The Story of How I Started a Bank in South America (3)
Two days later, Isabella paid a visit to Eugene University, on the outskirts of Libertad. When she knocked on the wooden door, a white-haired gentleman of advanced years came to greet her. It was James Yonta, son of Abeiru Yonta — the founding father of San Marcos's independence — and a world-renowned scholar of economics. Recruited after Eugene restored Abeiru's honor, he now served as Chancellor of Eugene University, dedicating himself wholly to the cultivation of the next generation.
"What brings the Chief of Staff all the way out to this humble place?"
"I've come to seek your counsel, Chancellor."
"Heh heh. If it is counsel for the nation, I shall offer as much as you require."
James laughed with easy good nature, and Isabella came straight to the point.
"The government intends to establish a bank."
"A bank, you say? We already have a state-owned bank, do we not?"
"Not a state bank. We mean to found a private one."
"A private bank?"
James's eyes widened.
"Might I ask why the state would take the lead in founding a private bank?"
"It is His Excellency's will."
Silence hung in the air for a moment. Only then did Isabella remember that James was American, and she added a further explanation.
"Originally, Wells Fargo expressed an interest in entering the market..."
She laid out the entire affair. When she had finished, James nodded.
"Ah, so that is how it stands. Their greed truly knows no end. You came within a hair of mortgaging the nation's future to them."
"And so His Excellency resolved to found the bank himself, for the future of the nation and its people."
James chuckled softly.
"I can feel San Marcos advancing with each passing day. A most welcome thing indeed."
"It is thanks to people such as yourself lending their strength, Chancellor."
"Heh heh heh. I've done nothing of the sort. I merely teach my students."
James set down his teacup and smiled with gentle warmth.
"Well then — what brings you to me regarding this bank?"
"We need someone to take the helm. Pulling anyone from the state bank is out of the question. They are uniformly incompetent."
"Someone to take the helm..."
"Is there anyone you might recommend? They must possess not only ability, but the capacity to understand San Marcos's rather particular circumstances."
James stroked his beard, sinking into thought for a moment, then offered an answer.
"There is one. A student of mine... an exceptionally gifted fellow."
"What manner of person is he?"
"A fellow by the name of Benjamin Smith. He was the CEO of Silicon Valley Bank — SVB — in the United States."
"SVB... that would be..."
Isabella's eyebrow twitched.
"Did that institution not collapse?"
"It did."
James nodded with a bitter expression.
"It happened a mere three months after he assumed the post. The bad bonds his predecessors had piled up collided with a sudden spike in interest rates, and the whole thing collapsed before he could lift a finger."
"A regrettable affair."
"He bears the stain of having headed a failed bank, but his ability was recognized even on Wall Street. In risk management and systems architecture, he has no equal."
James continued, his eyes filled with conviction.
"If you mean to build a bank from nothing in a place like San Marcos, you will be hard-pressed to find anyone more suited to the task."
"Would you be able to put us in touch with him?"
"Heh heh heh, of course. To rescue a student driven to the brink, and to further the development of the homeland besides — what more could one ask?"
"You have my deepest thanks."
Having secured a candidate for bank president, Isabella added one more request.
"We shall also require staff to handle the bank's day-to-day operations. Would it be permissible to hire students from Eugene University's economics and business departments ahead of schedule?"
Eugene University had been founded a mere year and a half ago. The first graduating class was still two and a half years away — but the need was urgent, so they would pull the students in early.
"By all means. What education could possibly surpass actual practice? As for their degrees, we can always open evening lectures so they complete their studies."
"Thank you."
Isabella allowed herself a satisfied smile.
One week later, at the Presidential Palace, Benjamin Smith sat facing the man before him, cold sweat beading along his temples. An icy gaze. A black suit pressed sharp as a blade. And a chill killing intent that seemed to radiate from every inch of him. This was Director Lucio of the SIA — the man said to rule the nights of San Marcos.
Eugene had originally planned to conduct the interview himself, but a matter regarding the highway construction required him to consult with Tortilla Engineering, so Lucio — a former accounting specialist — was taking the interview in his place.
"A pleasure, Mr. Smith."
"...Thank you for seeing me."
Benjamin swallowed dryly. Lucio set the résumé on the table without so much as glancing at it, as if he had already memorized every line.
"I'll be direct. Do you have any idea why His Excellency intends to found a bank?"
"Well... for the nation's economic development and financial stability, I would assume?"
Benjamin offered the textbook answer. Lucio's lips curled into a thin, unpleasant smile.
"Wrong."
"I beg your pardon?"
"There's no way His Excellency summoned a financial technician of your caliber just to pursue some soft little policy like that. If that were the goal, he'd have brought in just anyone."
Lucio leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper.
"Control...?"
"Right now, San Marcos's capital is sleeping in the people's homes. His Excellency wants those scattered funds gathered in one place — to be used as fuel to run the nation."
