1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 133 An Irresistible Opportunity

midnight.

The Fanar district of Athens, like a sleeping giant, is tranquil and profound. It is the oldest and noblest area in Athens, and every stone is imbued with the pride and glory of the Byzantine remnants.

A black carriage, devoid of any royal insignia, moved along the narrow cobblestone road, its wheels wrapped in thick felt, making almost no sound. The carriage eventually came to a stop at the back gate of the Mavrokodatos mansion.

This is usually the passageway for servants and goods, but tonight, it will welcome a special "guest".

Alexius Mavrokodatos was still wearing his silk dressing robe when he was "invited" out of the study. He neither resisted nor panicked. When Alexandros's expressionless face appeared before him, he knew that this moment had finally come.

He simply told the butler, "Prepare a formal suit for me."

Half an hour later, Mavrokodatos appeared in a study in the palace that he had never been to before.

The study was small, with bookshelves reaching the ceiling on all four walls. There were no windows, only a heavy oak door that kept it completely sealed off. The air was filled with a mixture of smells from old books, leather, and cigars.

Constantine was not seated in the main seat.

He stood with his back to the doorway in front of a huge map of the Mediterranean. It was a brand-new military map, marked with different colored markers indicating the deployment of various navies and the locations of ports. He seemed to be admiring a beloved work of art, paying no attention to the person who entered behind him.

Mavrokodatos stood there, surveying the room and the young crown prince's retreating figure. He knew this was a psychological battle; whoever spoke first would be at a disadvantage.

Time passed by, second by second.

The only sound in the study was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.

Finally, Constantine turned around.

Instead of going to Mavrokodatos, he walked to the desk, picked up a document, and casually tossed it onto the table. The document scattered, and several scraps of paper fluttered to the floor.

“Mr. Mavrokodatos,” Constantine’s voice was calm and devoid of emotion, “this is your transaction record from Credit Suisse last week, totaling thirty thousand pounds and twenty thousand francs. And this,” he kicked a piece of paper at his feet, “this is the minutes of your meeting with Sir Harding’s secretary, Mr. Austin, in the British Embassy’s back garden. The contents… are quite interesting.”

Mavrokodatos's body stiffened instantly. He looked down at the paper on the ground, the lines of text typed on it like poisoned daggers piercing his eyes. Those words were spoken by him personally, every single one recorded clearly.

His face turned pale, but only for a moment before he regained his composure. He straightened his back, and his expensive custom-made suit made him look dignified and noble.

He bowed slightly, his posture impeccably elegant.

"Your Highness, you summoned me here so late at night, surely not to discuss my private financial habits, or my afternoon tea conversation with friends."

"A friend?" Constantine laughed, the laughter ringing out clearly in the closed study. "A friend who stabbed you in the back, who used you as a pawn to test my limits?"

He walked up to Mavrokodatos, the two of them very close, close enough that Mavrokodatos could see into the depths of Constantine's blue eyes, where there was no mockery, only an unfathomable coldness.

"You handled the Phoenix Mountain incident very well. You used the villagers as a shield, the thugs as a knife, and cleverly managed to bleed a German engineer in the end, attempting to provoke a diplomatic dispute. Each step was meticulously planned and executed, very skillfully." Constantine commented as if assessing a game of chess. "Unfortunately, you overestimated your allies and underestimated me."

Mavrokodatos remained silent, listening intently. He knew that any explanation would be futile in the face of such evidence.

Constantine did not humiliate him further. He turned and went back to his desk, sat down, and placed his hands on the table, clasped together. He was no longer the artist admiring the map, but a judge preparing to pronounce a verdict.

He stated his intentions bluntly, a decision that Mavrokodatos could hardly believe his ears.

"I hereby appoint you as the first president of the soon-to-be-established National Development Bank of Greece."

Mavrokodatos's mind was blank.

He considered countless possibilities. Constantine might imprison him, might secretly execute him, or might use the evidence to force him to hand over all his property and leave Greece.

But he never expected that his opponent would make such a move.

This is illogical, this is illogical. This is absolutely insane!

Why should he, the mastermind behind the Phoenix Mountain incident, be put in charge of the Crown Prince's most important financial reform tool?

