Chapter 92: The Death of Aurion

That conversation became the catalyst for everything that followed.

To every naive executive on the terrace that day, Trish no longer looked like the enemy the Bank had painted her to be. They saw only a fragile, beautiful maid.

Harmless, pitiable, beneath suspicion.

Which meant the Brimstones themselves were now the primary target.

And it was perfect.

The shift gave Trish near-infinite freedom to operate within and outside the Bank. Most of the male executives even began inviting her to parties, eager to be seen with the pretty maid of House Brimstone.

By the time anyone thought to question it, Trish had already become one of their closest peers.

It started small. A misplaced document here, a delayed signature there. Nothing that could be traced back to her, nothing that would raise alarms. Just enough friction to slow the Bank’s recovery while the Brimstones tightened the noose from the outside.

Then she began feeding them information.

Nothing falsified. Nothing that could be caught in a lie. Just carefully selected truths, presented at the right moments, to the right people.

A rumor about a rival executive’s embezzlement. A whisper about a cousin’s gambling debts. A quiet observation about how Lord So-and-So had been seen meeting with House Brimstone’s representatives.

The Bank’s new leadership devoured it all.

They were young, inexperienced, and terrified of losing the power they’d inherited. Suspicion came easily to men who knew their positions were built on corpses. Within a single day, the executives were eyeing each other like wolves circling a wounded deer.

Trish watched it happen from the inside, smiling behind her teacup.

"They’re tearing themselves apart," she reported to the Duke that evening, her voice light with satisfaction. "I haven’t even had to do anything dramatic. Just point them at each other and let their own paranoia do the work."

Cain Brimstone studied her from across his desk, his expression unreadable.

By the morning of the next day, the Bank of Aurion had stopped functioning as an institution. Its executives were too busy accusing each other of treason to approve loans, too suspicious of their own guards to leave their homes, too terrified of assassination to attend the very parties Trish had once used to infiltrate their ranks.

The final blow came from within.

Lord Marcel, the young executive who’d first approached Trish on the terrace, was found in his study with a dagger in his chest and a suicide note in his hand. The note confessed to orchestrating the deaths of his fellow executives, blaming paranoia and guilt for driving him to take his own life.

It was a convincing scene.

Trish had written the note herself.

The Duke received the news with a long, slow exhale.

"The Bank of Aurion is finished."

"Almost." Trish corrected, settling into the chair across from his desk. "The patriarch of the Aurion family still lives. And despite being weakened and nowhere near as sharp as the executives he once commanded, he still holds near-authoritarian power over the bank, if he gets the time to wield it, that is."

"And you’ve already thought of that."

"I’ve already prepared the paperwork."

She produced a stack of documents from her bag, each one sealed with the Brimstone crest.

"The Bank’s creditors are already nervous. A formal takeover by House Brimstone will be seen as a stabilizing influence. We’ll assume control of the Bank’s assets before Lord Aurion himself can move."

"Then I’ll assign you as head once the takeover is complete."

Trish paused.

"I’m a maid, Lord Brimstone. I can’t—"

"You can. And you will." The Duke’s voice was firm. "You’ve earned it. Reyn would agree."

The mention of Reyn’s name made her pause. Her fingers stilled on the papers.

"Reyn will be home in two days."

"Then you’d best have everything ready before then."

Trish nodded slowly, already reorganizing her plans.

"Then I’ll need to move quickly."

She rose from her chair, gathering her documents. At the door, she paused and looked back.

"Lord Brimstone. When Reyn returns... will you tell him what I did?"

The Duke’s expression didn’t change.

"I’ll tell him the truth. That you saved this family."

Trish’s smile was small but genuine.

"That’s all I need."

? ? ?

The final meeting of the Bank of Aurion’s executives took place that night, in a cramped, poorly lit room above a disreputable tavern near the docks. Six men and two women remained of the original leadership; the rest had already fled, died, or been arrested.

They were arguing about escape routes when Trish walked in.

She was unarmed. Unarmored. Dressed in a simple violet dress, her silver hair tied back with a simple ribbon.

The room went silent.

"Lady Fillaunete?" One of the executives rose to his feet, his voice thick with suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"I’m here to offer you a choice."

Trish closed the door behind her, and a pair of Brimstone guards took up positions on either side.

"House Brimstone is prepared to assume control of the Bank of Aurion. You can cooperate, retain a small portion of your personal wealth, and leave the country with your lives. Or you can refuse."

"Refuse?"

The man at the head of the table spoke. Better dressed than the others.

It was Lord Aurion himself, the patriarch of House Aurion.

He looked at each of his executives before turning his gaze back to Trish.

He was almost theatrical in appearance. Gold hair, gold eyes, gold clothes, each piece paid for with the bank’s money. But despite his imposing look, he was fidgeting.

Most of the true masterminds behind the plan to subjugate the aristocracy were dead. Now he was little more than a symbolic figurehead, propped up by a crumbling institution.

And a cornered animal was dangerous.

"You Brimstone whore!"

He shoved himself out of his seat, the rings covering his fingers flaring in a riot of colors as the mana in the room turned volatile.

"Miss Fillaunete, please step outside. We’ll handle him."

The two Brimstone guards moved between Trish and Aurion himself. Lord Aurion didn’t know it, but he was facing the Brimstone’s equivalent of special forces.