It was a complete distortion of Eugene's actual intent, but Lucio's eyes glittered with the unblinking certainty of a true believer. Benjamin's pupils trembled as if an earthquake had struck them. He already knew that power in San Marcos was concentrated in Eugene's hands. But this was something else — this was a declaration of intent to seize not only political power, but the money itself, and rule as a dictator.
"That sounds as though you mean to take control of the capital itself..."
Lucio stared through him.
"Which is why we don't need a dutiful bank manager. We need a capable, cold-blooded banker who can fill the national coffers no matter the circumstances. Well? Do you have what it takes?"
As an American banker, Benjamin's first instinct was sheer terror.
No regulation. No oversight. Absolute financial power, underwritten by the state itself...
And yet. Having tasted the bitterness of failure at the hands of government policy — having learned, the hard way, the logic of power — Benjamin heard those words differently. They sounded, instead, like a chance to send his ruined career soaring into the heavens.
Why had SVB collapsed a mere three months after he took office? A sudden hike in interest rates had sent the bank's bond holdings into freefall, triggering a massive run. In other words, the government itself had laid the kindling for the collapse.
But this place was different.
If I can be on the same side as the government...?
There was no way he could fail.
"You've heard the terms, I'm sure. The salary is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Pocket change compared to Wall Street. In exchange, we'll provide stock options."
Lucio said this with his chin raised, well aware of what that figure meant.
"The salary doesn't matter."
Benjamin shook his head. Money could be invested and grown. And stock options in a bank that was guaranteed to succeed — those were worth a fortune. What he needed right now was a vast canvas on which to paint his ambition.
"What I need is authority. Give me full power to design the financial system however I see fit."
"So long as you do not go against His Excellency's will, every authority will rest in your hands."
"Agreed."
Something shifted in Benjamin's eyes.
"There's one more condition."
"What is it?"
"I have a team that moved with me. They're the best in their fields, but they've had nowhere to go since SVB collapsed."
"And what do you intend to do with them?"
"I can't build a system alone. I need specialists in every field. Those people would be an enormous help. If the salaries are a burden, you can cut mine."
Hearing that, Lucio's mouth curved in satisfaction.
"There's no need to cut your salary. The more hounds you bring to a hunt, the better. Bring as many as you like."
"Thank you."
Lucio rose from his seat and offered Benjamin his hand.
"I'll give it everything I have."
The two men's hands clasped.
It was the moment a cartel of politics and finance was born in San Marcos.
Under Benjamin's command, the work of founding the bank proceeded at breakneck speed. The bank's name was Tortilla Bank. In exchange for providing the initial capital and guaranteeing deposits, Tortilla Company would hold one hundred percent of the shares.
Benjamin and the team he had brought with him worked through the nights building the bank's systems. They brought in hundreds of computers, constructed the IT infrastructure, and trained the university students still studying at Eugene University.
"We'll open the headquarters and ten branches in downtown Libertad simultaneously. Station mobile truck branches at every highway construction site, and open a branch in front of the northern oil refinery as well!"
The preparations were perfect. And then came the long-awaited opening day, at Tortilla Bank headquarters in Libertad's central plaza. As nine o'clock — opening hour — drew near, Benjamin and his executives stared out the window, their faces taut with tension.
"Don't get your hopes too high, sir."
The head of risk management said it worriedly.
"This is the first private bank in a developing country under a dictatorship. Public trust is going to be at rock bottom. If first-day deposits even break a hundred thousand dollars, it'll be a miracle."
"I know. Nobody gets full on the first bite. We'll just have to build trust, little by little."
Benjamin, too, had emptied himself of expectations. No matter how much they had advertised, people who had used nothing but cash their entire lives were not going to cross a bank's threshold overnight. From here on, they would have to accumulate trust, steadily, if they were going to complete the mission.
"All right. Let's open for business."
At Benjamin's word, the shutters of every branch rolled up, and the bank's doors swung wide. Nine o'clock exactly. As expected, no one came in.
But after an hour, people began to trickle through the doors. By the two-hour mark the bank was packed, and then, at three hours...
"Huh?"
A line began to stretch not just in front of the bank, but down the entire boulevard.
"The door's open! Don't push!"
"Me first! I was here first!"
"Please, just take my money!"
In the people's hands were crumpled wads of dollar bills and heavy bundles. From marketplace vendors to mothers with babies on their backs, laborers in work clothes, old men leaning on canes — people of every age and walk of life began pouring in like a flood.
"Shut up! Take my money!"
Benjamin and his Wall Street elites stared at the scene, their faces gone slack.
"W-what is this...?"
A reverse bank run was unfolding before them — the complete inversion of the catastrophe they had witnessed in the final hours of SVB.
"What are you standing around for?! Get to the counters! Take the money!"
With Benjamin's scream of an order, Tortilla Bank's first day of business began.