Glade 7, 122
Office of Imperial Revenue, Two Days Prior
Mr. Valentin sat alone in his office at the Office of Imperial Revenue, and it was all the company he wished to keep. His was a fairly spacious office, but not one of the perches generally sought by employees with seniority, tucked away as it was. The room was wide, windowless, far from any of the austere state building's main thoroughfares, and had only distant access to the lavatories. Though the office was large, Valentin kept it uncluttered, and decorated only by a single desk toy (a pendulum suspended by a wire, which slowly drew symbols in the bed of sand below it) and a personal blackboard, turned to face the little table he used for meetings.
Well, that and the portrait of the Emperor kept on the wall behind his desk. But that was regulation, not decoration.
Though the OIR attorney enjoyed his solitude, nothing good was ever eternal. At six in the afternoon, on the dot, the secretary he shared with two other attorneys and several auditors pushed his way in, large round spectacles bouncing alarmingly on his face.
"The files from the banks, Mr. Valentin." His secretary- Albright, was the name, not that Valentin ever used it- deposited a small stack of folders on Valentin's desk. That task done, he made his way over to Valentin's small corner table and took a seat, waiting for him to do a quick review.
These were files which managers at the various branches of the bank drew up whenever a transaction arose which might require Imperial scrutiny. The incentives were quite simple- if you filed your confidential reports with OIR, you couldn't be personally liable for anything which happened as a result of those transactions. If you overlooked such transactions, then the Imperial government might consider you... involved. The natural result of this policy was that many over-cautious managers filed entirely too many stupid reports, and so as Valentin separated them into piles of interest and non-interest, the latter grew faster than the former by far.
"Infrastructure loan- that's nothing. Textile mill- this is for that lawsuit they had to settle last month, nothing. Grant for foreign theater work- up to the Inquisition, none of my business. More hiring for airship guards? Divines, you'd think the damn affair wasn't hundreds of miles away behind a mountain range. Not our problem. Individual loans. All of these families are loyal, we can let them through. And finally... investment from a novel foreign factor."
"Should we waive that one?" OIR regulations required that new foreign investors be assigned an agent for monitoring and given an intake interview, but the interview itself was often pointless and annoying for all parties, so they were often cancelled at the last minute.
Valentin thought about it, but not for long. Given the unease throughout the north of the continent, foreign investment could suddenly become an issue of Imperial notice. If he dodged the welcome interview and the account somehow featured in a later incident, that would be it for his career. On the other hand, if a foreign account proved useful to his Imperial Majesty's government...
"No. Tell the bank to schedule them for their interview at the first available slot. And... when one of the nice conference rooms is available."
Central Bank of Gel'Grandal, Present
Valentin appeared outside the Central Bank (the interior was warded against slipspace travel, for obvious reasons) and let himself through the employee entrance, flashing his badge at the guard. He made his way through the bustling back halls, the bankers and clerks parting as they noticed the infamously surly OIR officer coming their way. Ordinarily, Valentin might have stopped to give the recoiling staff a bit of verbal abuse- but today, he had other things to do.
He reached the administration desk and confirmed his appointment, leaving instructions for the front. "When they arrive, send them back right away. I'll be in Room A7-C." Everybody else in the Central Bank called that meeting room the Gemütlichkeit, a highly-coveted spot usually reserved for appointments with extraordinary connections. (The suite for meetings with the truly powerful, of course, was quite beyond the reach of a middling OIR official) Still, nobody disputed Valentin's claim, since the man was infamously, tirelessly petty.
After a few more corridors- gods, Valentin missed Traversion already- he arrived at the chamber. It was large enough to comfortably seat a dozen businessmen around its central table, and decorated lavishly with gilt embossments and tiny marble pedestals displaying little treasures from the Central Bank's founders and investors, each bearing an explanatory placard. Above the central table was a dome built above a circular skylight, featuring a small mosaic of nude women dancing, with backgrounds meant to represent the change of the seasons.
Valentin took a moment to locate the room's small bar, pulling out a variety of spirits which his guests might be interested in and preparing glasses. Then he allowed himself to sink into one of the overstuffed chairs which gave the room its informal name, and waited for his appointment to arrive.
