The Great Subterranean Hoard of the Alps, or How the Modern Merchant Buries His Baubles
Pray, observe the modern commercial man! He is a creature of singular passion, loving his gold with a tenderness that would put a lovestruck youth to shame. Having exhausted the capacities of every counting-house in Europe, these gentlemen have now turned their gaze toward the Swiss Alps, where they intend to burrow like particularly wealthy moles.
It appears that a certain class of speculators, fearing some unseen calamity or perhaps merely the gaze of the tax collector, has begun to construct secret caverns. These are not mere cellars, mind you, but fortress-like voids designed to house rare vintages of wine, glistening gemstones, and those peculiar horseless carriages that the nouveau riche prize above all else. Build they do, with a feverish intensity!
At the Brünig Pass, near the quaint hamlet of Lungern, a most fortunate gentleman named Mr. Thomas Gasser has struck a magnificent bargain. His firm, Brünig Mega Safe AG—a collection of some three hundred souls skilled in the art of blasting rock—has captured the fancy of the world's most anxious millionaires. They promise that by the year 1828—pardon, 2028—some twenty such vaults shall be complete, providing a sanctuary for the hoard of every timid shareholder.
These caverns lie a hundred metres beneath the granite, offering a security that makes the Swiss National Bank look like a common street-vendor's till. The merchant is assured that neither thief nor tempest shall touch his treasures.
To enter this subterranean kingdom, one must submit to a series of inspections so rigorous and secretive that they would make a spy blush. Once the transaction is complete, the gentleman becomes the master of his own hole in the ground, possessing a deed that he may even pledge as a promissory note for further loans. The cost? A mere million Swiss francs for a ninety-nine-year lease. A trifle for a man who counts his wealth in millions, though a king's ransom to a common clerk!
Of course, the local peasantry view this intrusion with a most delicious disdain. The mountains, once used for the honest production of cheese or the training of fire-brigades, are now being surrendered to men who already possess more than a thousand lifetimes could spend. The villagers mutter that the hamlet has little need for a luxury pit for those who have everything.
Such ventures are hardly novel. Switzerland has long been the sanctuary for the world's rogue capitalists. In the year 2024, the banks of that neutral land held some 9.3 trillion francs—half of which arrived from foreign shores, carried by merchants seeking a place where their bourses might remain undisturbed.
Yet the madness is not confined to the Alps. In the distant wilds of Argentina, the digital magnates are digging their own retreats. One such gentleman, Mr. Martin Varsavski, is erecting a monstrous estate in Mendoza at the foot of the Andes. He reasons that Argentina is sufficiently far from the nuclear whims of the Great Powers to ensure his survival should the world decide to ignite itself.
And let us not forget Mr. Jason Orvis, a writer of tragedies who has constructed his own apocalypse-proof manor. He boasts of a hundred and ten tons of grain, solar engines, and an armory that would make a colonel envious. He envisions a small colony of two hundred souls—doctors, beekeepers, and friends—living in a garden of Eden while the rest of the world burns.
Truly, the modern millionaire is a marvel! He spends his days calculating how to best hide his gold, and his nights dreaming of a world where he is the only one left with the key to the cellar.