"Your Highness...you..." For the first time, Mavrokodatos lost his pride and composure in front of Constantine.

Constantine was pleased with the effect of seeing his shocked expression.

"What is the best end for a traitor?" Constantine leaned forward slightly, his voice low, like a devil's whisper, "Isn't it to let him shed his last drop of worthless blood for the country he tried to betray?"

Mavrokodatos's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.

He got it.

Constantine was neither rewarding him nor pardoning him.

This is a more vicious and cruel method than any other punishment.

Constantine revealed everything to him.

From that moment on, his identity was that of a double agent.

He needed to maintain a "friendly" relationship with the British and continue playing the role of the resentful, yet forced-to-cooperate, leader of the Fanar nobles. He needed to pass on all the "intelligence" Constantine wanted him to deliver to Sir Harding, becoming a pawn for Constantine to mislead the British.

At the same time, he had to use his Fanar noble status, his intricate network of relationships in the financial world, and his cunning and ruthless mind to forge the sharpest financial weapon for the monarchy and for Constantine—a weapon powerful enough to cleave the old banking system and to confront British capital.

"You have two choices." Constantine's voice returned to calm, but beneath that calm was an unwavering will. "Accept this appointment, become the president of the new bank, and you can keep your family, your wealth, everything you have. You can even gain greater power than before."

"Or," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the file on the table bearing the incriminating evidence of "treason," "reject it. Tomorrow morning, this file will appear on the table of the Supreme Court. Your family will be completely wiped off the list of the phaner nobility. As for you, Mr. Mavrokodatos, the gallows of Athens haven't hanged a gentleman as noble as you in a long time."

Mavrokodatos fell silent.

The study was deathly silent.

He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead. He had spent his entire life playing power games and manipulating people's hearts, believing himself to be Athens's top chess player. But now, he realized that he was already a pawn on someone else's chessboard, a pawn driven to a dead end with nowhere to escape.

He had no choice.

He knew he had no choice.

A long time passed, so long that the flames in the fireplace began to dim.

Mavrokodatos slowly and laboriously bent his noble knees.

He knelt on one knee before Constantine.

For a Fanar nobleman, this gesture represents the highest level of loyalty.

He reached out and gently lifted Constantine's hand, which was resting on the table, and placed a cold kiss on the ring that symbolized the crown prince's power.

"As you wish, Your Highness." His voice was hoarse, devoid of any emotion.

But in the instant he lowered his head, a flash of resentment and scheming appeared deep in his eyes, like the darkest flame in the abyss, gone in an instant.

Constantine felt the cold touch on the back of his hand.

From this moment on, he and Mavrokodatos transformed from clear enemies into the most dangerous and unstable master-servant and collaborator relationship. Their relationship would be built on naked threats and mutual exploitation, filled with constant suspicion.

But he needed this knife. A knife that was dirty enough, sharp enough, and knew his enemy well enough.

The next morning, Alexius Mavrodocatos, pale and unsteady on his feet, as if he had aged ten years overnight, arrived at the British Embassy once more by carriage.

He met Sir Harding in a "distraught" state.

He told Sir Harding that Constantine had threatened him with the survival of his family to force him to accept the appointment as president of the National Development Bank.

The humiliation, resentment, and deep-seated hatred he displayed for Constantine were so real and so infectious.

Sir Harding, upon hearing his "pleadings," felt no sympathy but rather a surge of ecstatic joy.

He completely believed Mavrokodatos's story.

In his view, this precisely demonstrated Constantine's predicament. The young crown prince, with no one else available in the financial sphere, was forced to appoint his most dangerous political enemy. This was a colossal blunder!

Sir Harding patted Mavrokodatos on the shoulder, comforting him in a sympathetic tone and promising to use the influence of the British Empire to help him out of his predicament "when the time is right."

Sir Harding believed he had succeeded.

He successfully planted the most loyal and perfect nail in the future financial core of Greece.

After seeing Mavrokodatos off, he poured himself a glass of whiskey in a cheerful mood.

He could almost see that the so-called new bank, under the influence of the nail he had planted, would begin to rot and collapse from the inside out.

Constantine's overconfident dream of a powerful nation will also vanish into thin air.