After 12 years at the Vatican bank, Jean‑Baptiste de Franssu reveals how incompetence, secrecy and power struggles cost the Church millions.
Newsroom (12/05/2026 Gaudium Press ) For nearly twelve years, Jean‑Baptiste de Franssu stood at the helm of one of the world’s most secretive financial institutions: the Institute for the Works of Religion (IOR), better known as the Vatican Bank. Now, as he steps down from his post at the end of April 2026, the French banker is offering an unusually candid assessment of the Church’s financial failings—and of the reforms that, in his view, finally brought the IOR back from the brink.
Speaking to Le Point, de Franssu does not hedge his words. “The Church loses hundreds of millions every year due to incompetence, poor management, and the pursuit of power,” he said, describing a system long undermined less by doctrine than by human weakness. In his telling, the Vatican’s financial wounds were largely self‑inflicted, the product of opaque practices, absent controls, and individuals more interested in influence than stewardship.
De Franssu took charge of the IOR in 2014, inheriting an institution whose reputation had been deeply damaged. As recently as 2012, during the final years of Benedict XVI’s pontificate, the Vatican bank was effectively shut out of the global financial system. Only one major institution—Deutsche Bank—was still willing to work with it. Allegations of money laundering and tax opacity had turned the IOR into a liability for the Holy See itself.
When he leaves, the contrast is stark. Under his leadership, the IOR posted profits of €51 million, collaborates with more than 40 banks worldwide, and boasts top ratings from Moneyval, the Council of Europe’s anti‑money‑laundering monitoring body. “The period of intransparency is definitively over,” de Franssu said.
At the core of the turnaround, he argues, was a simple principle: competence. Financial intermediaries, he explained, had long taken advantage of the weakness of religious orders and dioceses, luring them into complex real‑estate deals that ended in heavy losses. “The placement of experts where incompetence had previously prevailed” proved decisive in reversing that trend.
One of the most emblematic failures involved the Vatican Secretariat of State’s investment in a luxury property in London. De Franssu estimates the losses at between €100 million and €150 million. The scandal, which would later engulf Cardinal Angelo Becciu, came to light largely because the IOR refused to finance what it judged an overpriced and poorly documented operation. “This is the money of the faithful,” de Franssu said. “It’s an absolute scandal.”
His criticism extends to earlier decades as well. During the pontificate of John Paul II, the IOR discreetly supported the Church’s efforts in communist‑ruled Poland and Cuba, sometimes using diplomatic suitcases filled with cash. These operations, he stresses, were legal—but secret. They also helped entrench a culture in which opacity was considered normal, even virtuous.
That culture unraveled after 2015, when the Vatican signed tax information‑sharing agreements with Italy and the United States. Until then, the Holy See hovered on international gray lists for tax transparency, a situation that allowed account holders to evade declaration in their home countries. Italy was crucial—80 percent of IOR clients reside there—while an accord with Washington was needed because the U.S. taxes its citizens abroad. Since then, de Franssu says, the Vatican can no longer be considered a tax haven.
The clean‑up was costly. Between 2004 and 2014, nearly €150 million was “plundered” from the IOR, a loss de Franssu attributes to both dishonesty and incompetence. The bank’s former leadership was convicted over embezzlement tied to real‑estate deals. But failures of oversight also played a role, with no effective systems of control or reporting in place. “This is no longer the case today,” he insisted.
Part of restoring credibility involved shutting doors. During de Franssu’s tenure, around 5,000 accounts—roughly one quarter of the total—were closed. Many belonged to ordinary individuals who did not meet the IOR’s strict eligibility criteria. “They liked to withdraw cash,” he noted. That practice, synonymous with old suspicions, has been eliminated.
The reforms were not without resistance. Between 2015 and 2017, as hidden losses surfaced, pressure mounted. De Franssu recalls a period of turmoil marked by internal documents accusing him of misconduct, and high‑profile resignations within the bank. He stayed on, he says, out of loyalty to Pope Francis and to a mandate to “fix this,” even when disagreements arose—such as an aborted plan to create a Luxembourg‑based investment vehicle that some feared would resemble tax speculation.
One decisive moment came in 2019, when the Secretariat of State sought a €150 million loan to cover losses on the London property. The IOR refused, citing international financial regulations and a lack of transparency. After obtaining documents, de Franssu alerted the Pope to what he saw as wrongdoing. “He reacted immediately,” the banker recalled. “He put his foot down.”
Despite his revelations, de Franssu insists his faith remains intact. The lesson, he says, is not about holiness betrayed but humanity exposed. “Priests are just like us. They are human,” he reflected. “The Church is as much holy as it is human.”
- Raju Hasmukh with files from KNA, Le Pelerin and Le Point
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