Chapter 59: That Time I Built a Bank in South America (4)

TL: Skye

One month before Tortilla Bank opened its doors. The civil service of San Marcos was in full crisis mode.

The Presidential Palace had handed down an ice-cold directive: not a single person was exempt from the quota. Everyone was to bring in deposits.

"Promote it with everything you've got. Family, relatives, friends, doesn't matter, go beg them if you have to and bring me deposits!"

"You miss your quota, you can kiss your career goodbye and go grow corn on Tortilla Farm!"

"Out. Get out and plaster the streets with flyers or something. Work yourself to the bone!"

Under the Senior Secretaries' bellowing, civil servants ran themselves ragged, soles of their feet practically on fire.

"Elder, please don't just keep your money lying around like this. From now on, hand it over to the bank. They'll pay you interest, you see?"

But the responses were frosty.

"Interest? The hell's that?"

"Money having babies, sir. Put in 100 dollars, and one year later they give you back 105!"

"Bullshit! Nothing in this world is free. You're just trying to swindle me out of my money, aren't you?"

To the people of San Marcos, who had lived their whole lives in poverty, interest was a concept that simply did not exist, and banks were nothing but strange, suspicious creatures.

Flyers went up. Neighborhood meetings were held. Slogans were chanted: "Savings is the only way forward!" And yet the impact was negligible.

"Honey. Apparently they're opening some kind of bank? Says it'll keep your money safe."

"Bah, don't get any funny ideas. What if I hand my money over and they just tell me to go screw myself?"

"True, true... nothing to trust, is there..."

The end result: the existence of the bank had successfully been communicated to the populace, but all it had earned was negative sentiment.

It was right when the civil servants had sunk into despair that the mood flipped on a dime.

9 AM on the morning of Tortilla Bank's opening day.

Having received word that the response to the bank was poor, Yu-jin made an emergency Address to the Nation.

[Bzzt-.]

The test pattern faded and the national anthem rolled in.

Then Yu-jin's figure appeared on the TV screen, and he looked different from usual.

Not a trace of his usual self-assurance. He appeared with hollow, sunken eyes and a gaunt face, as if he hadn't slept in days.

[My dear citizens of San Marcos.]

Heavily, he opened his mouth.

[I stand before you today with a heart full of grief and desperation.]

From the very first sentence, the people felt their hearts drop.

[Several months ago, massive American capital came to me. They said they would lend us money. They promised enormous funds to build highways and run factories. But the price was cruel. They demanded our land, and extraterritoriality.]

Yu-jin bit his lip and pressed on.

[I refused. Because no matter how destitute we are, the moment we accept their money, it is obvious San Marcos would once again be reduced to an economic colony of a great power.]

At the word "colony," the eyes of the people in front of their televisions wavered.

[Even if I must starve, and even if such an offer comes again, I will refuse!]

Yu-jin's voice surged with passion.

[But my fellow citizens, the reality is brutal. We have no capital. Just as blood must flow for a person to live, money must flow for the economy... for the nation to survive. Right now, our veins are empty and withering. At this rate, the factories we built with our sweat and blood may grind to a halt, and highway construction may be suspended.]

Yu-jin, who had been lying through his teeth with perfect composure, stared straight into the camera and bowed his head.

[I beg you like this. Please, help us.]

The people couldn't help but be shaken.

They'd never imagined the iron-willed leader would bow his head.

[I need the money in your hands, my fellow citizens. Unspent, it is merely a scrap of paper, but the moment it comes to the bank, it becomes a bullet defending our San Marcos, and the grain that will light the future of our children.]

[I, Yu-jin Choi, swear on my life. I will not waste a single dollar of the precious, blood-and-sweat money you entrust to us. Once our nation grows strong, I will return it to you with interest many times over.]

And so came the final passage of the speech.

[And for those who made the decision to save our nation, I have prepared a small token of gratitude.]

Yu-jin pulled from his breast pocket a card-like object that glittered gold.

[The Certificate of Merit.]

The screen filled with a close-up of the lustrous card.

[I wish to remember. Who the true patriots are. Who took up the torch and rose in San Marcos's darkest hour. In the days to come, history will record those holding this medal as the citizens who sacrificed for the nation.]

Yu-jin bowed his head deeply once more.

[For the sake of our nation's future, please, help us.]

The broadcast ended. A moment of silence followed. And then, all of San Marcos erupted.

"Did you hear that?! The country's about to collapse!"

"The damn Americans are trying to turn us into slaves again!"

"His Excellency cried... that iron-willed man actually cried!"

Amid the boiling sorrow and fury, a few quick-witted citizens began screaming what sounded like cries of alarm.

"Th, this is no time to be standing around! Didn't you hear the end? He said he'd remember the true patriots!"

"So what?"

"It means whoever gets a Certificate of Merit becomes a first-class citizen, and whoever doesn't is a traitor who hoarded his money while the country was falling apart! Think about it! You think they'll treat people without a Certificate of Merit like human beings? Second-class citizens... hell, they might treat us like non-citizens!"

"Gaaah...! Y, you're right!"

Faces went ashen. Given what Yu-jin had demonstrated up to now, it was entirely plausible.

Just as a man could not be treated as human without a national ID, a terror swept through them that those without a Certificate of Merit might now be reduced to second-class citizens.

"Th, then what about sending the kids to school, going to the hospital...?"

