Chapter 308: The Notary’s Ledger (Part 1)

Chapter 308: Chapter 308: The Notary’s Ledger (Part 1)

Chapter 308: The Notary’s Ledger (Part 1)

Perrin Locke spread three thin sheets of crisp parchment across Sirius Statanham’s mahogany desk.

"Edrin Voss," Perrin announced. She tapped the top page with her manicured fingernail. "Forty-two years old. He has worked in the Bastion Nine merchant registry for two decades. He is painfully boring."

Draven leaned against the wooden bookshelf, listening closely. His pitch-black eyes scanned the summarized ledger notes from across the room.

"He has zero history of gambling debts," Perrin continued rapidly. She adjusted her round spectacles, treating the briefing like a performance. "He does not frequent the pleasure houses in Sector Four. He lives entirely alone. He buys the exact same brand of chamomile tea every Tuesday. He became a notary because he likes rules, straight lines, and quiet rooms."

"A man who loves rules does not forge a ghost guild for free," Sirius pointed out smoothly from his leather chair.

"He did not do it for free," Perrin corrected. She slid a bank record forward. "His personal accounts show a sudden, uncharacteristic influx of Capital credits precisely six weeks ago. But it is not a king’s ransom. It is a quiet, modest bribe. Just enough to buy a man who is already leaning in the right direction."

Draven considered the profile.

"He is not an architect," Draven observed softly. "He is just a gear in their machine."

"He is compromised," Perrin said. "The question is whether he took the coin because he secretly supports the Cult, or if he took the coin because someone threatened to break his legs."

"Men like Voss do not negotiate with Cultists," Sirius noted, examining his fingernails. "They negotiate with authority. Someone wearing a very nice suit likely handed him a very official-looking document and told him it was a matter of state security."

"I will go talk to him," Perrin offered, gathering her files with eager energy. "I can shred his legal defense in ten minutes. I just need to flash the Iron-Oak discrepancies in his face and he will fold like wet paper."

"No."

Sirius rejected the idea instantly.

Perrin frowned, deeply offended by the swift dismissal. "I crack ledgers for a living, Sirius. I know how to break a liar."

"You crack ledgers," Sirius agreed calmly. "You do not manage frightened animals. If you back a nervous bureaucrat into a corner with legal threats, his first instinct will not be to confess to you. His first instinct will be to run directly to the people paying his bribes and beg for protection."

Draven stepped away from the bookshelf.

"If he runs to Renner, Senator Vast will know we are looking at his money," Draven said. "Vast will burn the entire network and bury Voss before morning. We lose the trail." ℯ

Perrin crossed her arms. "Then who makes contact? We cannot just send a shadow-runner with a threatening note. He will panic."

"I will do it," Draven decided.

Sirius looked at him. The Underworld Don offered a rare, skeptical smile.

"You are not exactly a comforting presence, Draven," Sirius noted. "He might simply die of fright the moment you step out of the shadows."

"I have spent the last month fighting monsters and breaking diplomats," Draven replied, his voice level and entirely serious. "I am capable of simply having a conversation. I will not wear armor. I will not bring a blade. I will just sit in his parlor and ask him a question."

He looked at the address printed on the parchment.

"He finishes his shift in one hour," Draven said. "I will be waiting when he gets home."

The modest apartment was small, remarkably tidy, and smelled heavily of dried lavender.

CLICK.

Edrin Voss unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and hung his damp wool coat on a wooden peg. He turned around to light his entryway lamp, humming a quiet, tuneless melody to himself.

He stopped.

Draven was sitting in a simple wooden chair by the small fireplace. He wore a plain black shirt and dark trousers. He carried no weapons. He did not look angry. He simply looked waiting.

Voss let out a sharp, terrified gasp.

He stumbled backward, his hand fumbling frantically for the brass doorknob.

"I am not here to hurt you, Edrin," Draven said quietly.

He did not stand up. He kept his hands resting openly on his knees, projecting complete stillness.

"Take a breath," Draven instructed smoothly. "Step away from the door."

Voss trembled violently. His pale face was slick with sudden sweat.

"Who are you?" Voss stammered, raising his hands defensively. "I am a sworn officer of the Vanguard registry. If you touch me, the city guard will hang you. I have powerful friends in the Capital."

He was hedging, using formal titles and vague threats to build a shield out of paper.

"You are a notary who stamped the founding charter for the Iron-Oak Consortium," Draven replied. His pitch-black eyes locked onto the older man, piercing the fragile lie instantly. "You verified a warehouse that does not exist. You swore to the identities of merchants who have never drawn a breath."

The shield instantly shattered.

Voss went entirely pale. His knees buckled completely. He collapsed into a small armchair opposite Draven, burying his face in his trembling hands.

"I knew it," Voss sobbed.

The words tumbled out of his mouth in a frantic, desperate rush.

"I knew the ink was wrong," Voss wept openly. "I knew the signatures were forced. But they told me it was restricted. They told me it was necessary for the survival of the Bastion."

He looked up, tears shining in his terrified eyes. The sheer, overwhelming relief of finally being caught was entirely overriding his fear.

"Who told you it was necessary?" Draven asked gently.

He recognized the shape of the man’s terror immediately. This was not the arrogant fanaticism of a Cultist. This was the crushing, suffocating guilt of a man who had made one bad decision and spent six weeks waiting for the executioner to arrive.

"A man from the Capital," Voss wept, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. "He wore beautiful white silk. He showed me a heavy silver seal. A hawk."

"Renner," Draven supplied the name.

Voss nodded frantically.

"He said the Senate was funding a highly classified military operation in the Wildlands," Voss babbled, eager to share the crushing burden. "He said they needed to move the coin through Bastion Nine without alerting the neutral Bastions. He said if I stamped the ghost guilds, I was being a patriot. He said asking questions would be considered treason."