Four pots of bitter tea. Three burnt-out mana-lamps. Two hours of sleep.
I looked like a ghost, but I felt like a god.
There is a specific kind of high that only an auditor knows—the moment when the numbers stop being chaotic ink and start telling a story of betrayal. I leaned back in my creaking chair, the morning light of the Capital bleeding through the high tower window.
"I found it," I whispered to the empty room.
The door creaked open. Kaelen stepped in, carrying a tray with a single plate of toasted bread and honey. He looked at me—hair disheveled, ink staining my fingertips, eyes manic—and paused.
"You look like you've been fighting a war," he said, setting the tray down on a pile of tax returns.
"Worse. I've been doing data entry," I replied, stabbing a finger at a ledger from five years ago. "Your Chancellor isn't just skimming the top, Kaelen. He's running a 'Shadow Treasury.'"
Kaelen's expression went from amused to lethal in a heartbeat. He pulled up a stool, sitting close enough that I could smell the morning air on his cloak. "Explain. Simply."
"In my world—I mean, in my philosophy—it's called a 'Ghost Payroll,'" I said, sliding a parchment toward him. "Look at the maintenance records for the Imperial Navy. Specifically, the 'Sea-Dragon' fleet. According to these books, you have forty ships stationed in the Western Isles. The payroll for the sailors is being deducted every month."
Kaelen frowned. "The Western Isles fleet was decommissioned after the Great Storm. There are only ten ships left."
"Exactly!" I slammed my hand on the desk, the tea cups rattling. "Vane is still 'paying' the salaries for three thousand non-existent sailors. He's siphoning the wages of dead men into a private account. It's a leak of nearly fifty thousand gold dragons a month. Over five years? That's three million."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. "He's been starving the border legions to pay for his 'heirlooms.'"
"But here's the kicker," I continued, lowering my voice. "The money isn't staying in the Capital. It's being moved through a front company called The Golden Anchor. And guess where The Golden Anchor is registered?"
Kaelen looked at me, his golden eyes narrowing. "Lexen Province."
"Bingo," I said, a grim smile on my face. "He's been using my father's corrupt trade routes to move the stolen money out of the Empire. He didn't just frame me for the Treasury collapse in the original—I mean, in the past. He used the Lexen name as his personal laundry service."
Kaelen stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. "I'll have him arrested by noon."
"No!" I reached out, grabbing his forearm. His muscles were like iron under the silk of his sleeve. "If you arrest him now, the money disappears. He'll claim he was 'tricked' by my father. We don't just want him in a cell; we want the gold back. My gold—I mean, the Empire's gold."
Kaelen looked down at my hand on his arm, then up at my face. The anger in his eyes softened into something much more dangerous: admiration.
"You really are a greedy little spider, aren't you, Elara?"
"I prefer the term 'Fiscally Responsible,'" I retorted, but I didn't let go of his arm.
He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "Vane is hosting a gala tonight for the visiting dignitaries. He thinks he's celebrating his latest 'successful' quarter. I want you there."
"At a gala? Kaelen, I haven't slept, I smell like old paper, and I'm pretty sure I have an ink smudge on my soul."
"You'll be the guest of honor," Kaelen whispered, his thumb grazing the pulse point at my wrist. "Wear the emeralds. Show them the 'Villainess' has arrived at the Capital. While they're distracted by your... aesthetic... I'll have my men seize the Golden Anchor manifests."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "And Elara? Try not to audit the catering. I'd like to actually enjoy one dance before you bankrupt the host."
I watched him leave, my heart doing a strange little flip-flop that definitely wasn't in my budget.
I looked down at the ledger. Vane thought he was playing a game of power. He didn't realize he was playing a game of math. And in math, there is always a final total.
"Time to balance the books," I muttered, reaching for a piece of toast. "And then, I'm getting that island."