"Obviously people with Certificates of Merit are going to get looked after first! You know what kind of man His Excellency is!"

At that moment, a collective revelation struck the people, and they bolted for home with a single goal burning in their minds.

[I must become a first-class citizen.]

Upon reaching their homes, the citizens grabbed every last dollar they could spare after immediate living expenses and headed straight for the bank.

Thus began the reverse bank run.

"Hey, hey! No cutting in line, please!"

The employees shouted themselves hoarse, but to people drunk on fear and patriotism, it was like shouting at a wall.

The banking floor reeked of sweat, of soil, and of the distinctive mildew scent that clung to old bills.

The tellers' fingers had long since gone numb.

When the cash-counting machines overheated and stalled, the tellers licked their thumbs and counted stacks of bills by hand like men possessed.

From 1-dollar notes to grease-stained 100-dollar bills, every last dollar in San Marcos was rushing in like a tidal surge.

"There's no more room in the vault!"

"Just cram it in, stuff it in, find a way!"

"We're out of passbooks!"

"Then write it by hand on a piece of paper and give it to them! Make a copy, keep it on file, we'll swap it out for a real passbook later!"

"What if someone uses that to embezzle..."

"It's a bank His Excellency established! Who the hell would dare embezzle?!"

The banking floor was spiraling into absolute pandemonium.

***

Ten days since Tortilla Bank began operations.

"Is this... even real?"

I stared at the number on the settlement report, mouth hanging open.

[Total Deposits: 3,012,000,000 USD]

Three billion dollars. In Korean won, more than four trillion, and it had piled up in a mere ten days.

Considering that when I first planned for the bank, the target had been a billion dollars at most, over triple that amount had come pouring in.

"San Marcos had this much money lying around?"

At my question, Isabella calmly poured tea and replied.

"It's entirely plausible. The people have distrusted banks for so long that they've been stuffing dollars under their mattresses. If you assume they've emptied out their entire life savings, the number isn't all that shocking."

"Ah..."

Now that she mentioned it, yeah. Three billion dollars worked out to about 300 dollars per person, and when one considered it was money saved over a lifetime of farming and trading, it wasn't an impossible figure.

Still...

"Our citizens save better than I'd have thought."

In a country where most people live hand to mouth, this was quite the haul, no question.

'Back in college, there was an old Mr. Kim who lived next door at my gosiwon. The guy was a full-time investor with assets north of a billion won, and yet he spent his days in a wifebeater eating nothing but cup ramen.' [TL: gosiwon = a cheap boarding house with tiny rooms, originally for students prepping for civil service exams.]

I nodded, thinking of the mentor who taught me equity trading.

As I was flipping through the report in contentment, Isabella spoke up.

"Incidentally, Bank President Benjamin has reached out, asking for guidance on operational policy."

"Operational policy? What's he need that for..."

"San Marcos has no banking law."

"Ah... right."

In most countries, commercial or banking law spells out things like reserve requirements and lending regulations.

But San Marcos had only ever had state-owned banks serving as glorified vaults for the national treasury, so banking law simply did not exist.

"If we just give him the basic guidelines, he should be able to handle the rest."

"Should we do that, then?"

Isabella pulled out her notepad and began scribbling down everything I dictated.

"First, let's set the reserve ratio at 10 percent. Too tight and money won't circulate."

"Yes."

"Deposit interest starts at 5 percent, but for time deposits that lock the money up long-term, let's go as high as 10 percent. The people entrusted this money to us out of faith in the state, so the returns should match."

"Understood."

"And the most important part, lending..."

The bank was currently drowning in cash. If we let it rot in the vault, the interest burden alone would sink us, so we needed to get it out into the market as fast and as widely as possible.

"For startup loans and livelihood loans, tell him not to be too strict with the screening criteria."

"Not too strict, meaning...?"

"Meaning even if the business plan is a little flimsy and there's no collateral, if the purpose is genuinely operational, lend the money. Buying a truck, buying machinery, things like that. That said, whether the loaned money actually gets spent on booze or gambling, that we monitor ruthlessly."

Upon hearing this, Isabella asked with a worried expression.

"But Your Excellency, lending without collateral and then getting stiffed could seriously damage the bank's soundness."

A legitimate concern, but I just smiled easily.

"You see, I... I trust our people."

"......"

"Think about it. These are people who, despite their hardships, saved up what little they had and entrusted it to the bank. If we can't trust people like that, then who can we trust?"

I spoke with absolute conviction.

"Even if a genuine string of misfortunes leaves them unable to repay, they'll work it off. I'm sure of it."

And at that moment, Isabella's eyes went wide.

"Ah... I see."

As if struck by some great revelation, she clapped her palms together.

"Come to think of it, we have Tortilla Farm."

"...Pardon?"

"A collateral far more reliable than land or houses. There is no collateral more precious to a person than their own body, after all."

Isabella nodded, genuinely impressed.

"And since the wages are on the higher end, they can pay off the debt quickly and get back on their feet, so it's killing two birds with one bullet. As expected of Your Excellency. You already had the perfect system in place."

"No, that wasn't what I meant... I just said people are honest and they'll pay it back on their own..."

"I'll relay this to Bank President Benjamin. We'll add a clause to the loan agreement requiring labor at Tortilla Farm in the event of default."

"......"

Isabella is terrifying...

*****

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