I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

"That's the deal."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, spoken inside a grand conference room in Switzerland. The space was the epitome of wealth and power—high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, a polished mahogany table stretching across the length of the room, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Swiss Alps in the distance. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the gathering, and the faintest scent of expensive cigars and aged leather lingered in the air. The atmosphere was thick with tension, despite the room's luxurious elegance.

Seated at the long table were five men, each displaying a different reaction to the statement just made. One of them, a man with sharp features and an expensive suit, was smiling, clearly satisfied. Another remained indifferent, his expression unreadable, as though it was all inevitable.

A third man had a slight frown, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table in quiet frustration. But the last man—he was livid. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white from gripping the armrests of his chair. And then there was the man who had spoken—the only one in the room who openly displayed his emotions fully. His face was marked by sorrow, his tired eyes betraying the weight of crushing defeat.

That man was Heinrich Volkmann, the chairman of Credit Suisse, the second-largest bank in Switzerland. For those who knew him, seeing him like this—broken, defeated—would have been nothing short of shocking.

This was a man who had commanded respect across the financial world, a man who controlled billions in assets, employed thousands, and brokered billion-dollar deals with unwavering confidence. But today, in this room, Heinrich Volkmann felt small. The past few days had drained him of his fight, stripped him of the power and influence he had spent decades building.

"Just two days..." he muttered under his breath, his voice almost a whisper. Two days. That was all it had taken for his entire world to collapse.

Of course, in reality, this disaster had been brewing for a while. The cracks had begun to show at the start of the year, but he had been blind to the full extent of the problem—or perhaps he had simply refused to see it. The bank's most significant backers had started pulling their support without warning, and the most devastating blow had come from the Saudi National Bank. Not only had they withdrawn their investments, but they had also demanded immediate repayment of their loans.

At first, Heinrich had turned to the Swiss government, expecting aid from the very system he had faithfully served.

But he had been met with nothing but cold indifference. He had argued, pleaded even, pointing out that their refusal to assist was a violation of Switzerland's long-standing financial policies, a betrayal of their economic principles. But his words had fallen on deaf ears. And now, looking across the table at the President of Switzerland, who sat there with a calm, knowing smile, Heinrich realized the truth. He had been played from the very beginning.

Still, he had refused to surrender. For the sake of his employees, his legacy, his very existence, he had fought desperately to find a way out.

He had reached out to every potential investor, knocked on every possible door, but all he had received in return were rejections. And to make matters worse, other institutions had begun circling like vultures, demanding their loans be repaid, tightening the noose around his neck. The prospect of bankruptcy loomed closer with every passing hour. He was running out of time.

And then, just when all hope seemed lost, salvation had appeared. A Chinese investment bank had stepped forward, offering a lifeline. They had proposed to clear all outstanding debts and inject new capital into Credit Suisse, effectively rescuing the institution from collapse. The price? Total ownership of the bank. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but they had assured him they would remain silent investors, pledging not to interfere in the daily operations of the bank. They had even been willing to sign legal agreements to that effect.

For the first time in a long, Heinrich had allowed himself to feel something close to relief. Today was supposed to be the day the deal was finalized.

A high-ranking Chinese man was already in the country, ready to sign the necessary documents. Heinrich had thought he had won a small victory, that he had finally secured a future for the bank and its employees and more importantly himself.

But as he sat there now, in that opulent conference room, surrounded by men who were indifferent to his suffering, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He had been in the game long enough to recognize when the tides were shifting against him.

Two days ago, he received a call from JPMorgan Chase, the American banking giant, informing him that they were also willing to purchase Credit Suisse. At first, he had felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this was his chance to negotiate a better deal—either with JPMorgan or the Chinese investment bank. But when he saw the details of JPMorgan's proposal, his initial optimism quickly turned into disgust.

Their offer was higher in terms of raw monetary value, but it lacked the one thing he truly wanted—assurance that the bank's legacy and autonomy would be preserved. Unlike the Chinese, who promised to be silent investors, JPMorgan insisted on full managerial control. They were determined to bring their own banking system and operational structure, effectively turning Credit Suisse into a Swiss branch of an American entity. It was an insult to everything the bank had stood for. He had rejected them outright, refusing to entertain such a proposition.

