ERIS
The numbers were beautiful.
Not in the way sunsets were beautiful, or poetry, or whatever nonsense people waxed romantic about. No. This was the beauty of precision. Of meticulous planning. Of corruption so elegantly executed it bordered on artistry.
I sat at the desk in my designated study, surrounded by Aldric's meticulously organized notes, and read through Marquess Theron Ashveil's financial crimes with something approaching admiration.
Eight years.
Eight years of systematic embezzlement from the imperial treasury. Money siphoned through fake trade companies with names just believable enough to pass cursory inspection. Payments routed to nobles who consistently voted in Vetra's favor during council sessions. Everything documented in ledgers that looked legitimate until you knew what patterns to search for.
And I knew exactly what to look for.
