Chapter 4 · Chapter 4 - The audit

Selra Tann returned to Veyr, Antilles & Sorn with one less biscuit than she had entered the penthouse with and considerably more questions.

The biscuit did not survive the lift.

By the time she crossed reception, the last crumbs had disappeared and she had already reorganized her notes twice, not because anything she had seen was especially difficult to describe, but because the apartment resisted the obvious conclusions.

It was enormous. That part was simple.

Eleven hundred square meters of high Imperial residential architecture, granted to Thrawn personally after his elevation to Grand Admiral, occupying enough vertical and horizontal space that Selra had spent part of the inspection wondering whether the Emperor had rewarded senior officers in square meters or simply enjoyed making ordinary people feel small.

There was imported stone. Custom fittings. A terrace large enough to land something on if building management had been less particular about its traffic regulations. There was a bath in the principal suite that weighed nearly five metric tons. There were rooms designed for receptions Thrawn apparently never held, guest accommodations rarely used, a formal dining room that had seen less activity than several conference rooms at the firm, and a principal bedroom that Thrawn himself had apparently decided was better suited to his temporary aide.

None of that was what bothered her. What bothered her was how little of it seemed to be his.

Caro was in his office when she arrived, seated sideways in his chair with one ankle over the opposite knee and a legal memorandum floating at an angle that suggested he had stopped reading it several minutes ago.

He looked up as Selra entered. “Well?”

Selra closed the door behind her. “The apartment is ridiculous.”

Caro smiled. “That is not normally a legal conclusion.”

“It should be.”

She set her datapad on his desk. “Eleven hundred square meters. High-floor residence. Private landing access through the complex. Formal salon, dining room, library, multiple guest suites, terrace, principal suite, aide’s quarters. The bathroom contains a monolithic stone bath that may be the least practical object I have ever encountered in a residential property.”

Caro’s hands came together with interest. “How impractical?”

“Approximately four point eight metric tons of velmorian duskstone.”

His eyebrows rose. “Empty?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

Selra looked at him. “I knew you would enjoy that.”

“I enjoy anything that requires a structural engineer to take a bath.”

She ignored him and opened the property inventory. “The important part is that most of what makes the apartment look expensive does not appear to represent Thrawn’s personal spending. The residence itself was a grant from Palpatine. Many of the architectural finishes were installed as part of the property. Several major furnishings predate his occupation. The building records classify some of the modifications as Palace-authorized expenditure.”

Caro’s expression changed slightly. “Meaning?”

“Meaning if we are trying to establish where his money went, the apartment is not the answer.”

She expanded the list. “There are personal purchases. Some furniture. A few original works rather than holographic reproductions. The Rionese council table was his, for example. There are specialist optics on the terrace. Clothing. Books and archival subscriptions. Ordinary domestic expenses when he was actually on Coruscant.”

“Ordinary relative to a Grand Admiral.”

“Ordinary relative to this address.”

“Important distinction.”

“Very.”

Caro leaned forward. “What about the art?”

“Less than I expected.”

That interested him.

Selra brought up several of the inventory photographs. “Most of it was holographic. High-quality archival representations, but not originals. The physical pieces seem to have been selected because the object itself contained information he considered useful—the construction, wear, alterations, provenance. Not because the original was more prestigious.”

Caro studied one of the images. “So the collection was closer to a research library.”

“That was my impression.”

“And the expensive table?”

“He studied it.”

“And then?”

“Used it as a table.”

Caro laughed.

Selra allowed herself the smallest smile. “The administrative droid seemed faintly offended that I found this surprising.”

“Which one?”

“VETA-7. MILO-3 was occupied attempting to feed me.”

“Successfully?”

Selra looked at him.

Caro noticed. “Oh.”

“That is not relevant.”

“You ate something.”

“It was a biscuit.”

“This case improves by the hour.”

Selra moved on before he could ask whether there had been tea. “The larger issue is occupancy. Thrawn barely lived there.”

That stopped him. “How barely?”

