Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some faces showed disappointment, others reluctance. Hand them over their wealth? Would that not mean losing them anyway?
"Silence."
Giovanni's voice was not loud, yet the authority within it crushed the noise instantly.
"I am not confiscating your money. I mean that you exchange those 'dirty' coins for these 'clean' certificates."
"One gold coin for one certificate, with a face value of one gold coin."
"This gold certificate represents the wealth you deposit with the monastery. The monastery pledges all its land, its holy relics, and my own reputation, Giovanni da Fiesole. In the future, this certificate can be exchanged here for an equal amount of purified, clean gold."
Marco froze.
His slow, small-landowner mind spun hard. Gold for certificates. Hand the cursed, ghost-haunted coins to the abbot and receive paper with no ghosts attached.
It sounded… not like a loss.
Still, he hesitated. Gold felt solid in the hand. A gold certificate was just paper. A gust of wind could carry it away.
Giovanni saw their doubt. He knew that for people who valued a single copper more than their lives, safety alone was not enough. He needed to raise the stakes. He needed to hang a thick, juicy piece of meat on the hook.
"And," he said evenly, "since you are depositing your money with the monastery, you are supporting the Lord's work. The Lord never mistreats His partners."
"All who subscribe to the St. Lucia Grace Gold Certificates will receive a yearly 'grace return' of fifteen percent."
Fifteen percent.
The crowd fell into dead silence. Fingers twitched as people calculated. Fifteen percent meant what? One hundred gold coins would become one hundred and fifteen after a year?
How was that possible?
If they bought land and rented it out, their yearly gain was only around five percent, and that depended entirely on the weather. Drought or flood meant endless disputes and losses.
Now the abbot was saying that by holding gold certificates, doing nothing, sleeping at home, they could earn fifteen extra coins in a year?
Giovanni was pleased. He had chosen the number carefully. Above twenty percent would trigger suspicion immediately, but fifteen sat at a perfect point. Hard to believe, yet tempting enough to trust. It struck exactly at human desire: the wish to gain without effort, the dream of steady, growing wealth.
"Abbot…" Marco swallowed. "Is this real? One hundred… becomes one hundred and fifteen?"
"I swear it in the Lord's name," Giovanni answered with a gentle smile. "Do you think the Lord's grace is worth less than worldly lending?"
"This fifteen percent is not interest. Interest is born of greed. This is the monastery's reward, given by the Lord, for your devotion."
"And," he added, casting another lure, "the names of certificate holders will be written into the monastery's Book of Blessings. At every Mass, prayers will be said for you. After death, your souls will gain priority entry into Heaven."
The crowd exploded at that.
Money in life. Heaven in death. The curse resolved. Wealth multiplied.
This was no longer a solution. It was a miracle.
"I will exchange! I will exchange!"
Marco jumped up first. Forgetting the pain in his knees, he pulled out a pouch of coins hidden in his trousers and raised it high. "Abbot! I have fifty gold coins! I will exchange them all!"
"I will too! I have twenty!"
"I took a silver candlestick that night. Can that be exchanged?"
"Yes. All valued at market price," Giovanni replied, still wearing his look of mercy, as if he were taking in suffering rather than money.
Watching the crowd surge forward, desperate to press their wealth into his hands, he knew the moment had come.
It was now time to speak the hard truth, to seal off every retreat, to lay the unbreakable foundation of this Ponzi scheme.
He raised a hand and pressed it downward.
"Wait."
The single word froze them. Hands holding coins stopped midair.
"The Lord's grace is not without conditions."
Giovanni's gaze turned solemn.
"Purifying the resentment on gold takes time. The monastery is not a band of trick alchemists. We cannot cleanse dirty money in an instant."
"Therefore, all gold certificates must go through a 'purification period.'"
"Three years." He raised three fingers. "From the day of purchase, no redemption is allowed for three years."
"These three years are the time the gold rests beneath the altar. They are also the Lord's test of your faith."
"Only after these three years can the sins be fully washed away, and only then may you reclaim your principal."
The three-year lock-in period was the lifeblood of the Ponzi scheme. This ensured there was enough time to pay old debts with new money, to build up a massive capital pool, without collapsing due to early redemptions.
But at the mention of the time, Marco's hand trembled. Three years without touching the money was a long time. Who knew what would happen? What if the monastery fell? What if the abbot left?
The heat in the crowd cooled at once. Several people quietly pulled their money back.
Giovanni watched coldly. He understood them too well. Greed and fear always fought in their hearts.
Ignoring the awkward silence, he pressed on, "After three years, there will be one redemption window each year."
For Giovanni, this long cycle was enough to let him accumulate and operate large amounts of capital, while avoiding the frequent cash flow pressure that quarterly or semi-annual redemptions might bring.
Though even more people hesitated after hearing that.
"This… this is too harsh."
"Three years is too long…"
"What if he refuses to honor it after three years?"
Giovanni listened and let disappointment show on his face, like a man offering gold only to be taken for a liar.
"Ah…" He sighed deeply. "I thought your faith was strong enough. It seems I was wrong."
"You still trust only the copper in your hands, not the power of the Lord."
"Do you truly believe that St. Lucia Monastery, with so much land and industry, would covet your few coins?"
"Do you believe God can go bankrupt?!"
Can God go bankrupt?
The question struck every heart. The monastery was God's estate on earth. The abbot was God's voice among men. To doubt the monastery was to doubt God. Who dared?
And the monastery was now the largest landowner in the village, with herb fields, olive groves, and future mountains of gold. How could it fail to repay this?
Regardless, the fear of trading solid gold for paper weighed heavily. The scene stalled.
Giovanni knew words alone were no longer enough. There had to be action. There had to be a spark.
He suddenly turned to Luca.
"Put them away."
Luca froze. "Abbot?"
"Since they are unwilling, we will not force them," Giovanni said coldly. "These gold certificates were made to cleanse resentment. Their number is limited."
"To ensure proper purification, the first issue of St. Lucia Grace Gold Certificates will be only fifty. And only for the most devout, the ones who truly trust the Lord."
"Each certificate requires a minimum of ten gold coins. But since everyone has concerns, forget it. Let Bartolo's vengeful spirit stay with those coins."
He turned as if to leave.
This retreat, combined with the limit of fifty gold certificates, shattered the resolve of several opportunists at once. Only fifty? And ten gold coins minimum? That meant not everyone could buy in. It meant status.
Marco panicked. He looked at the money in his hands, then at the abbot turning away.
Buy or not?
At that critical moment, a sound came from the edge of the square.
Rumble… rumble…
People turned.
In the glow of the sunset, a broad figure pushed a handcart forward.
It was Jacob, the butcher.
The cart was piled high, not with meat, not with junk, but with gold. Stacks of Florin coins and gleaming gold objects shone under the dying sun.
**
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