xymnovel Chapter 137 The Financial Slaughterhouse
Chapter 137 The Financial Slaughterhouse
The market stopped abruptly just a second before it broke through the 30:1 mark.
Time seemed to slow down.
Then, an unimaginable massive buy order, without warning, erupted like a volcano falling from the sky.
It's not ten thousand, not one hundred thousand, and not five hundred thousand.
It was a torrent of funds large enough to buy the entire Athens Stock Exchange!
The two million pounds German loan, combined with all the funds previously absorbed from the expatriates, transformed into the most primal and brutal purchasing power, instantly flooding into drachma's trading pool.
The short sellers' final, supposedly fatal, £300,000 sell order was like a drop of water falling onto a scalding hot iron plate; it was swallowed up without even a wisp of steam rising.
The exchange rate curve, in a nearly 90-degree V-shape that defies explanation in all finance textbooks, surged upwards violently and irrationally!
29.5!
28!
27!
Inside the exchange, a deathly silence was followed by terrified screams.
"Margin call! My London account has been liquidated!"
"My God! Whose money is this?!"
The market trend can completely reverse in 0.1 seconds.
Speculators who had been aggressively shorting the drachma saw their margin accounts wiped out instantly by the drachma's violent surge.
Telegrams requesting additional margin payments flew from Athens to London like snowflakes.
But it was all too late.
To stop their losses and prevent them from escalating indefinitely, they had only one option: to buy drachmas at any cost and close their short positions.
They went from being hunters to being prey.
Their frenzied buying further fueled the soaring exchange rate.
26!
25!
24!
What was supposed to be a financial strangulation turned into a brutal, epic short squeeze.
Inside the trading room of the National Bank of Greece.
The chief trader stared blankly at the frenzied curve, put down the phone, and turned to Stretter, whose face was ashen, saying:
"Governor...we...all our foreign exchange reserves have been wiped out."
In order to short his own currency, Stretter used almost all of the bank's reserves of pounds and francs.
Now, all that money, along with the highly leveraged funds he borrowed from the British bank, has been completely wiped out by Andreas's bottomless buying spree.
The bank is effectively bankrupt.
Stretter didn't speak; he simply slumped in the leather chair that symbolized power, his eyes lifeless and his face ashen.
British Embassy.
"Snap—"
The crystal glass of red wine in Sir Harding's hand slipped limply and shattered on the expensive Persian carpet.
The red wine, like fresh blood, spread out.
He lost.
A crushing defeat.
His meticulously planned financial coup not only failed to destroy Constantine, but instead sent himself and the financial hegemony that the British Empire had cultivated in Greece for decades to the guillotine.
the next day.
The Athens Parliament convened an emergency special session.
Constantine, dressed in a dark military uniform without any extra embellishments, walked onto the podium.
The entire parliament hall was packed; you could hear a pin drop.
All eyes were on the young crown prince.
Constantine offered neither a passionate accusation nor a triumphant boast.
He simply had Alexandros distribute stacks of documents to every member of parliament present.
Those are copies of telegrams exchanged between Streat and London speculators.
It is an internal fund transfer instruction from the national bank.
This is irrefutable evidence that they maliciously shorted their own currency.
"Gentlemen," Constantine's voice, amplified clearly to every corner, "yesterday, our nation experienced a vile and shameless betrayal."
"The ones who betrayed us were not foreign enemies, but our own banks, the financial guardians we should have trusted the most."
In the parliament hall, the members of parliament roared in barely suppressed anger.
The sentiment is exciting.
Constantine raised his hand, signaling for everyone to be quiet.
"Today, I stand here not to demand accountability, but to rebuild."
"I propose that Parliament immediately pass an emergency bill—"
"First, permanently strip the National Bank of Greece of its currency-issuing power!"
"Second, all its remaining assets, liabilities, and nationwide branches should be merged into the National Development Bank!"
"Third, the reorganized National Development Bank will be renamed the 'Bank of Greece,' serving as the sole central bank of the Kingdom of Greece, ensuring that the country's financial sovereignty remains permanently in the hands of the Greek people!"
As soon as he finished speaking, thunderous applause erupted in the council hall.
The bill passed unanimously.
No one objected.
Faced with this glorious victory, any dissenting voices seem so pale and powerless.
The Greek National Development Bank achieved legendary status in one battle.
Not only did it make astronomical profits from this brilliant ambush, but more importantly, it swallowed up its most powerful rival and became the country's true financial heart.
Constantine, through this war without gunfire, won the most important and heaviest crown for himself and for the country.
The crown of the king of finance.
That evening, at the royal palace.
It was still that same airtight study.
Constantine summoned Alexius Mavrokodatos again.
This time, the atmosphere in the study was no longer as oppressive and confrontational as before.
Constantine personally took a bottle of top-quality French brandy from the liquor cabinet and poured a glass for himself and Mavrokodatos. The amber-colored liquid swirled gently in the glasses.
He handed one of the cups to Mavrokodatos.
"Well done, Alexius," Constantine said calmly. "From today onwards, you are the new governor of the Bank of Greece."
Mavrokodatos looked at the glass of wine, his body trembling slightly.
He extended both hands and respectfully accepted the wine glass.
Bank president.
The real central bank governor, who holds the power to issue the country's currency.
This was a position he never dared to even dream of before.
With his perfect acting skills, he deceived Harding and Street, winning the war for Constantine. And now, Constantine is offering him a "reward"—a position he can't refuse.
Looking into Constantine's calm blue eyes, the last bit of resentment and scheming in his heart completely vanished.
He got it.
He was no longer the Fanar noble leader who could please everyone.
His fate, his family, his honor and disgrace, were now completely intertwined with the young crown prince before him.
He was strapped onto this high-speed chariot rushing toward the future, with no way back.
He raised his glass and bowed deeply to Constantine.
"At your service, Your Highness."
After saying that, he downed the strong liquor in his glass in one gulp.
The wine was a celebratory tonic, scalding and fiery. But to him, it was more like a renewed pact with the devil—a pact of exchanging loyalty for power.
When Mavrokodatos left the study, his steps were no longer unsteady, and his back was straight.
His face once again displayed that elegant and composed smile befitting the Fanar nobleman.
But deep within that smile lay something he himself was unaware of.
A cold and hard texture that belongs to power itself.