“I am still reconciling building access with the domestic droids’ records, but his stays were generally short and tied to Admiralty business, fleet resupply, formal meetings or direct summons from Palpatine. The apartment functioned more as a Coruscant base than a home.”

Caro unfolded himself from the chair. “And the principal suite?”

“Apparently he preferred the aide’s room.”

Caro stared at her. “The aide’s room.”

“Yes.”

“In the eleven-hundred-square-meter Imperial penthouse.”

“Yes.”

“He voluntarily slept in the smallest bedroom.”

“Not the smallest. One of the service rooms is smaller.”

“That distinction restores sanity.”

“It was approximately the size of a comfortable shipboard cabin.”

Caro stood and came around the desk, already reaching for the projected floor plan. His hands moved through the rooms as Selra highlighted them. “This?”

“Yes.”

“And this is the principal suite?”

“Yes.”

“With the geological event in the bathroom.”

“Yes.”

“And who slept there?”

“On at least one documented occasion, Senior Lieutenant Lyra Pyrondi. Ten days.”

Caro slowly turned his head. “While the Grand Admiral slept in the aide’s room.”

“Yes.”

A grin appeared. “Selra.”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to observe that rank apparently has its privileges.”

“She was his temporary aide.”

“Even better.”

Selra folded her arms. “Can we return to the asset question?”

“Reluctantly.”

She reopened the financial notes. “This is the part I think matters. I expected the apartment to explain at least some of the gap in his civilian accounts.”

Caro’s humor faded. “What gap?”

“I only noticed it because I was trying to match significant personal purchases against the inventory.”

She brought up a preliminary transaction summary. “It is not my field, and I have not done a complete reconstruction. But there are transfers out of his civilian accounts that do not correspond to anything in the apartment. Not furniture. Not art. Not renovations. Not household staff. Not travel.”

Caro took the datapad from her. “How much?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It means exactly what I said. I do not know yet.”

He glanced at her.

Selra continued. “Some of the expenditure may be perfectly ordinary once Finance normalizes it across the period. Military officers had allowances, investment accounts, insurance products, off-world banking structures. I may be looking at transfers between accounts that simply do not appear in the property records I had access to.”

“But.”

“But the apartment does not look like the residence of someone systematically consuming a very large private income.”

Caro looked again at the photographs. A room designed for Imperial entertaining. Barely used. A library organized for work. A bedroom abandoned in favor of the aide’s room. Holographic art where an officer of Thrawn’s rank could easily have afforded originals. An optical telescope whose principal sophistication appeared to consist of pointing extremely well at distant things. The obscene bath had probably cost more than some apartments.

Palpatine had paid for it. The Empire had paid for it.

Caro’s fingers tapped once against the edge of the datapad. “How much did he earn?”

“Enough that I stopped trying to estimate from rank tables.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is why I think we should give this to people who do this professionally.”

“Excellent answer.”

He crossed to the internal comm.

Selra watched him select a department rather than a person. “You want Forensic Accounts?”

“I want someone to tell me whether our client was rich, poor, extravagant, miserly, or quietly financing a small moon.”

“I don’t think those are the standard categories.”

“They will understand.”

Caro activated the channel. “Financial Investigations, please.”

While the system routed the call, Selra glanced back at the apartment inventory. “There is one more complication.”

Caro looked over his shoulder.

“The domestic droids retained records through the six years he was missing.”

His hand stopped. “Financial records?”

“Not directly. Consumption. Deliveries. Building charges. Maintenance authorizations. Access. Enough to establish that nobody was secretly living there and spending from his accounts.”

“That is useful.”

“Also mildly depressing.”

“Why?”

“MILO-3 continued preparing the residence for his return.”

Caro looked at her. “For six years?”

“Yes.”

There was no joke this time.

After a moment, the comm answered. A woman appeared in miniature holo above the panel, silver-haired, narrow-faced and wearing the expression of someone who had been interrupted in the middle of a calculation and intended to discover whether the interruption justified itself.

“Antilles.”

“Ressa.”

“What have you broken?”

“Nothing.”

“That is disappointing.”

Caro smiled. “I have a financial mystery for you.”

