dangerous piece in a position no one would expect.