But barely a few hours after his rejection, the real nightmare began.

FINMA—the Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority—entered his office. The mere sight of them had made his stomach churn. They claimed the bank had major regulatory irregularities and that an immediate investigation would commence.

They spoke of auditing all client accounts, scrutinizing the bank's financial statements for any inconsistencies, and reviewing every high-profile transaction conducted in the past decade.

They could force the bank to increase its capital reserves beyond what was possible, effectively choking its liquidity. They could suspend trading on Credit Suisse's stock, freezing its ability to operate normally. They could demand full disclosure of private client lists, something that would shatter the very foundation of Swiss banking secrecy. If they truly wanted, they could strip him of his authority and legally force an emergency restructuring, leaving him with nothing—not even a severance package.@@novelbin@@

He had been horrified. Not even when the U.S. government and the European Union imposed sanctions had he felt this powerless. Swiss banks were known for their resilience, for their unparalleled protection against foreign influence. But against FINMA? There was no shield, no escape. They were the final word on banking matters in Switzerland, and they had just made it clear that his days were numbered.

Desperate, he called every government official he had ever helped, every politician whose campaign he had funded, every so-called ally he had cultivated over the years. But one by one, they ignored him, brushed him aside, or refused to take his calls. The silence was deafening—until, at last, one person picked up.

A childhood friend. A man he had known since they were boys, now a member of the National Council—the lower house of the Swiss Federal Assembly, equivalent to the U.S. House of Representatives. For a brief moment, hope flickered again. But as soon as his friend sighed and spoke, he knew it was over.

"This isn't just FINMA," his friend said quietly. "Your problem is coming from one of the Seven."

A cold chill ran down his spine.

The "Seven." The Swiss Federal Council—the highest executive authority in the country. Unlike politicians in most democratic nations, these individuals were not elected by popular vote. They did not campaign for office, nor did they make grand promises to the people.

Their power was earned through something far more insidious: intelligence, survival, political cunning, and years of maneuvering through the labyrinthine corridors of Swiss governance. Only the most shrewd, manipulative, and politically savvy individuals reached this level. And once they did, they held absolute authority over Switzerland's affairs.

If one of them wanted him out, there was nothing he could do. It wasn't just a bank crisis anymore—it was a carefully orchestrated execution, and he was the target.

Hearing that one of the seven was behind this, Heinrich had been terrified. But he was no fool—he couldn't be. Controlling the second-largest bank in Switzerland required intelligence, foresight, and the ability to navigate complex power structures. If one of the seven was targeting him, it wasn't without reason. They wanted something from him, and his best chance of survival was to hand it over before it was too late.

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Without hesitation, he made his way to the Federal Palace of Switzerland (Bundeshaus) in Bern, the capital. Hours of waiting, pleading, and leveraging every connection he had finally got him an audience with one of the seven. But the response he received shattered any remaining hope.

"This is more complicated than you think," the official had said. "It's not just any of the seven behind this—it's the one who holds the presidency this year. The most powerful man in Switzerland."

The colour had drained from Heinrich's face instantly. If it were any of the others, he might have had room to negotiate, to maneuver his way out. But the President of the Swiss Confederation? There was no escaping that level of power.

Desperation had driven him straight to the president's residence, where he endured more agonizing hours of waiting before finally being allowed inside. But before he could even open his mouth to speak, the words that sealed his fate were uttered.

"Accept the Morgan deal."

That was it. No discussion. No room for argument. A command disguised as a suggestion.

And now, here he was—sitting in this room, gripping the deal in his hands. A deal that was not only far worse than what had originally been offered but also inferior to the one from the Chinese investors. Yet, he had no choice.

So, he forced a smile. A pitiful, hollow attempt at hiding the crushing weight of defeat. But his despair was written all over his face, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. He was smiling at the very men who had ruined his life.

This chapter is dedicated to Braiden_Hengst, who generously sent me four golden tickets! I truly appreciate it—thank you so much! I'm thrilled to have a new reader like you.

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