The woman’s eyes moved to Selra and gave a court short nod. “Tann.”

Selra inclined her head. “Ms. Var.”

So she was Ressa Var.

Selra knew the name, although they had never formally met. Director of Financial Investigations. Former forensic auditor for the Republic Reconstruction Authority. Famous inside the firm for finding assets people had forgotten they owned and liabilities they had hoped everyone else would forget existed.

Caro lifted Selra’s datapad. “Our client appears to have had substantial civilian income and an extremely expensive residence that largely failed to consume it.”

Ressa’s expression did not change. “That describes half the partners.”

“Not me.”

“No. You consume yours.”

Selra lowered her eyes.

Caro put one hand against his chest. “I am being attacked in front of junior staff.”

“You called me.”

“True.”

He sent the preliminary account set. “Take a look at Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s finances.”

That did change Ressa’s expression. Only slightly. “The Grand Admiral?”

“The very one.”

“How far?”

“Everything we can lawfully access. Civilian accounts, Imperial compensation, bonuses, property, investments, trusts, securities, insurance, royalties if he somehow wrote a memoir without telling anyone.”

“He did not.”

“You checked?”

“No.”

Ressa looked at Selra again. “What started this?”

“The apartment inspection,” Selra said. “There is much less personal expenditure visible there than I expected. Most of the extreme luxury came with the property or was state-funded. He also spent very little time in residence.”

Ressa glanced at the figures appearing beside her holo. “And you think money is missing.”

“I think I cannot see where some of it went.”

That answer seemed to please her more. “Better.”

Caro gestured toward Ressa with the datapad. “This is why I called professionals.”

Ressa ignored him. “How many years?”

“From first significant Imperial compensation through disappearance at Lothal,” Selra said. “And anything that remained active afterward.”

Ressa’s eyes sharpened. “Afterward?”

“Some accounts survived.”

“Of course they did.”

Caro leaned one hip against the desk. “What does that mean?”

“It means banks are much better at surviving governments than governments expect.”

She began opening the material. “Give me the apartment inventory, property acquisition basis and building charges. I want to separate state-provided lifestyle from personal consumption before I touch the investment side.”

Selra transferred them.

Ressa scanned the first page. “Grand Admiral residence granted by Imperial sovereign authority… Palace-paid structural alterations… Five-ton bath-”

“Four point eight.”

Ressa looked up. Selra remained perfectly serious.

“All right.”

Caro made a small triumphant gesture. “It is not only me.”

“No,” Ressa said. “It is objectively ridiculous.” She went back to the accounts. “I will have a preliminary asset map tomorrow. Something defensible will take longer.”

“Take longer.”

Ressa looked at him.

Caro’s tone had changed. “I want correct before interesting.”

“Good.”

She started to close the connection, then stopped. “One question.”

Caro waited.

“Are we looking for hidden wealth or missing money?” Ressa asked.

He glanced toward Selra.

That was, Selra realized, exactly the distinction she had been struggling to articulate since leaving the apartment. She answered. “We don’t know.”

Ressa nodded. “Then we begin with neither assumption.”

The holo disappeared.

Caro remained leaning against the desk.

Selra gathered the apartment files. “Do you think it is anything?”

“I think,” Caro said, turning one hand slowly through the air, “that our client spent very little time in an extraordinarily expensive home he did not buy, surrounded himself mostly with reproductions of art he could easily have purchased, and appears to have accumulated income faster than you can presently account for it…”

“That does not make the money suspicious.”

“No.”

“It may simply be invested.”

“Yes.”

“Or transferred elsewhere.”

“Yes.”

“Or the records are incomplete.”

“Very likely.”

Selra looked at him. Caro smiled faintly. “You want me to say it.”

“I want you not to leap ahead of Finance.”

“Cruel.”

“Mr. Antilles.”

He surrendered with both hands. “Fine.”

Selra headed toward the door.

Behind her, Caro looked once more at the preliminary figures. Then at the photograph of Thrawn’s nearly unused principal bedroom. Money had gone somewhere. The apartment had merely established where it had not.