A week passed. Political climate at Versailles had cooled from arctic to cold. Art's delicately constructed compromise, communicated through the Comte de Mercy-Argenteau to Marie Antoinette, had been met with grudging acceptance. The Queen was no longer publicly acrimonious, though now she spoke to him in a cold, formal remoteness that was even more chilling than she had been in fury. He'd averted an international scandal, but at the price of what little personal rapport he might ever enjoy with his own wife. It was a price that'd had to be paid.
He had plunged back into the ledgers that week, but reading them in an unfamiliar manner. He was no longer just an auditor, reading through the lists of pensions and stipends, but a political scientist, trying to read the system of favors, of alliances, of enmities that they inscribed. Each line was a history, and he was beginning to learn how to read them.
On the eighth night since the storm blown in by the Austrians, word was conveyed by a guard that Minister Necker requested a immediate audience. Art shuddered. It was now. Stuck in the diplomatic world, Necker had been searching.
The new Jacques Necker that entered the study was a different person. The stunned, terrorized banker that had initially been confronted by the King's preposterous obsessions no longer existed. He was now a man energized, his eyes shining with the cold thrill of the successful hunter returning with his quarry. He carried a thin leatherportfolio, whose contents he dumped in ceremonial fashion onto the King's desk in the sort of reverence usually accorded some sacred object.
"Your Majesty," Necker said, skipping his typical long greetings. He was in a hurry, a conspiratorial air about him. "Your preliminary audit has concluded. Your instincts... were not only right. They were, if I may be so bold, conservative."
Art leaned in, his fatigue forgotten. "Report, Minister."
He flung open the portfolio. Underneath lay several parchment-pages filled with his neat, voluminous handwriting. "We worked in secrecy, a small group of my most trusted clerks, loyal men to me, not the court. We cross-referenced completely, as your system directed: the entire Royal Pension rolls versus the chapel death registries of the prior decade." He waited for full dramatic effect. "It is worse than we can even imagine. Far worse."
He lifted the top sheet of the desk. It was a list.
"We've, to date, confirmed sixty-seven 'ghosts' still active in the pension rolls. Sixty-seven deceased lords whose pensions are paid quarterly, as regular as clockwork. The earliest we ran into dated nine years ago."
Art scanned the list, his mind making the quick math. "What's the annual loss?"
"Two hundred and twelve thousand livres," said Necker, the money coming down emphatically in the quiet room. "Annually. For the past decade, the total theft amounts to near two million livres stolen right out of the Royal Treasury."
Art let out a soft whistle. Two hundred thousand livres a year. It was a huge sum. Enough to outfit a whole new regiment of men. Enough to buy wheat to feed a small city through a bad winter. It was a leak that had bled the kingdom white, unremarked, for years.
"Did you find the source?" Art asked, his voice deep and solemn.
"We did," Necker confirmed, his face in grim satisfaction. "It's too common a forgery, the names drawn from too different regions and families, to be the work of the families of the intended beneficiaries. The weak spot, as your analysis predicted, lay within. The forgery of the disbursement authorizations was traced to one of the Treasury's departments."
He gestured to another piece of paper. "It appears to be a small conspiracy, in the possession of this man: the Baron de Clugny. He is an ostensibly insignificant functionary, a fourth son of an old but impoverished aristocratic family. His official revenues are small, yet we have... made inquiries. His debts at the gaming tables are the scandal of some of the Parisian salons. He has been falsifying the documents, convening in a group of junior clerks charged with making the payments. They have been skimming the money to untraceable accounts and splitting the profits."
He read the name. Baron de Clugny. He had succeeded. He had found his crime, his culprit, his evidence. He was overwhelmed by a wave of triumph. It was a clear, undisputed triumph.
But gazing at the meat, the elation soured rapidly in a new, thornier problem. The thrill of the hunt was finished. The rough problem of what to do with the meat started.
He looked at Necker. "What would you advise?"
Necker, the pragmatist, the man with the sensitive feel of the Versailles ecosystem, had his answer ready. "Your Majesty, the path of least resistance is plain. We go in the shadows. We summon the Baron and his fellow plotters under some pretext, show them the evidence, and take their Letter of Resignation. We relieve them of their offices, cancel the spurious pensions, and initiate proceedings to recover what funds we are able. A public trial would be a calamity."
"Explain," Art ordered.
"A scandal of this nature in public life would be perilously damaging," stated Necker, his voice grave. "It would suggest the King's very Treasury is corrupt to the core, compromising the faith of our creditors. And the Baron de Clugny, however minor, has powerful relatives. His cousin is wed to a Rohan. To put a gentleman in the public dock for theft... that would be interpreted as an assault upon the entire Second Estate. The nobility will rebel against you. It will be a firestorm that we can neither contain."
Art listened, his head bobbing slowly. Necker's argument was sound, rational, and safe. It was the proper 18th-century play. But Art wasn't living in the 18th century. He was thinking like a 21st-century politician, a chief executive in the midst of a PR crisis. A silent dismissal was a miss. What this wasn't was simply a crime; it was a tale. It was a weapon.
He dialed the HUD, his mind running through the options. He wanted the political math in the open.
Option A: Quiet Dismissals (Necker's Plan).
Pros: Recovers funds with minimal political friction. Avoids a major scandal. Court Stability: +5%.
Cons: Low public impact. The reform happens in secret. Public Perception: Unchanged.Nobility Hostility: -5% (They are relieved the problem was handled discreetly.) The deterrent effect is minimal.
Option B: Public Arrests and Trial.
Pros:Popularity with Third Estate: +15%. (The King is seen as a true champion of justice, holding the elite accountable.) Establishes a powerful deterrent against future corruption. Crown Fiscal Integrity: +20%.
Cons:Nobility Hostility: -30%. (They perceive this as a direct attack on their class and its privileges.) Court Stability: -15%. High risk of the trial becoming a political circus, weaponized by your enemies.
He read the glowing words, the choice made in cold, numerical terms. Necker's plan was the safe one. It was the sensible choice for a king who wanted to maintain the status quo. But Art's goal wasn't to maintain the status quo; it was to preclude the revolution the status quo was busily begetting. He didn't need the adoration of the aristocrats. He would never be adored by them, not the real him. He needed the confidence of the masses, their support. He needed a public triumph, a token that things had changed.
He lifted his head from the portfolio, his mind made up. His face was set in a cold, unyielding determination.
"No, Minister," said Art, his voice cutting through the silence of the study. Their comfortable coalition of the past was stripped away, replaced by the frost of a king delivering instructions. "There will be no quiet dismissal. There will be no compromise in the backroom."
He got up, walking to the window and looking out into the night.
"There will be arrests. There will be chains. There will be a public trial with all the evidence in the open. The French people, the merchants who pay their taxes, the farmers who provide this kingdom, they must see that there is one law for all. They must see that a thief in the Treasury is the same as a thief in the streets. They must see that the crown justice falls upon all, be they a baron or a serf."
He gaped in dismay. "But Your Majesty... the scandal! The nobles!"
"The nobles can go to blazes," stated Art, turning to face him. "They are not the ones that will storm the Bastille. They are not the ones that will walk us to the guillotine." He hammered the list of names on his desk. "That isn't simply about the recovery of stolen monies, Necker. That is about the regaining of confidence within the Crown itself. We will make an example of them."