Persian Empire 1845

Chapter 576 Acquisition
Batista is currently very worried because the Ottoman Credit Bank, which he heads, is on the verge of collapse. Its French stocks have plummeted, and he had even diverted a portion of his savings to fund this large investment. In the end, France has dealt him a crushing defeat.

They had been hoping their upstream bank, Société Générale, would step in. However, Société Générale had also suffered heavy losses in the stock market, and due to the war, funds couldn't flow out, leaving them to fend for themselves.

The bank currently has only 200 million francs left in its funds, and if it cannot find a solution, it will go bankrupt. However, selling the bank to the British is not an option, as they would only take advantage of the situation.

However, a few days ago, some Iranians came to inquire about the situation. It seems they are also interested in his bank. They know the bank won't last long, so they might as well sell it to Iran and get some money for themselves.

"Your Excellency, Mr. Sarkissian has arrived."

"Have him wait in the conference room for a moment."

Batista took a few deep breaths before heading to the conference room.

Sargsyan held the terms agreed upon with various banks and companies, knowing he couldn't swallow this whole thing, so he simply decided to divide the shares and operate the business together.

In this list, Lion Bank holds 30%, making it the largest investor; followed by Crédit Agricole with 15%, Sepa Commercial with 10%, and the remainder are from various local businesses. In total, more than 30 businesses are involved, all wanting a share of the pie.

"Hello, Mr. Sarkisyan, I didn't expect you to come again."

“Mr. Batista, I think we’ve discussed enough. Now it’s time to get down to business.”

"That suits me perfectly, please!"

An Ottoman servant brought the two coffees and sugar cubes, and Batista spoke first, drawn by their aroma.

"Mr. Sarkissian also knows that the bank has branches all over the Ottoman Empire and a large number of customers. If the shares are to be converted, at least 6000 million francs will be needed."

6000 million francs? You really dare to ask for that much! The current Ottoman Credit Bank is not worth that much at all, Sarkissian's face turned somewhat ugly.

“Your offer is unacceptable to us. To the best of my knowledge, your bank has less than 300 million in funds. There is even a bank run in Thessaloniki. Under such circumstances, 6000 million francs is simply not worth it.”

Batista's fingers tightened suddenly around his coffee cup, the porcelain clinking softly against the saucer. He suppressed the panic in his eyes, forcing a stiff smile: "Mr. Sarkissian, the bank run is just a minor disturbance in a few branches; it will soon subside. You must understand, I'm not just selling the bank's existing assets, but also the financial network and customer trust throughout the Ottoman Empire—aren't these intangible values ​​worth 6000 million francs?" "Trust?" Sarkissian put down his coffee, leaning forward slightly, his tone undisguisedly sharp. "Mr. Batista, when the depositors at the Thessaloniki branch broke down the doors three days ago, the 'trust' you speak of shattered into pieces. As for the financial network, branches without capital are nothing but empty shells scattered across the land."

He pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase and slammed them on the table: "This is an asset valuation done by our commissioned agency. Your bank's current actual value is at most 1800 million francs. But considering that your bank still holds the settlement rights in the Constantinople trading port, we can increase it to 2200 million francs—800 million in cash, and the remaining 1400 million converted into 5% of the new bank's shares. You can choose to hold them or redeem them at market price after three years."

“2200 million?” He looked up abruptly, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Mr. Sarkissian, you’re taking advantage of the situation! You know better than anyone how much profit the settlement rights of the Constantinople trading port can bring in every year!”
Sargsian leaned back in his chair, his eyes as cold as a winter wind: "Settlement rights are indeed valuable, but only if the bank can survive until next spring. Mr. Batista, I just received news yesterday that the National Bank of Athens has begun contacting merchants in Thessaloniki, and they are willing to offer a three-percentage-point lower fee than you—how long do you think your 'financial network' can last?"

These words were like a sharp knife, precisely piercing Batista's last line of defense. He slumped back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of his coffee cup. Outside the window, the sunlight of Constantinople streamed through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the table, but it couldn't penetrate his gloomy mood.

"I need time to think about it," he said with difficulty, his voice hoarse.

“Time?” Sarkissian raised an eyebrow and pulled a pocket watch from his pocket. “Mr. Batista, your bank has to pay 12 francs in operating costs every day, and now you only have 200 million left in the account—how much time do you have to think about it?”

The ticking of the pocket watch was particularly jarring in the quiet conference room, and Batista's breathing grew increasingly rapid. He thought of the embezzled deposits, the wealth that had evaporated from the French stock market, and the depositors queuing outside the bank to withdraw their money—if the bank went bankrupt, he would not only be disgraced, but might even face imprisonment.

“5% of the shares is too little.” He suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with a desperate determination. “I want 10%, and the cash must be increased to 1000 million francs. Otherwise, I would rather sell the bank to the British, even if they swallow all my shares, at least I can preserve my reputation.”

A barely perceptible smile appeared on Sarkissian's lips. He knew that Batista had run out of bargaining chips.

“8% of the shares, 1000 million in cash.” He held out his hand, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is my bottom line. If you don’t agree, people from the National Bank of Athens will be in your office tomorrow morning.”

Batista's fingers clenched into a tight fist, his nails digging deep into his palms. Looking into Sarkissian's resolute eyes, he knew he had no way out. After a full three minutes of silence, he finally let out a sigh of relief, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Deal.” He reached out and shook hands firmly with Sarkissian.

Batista picked up the pen with trembling hands and signed his name on the document. As the last letter fell, he seemed to have all his strength drained away, and slumped into his chair.

Sargsyan put away the documents, a satisfied smile spreading across his face: "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Batista. The new bank's management will move in tomorrow morning, and your shares will be processed within a week."

After speaking, he turned and left the conference room. Batista sat alone in the empty room, watching the setting sun outside the window, his eyes vacant. He thought of the ambition he had when he first took over Crédit Haussmann, of the clients who had once trusted him, and of the侥幸心理 (gambling mentality) he had when he misappropriated deposits—if he hadn't been greedy, if he hadn't invested the money in the French stock market, would everything be different now?
(End of this chapter)