Book 1: Chapter 40 - The Glitter of Gold [Part 2]
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Sajan sniffed, attempting a show of moral indignation. “We are a legitimate institution. We follow the laws of Aranthia to the letter and the spirit—”
“Do not lie to me, Sajan,” Seraphina interjected, voice dropping to a quiet hiss. “You are nothing more than a front for the illicit Dust trade. One word from me and every Lehman’s branch would be torched, its assets seized by the King. Do not test me. I ask only for your discretion in handling my affairs. That should not be difficult.”
Sajan’s face flushed as he sputtered in denial, “We are nothing of the sort!”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes, smiling a serpent’s smile. Cornelia—the little white snake hidden in her bodice—chose that moment to peek out, flicking her tongue and tasting her mistress’ displeasure. The cold-blooded creature fixed Sajan with her stare. Miriam, standing beside her mistress, looked suddenly pale, fearing one of Seraphina’s infamous “episodes.”
Sajan’s voice faltered. “That is a—”
“Yes, Sajan, it’s a snake,” Seraphina said flatly. “Very observant.” She leaned forward, enjoying how he squirmed beneath her gaze, his eyes lingering around her chest despite himself. “Shall I list precisely how you smuggle Dust into the city in cheese wheels? Or how you launder money through accounts falsely registered under the names of deceased minor noblemen to fund your real estate ventures in the capital?”
His face fell, color draining like water from a cracked jug. “How did you—”
“How matters not,” she cut in, refusing to waste breath on foolish questions. “What matters is that you are sloppy. Sloppy people do not last long in service to the Lehman family. I trust you will handle my secrets more gracefully than you have your own.”
For a moment, the room fell silent, except for the faint trickle sand from a timepiece in the corner. Sajan swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. The leverage was hers now; she had him where she wanted him. The Lehman Bank was strong—formidable even—but so was Seraphina. In truth, no one in the Maiden of the Wisterias had uncovered the bank’s devious smuggling operation of the narcotic Dust. It was a testament to their professionalism and connections. Now, however, she wanted a portion of that power harnessed to her will.
And she would have it.
Forcing a tight smile, Sajan inclined his head. “Very well, milady,” he said quietly. “You wish to open a special account. We can accommodate that.”
She nodded, pleased. “Also, I have recently acquired the deed and title to a velvet weavery here in the city. I will register it under my assistant Miriam’s name. Assess its value, extend a favorable loan for expansion, and understate its income wherever possible—without attracting undue attention. You will help her incorporate a new company. Through this company, you will funnel funds to other projects of my choosing. I trust you understand?”
Miriam looked stricken as she signed the documents with trembling fingers. Miriam Bottlesworth—so utterly common a name, she thought. Still, Seraphina needed a level of plausible deniability and distance from her ventures and a person like Miriam would be great for that. If trouble came knocking, the maid would be the perfect scapegoat. After all, who would believe the words of a monster? Seraphina did not think it would come to that, but it never hurt to prepare.
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It also served as another chain to stop Miriam from running off and doing her own thing.
Sajan, thoroughly cowed, tried to compose himself. “Will there be anything else I can do for you, milady?”
“Not for now,” said Seraphina, rising gracefully. Sergeant Frest extended an arm to help her up which she accepted. “If you need to contact me, send word to the Gilded Gryphon. I trust you know it?” At his silent nod, she continued, “I shall be writing to Rashana soon. I will, of course, mention your full and total cooperation. I expect this to be the start of a very profitable relationship—one that may even entice my father to bring his business here next time he visits.”
She glanced at Miriam, who looked as though her soul had just been signed away. “Cheer up, Miriam,” Seraphina said, dismissing the girl’s anxieties with a wave of her hand. “I’m granting you half a percent of the profits against the debt you owe me. All you must do is assume a touch of responsibility. A girl like you needs a sizable dowry to be truly appealing.”
Then, turning back to Sajan, Seraphina’s voice sharpened again. “As my representative, you will treat Miriam as you have treated me, with respect befitting a lady of quality. Have I made myself clear?”
Her maid’s eyes widened at her statement.
“As clear as Quas crystal, milady,” Sajan replied with a weary sigh.
“Excellent. When the details are settled, send Miss Bottlesworth back to me. I expect everything prepared within the week.” Seraphina’s lips curved into a victorious smile, one that promised rewards for compliance—and ruin for disobedience.
Without another word, she swept out of the office. Frest soon followed, his fine new armor clanking against the marble floor as he trailed after her.
They left behind a very, very worried Miriam.
*****
Money. Such a simple thing, yet it embodied a concept as intricate and complex as any tapestry woven by mortal hands. It was a truly human invention that was devastating in its amoral nature, ensnaring countless souls and captivating them with its lure. Many were enthralled by gold and silver for their own sake, as if the coins sang a quiet lullaby only they could hear.
But not Seraphina. She had never hungered for it blindly, never worshipped at that golden altar simply because others did. For her, money had always come easily. From youth when her beauty had started to truly bloom, it drifted into her hands, forever renewed and replenished by a constant flow of gifts and tributes.
It astounded her how something like the idea of money could possess such physicality.
Money even defied the natural decay of things, the inevitable spiral into entropy. Where other resources withered and diminished, money multiplied, breeding more of its kind in the dark vaults and ledgers. The more she amassed, the more it attracted, as though it possessed a secret gravity all its own. Pile after pile, account after foreign offshore account, day after day, the wealth grew larger, fatter, and increasingly swollen with interest and all of her investments.
At times, Seraphina had found herself amused by it all—so much so that she had devoted entire afternoons to thinking of new, ever more extravagant ways to spend it. She knew that the love of money for its own sake was a fool’s fancy and distraction. Its real worth lay in the power it gave and the doors it opened.
Across the world, there stood one truth that bound every culture and creed: to hold money was to hold power. Men and women of all nations scrambled for it, schemed for it, pled and bled for it.
In this universal hunger, wealth became more than metal and paper—it was power made manifest by human belief.
Reward or punishment, bribe or threat, shield or blade. Cold and unfeeling, money had almost endless utility. Those who claimed money could not buy happiness surely never possessed enough of it to sway the leader of a country, ruin a rival, or change the very course of destiny.
Now, that was happiness. And you could never have enough of it.
These were her thoughts as she gazed out the window of her carriage on the way back to the Gilded Gryphon. She noticed the empty stares of the townsfolk, their dull eyes drawn to the opulence of the vehicle.
For a moment, she almost felt sorry for them, but then she realized it would be like pitying the mice that lurked behind the walls of the comfortable home she had built for herself. A waste of thought and emotion.
How to make more money? she wondered.
Sweets… there was such a lack of decent confectionery in this world. Seraphina would have to see what Eloise could conjure up after she threw a few ideas her way. After all, it was high time her Alchemical studies began to bear fruit.