Baron Aldric's proposition comes with the weight of careful political calculation.
"I want to hire you," he says simply. "Official position, legitimate authority, resources to conduct proper investigations."
Kenji sets down the Baron's ledger, his mind already processing the implications. "You're offering me institutional support for systematic fraud detection."
"I'm offering you protection and legitimacy. What you did to Thorne was impressive, but you're operating without official backing. That makes you vulnerable."
The Baron moves to a wall map marked with colored pins—dozens of them scattered across the kingdom like drops of blood on parchment. Kenji approaches, his finger tracing routes between the markers.
"Red pins represent districts with suspected tax collection irregularities. Blue pins are confirmed cases of administrative corruption. Yellow pins..." Baron Aldric's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Yellow pins are nobles who've explicitly threatened to eliminate anyone conducting unauthorized audits."
Kenji counts the yellow pins with professional detachment, his finger moving from cluster to cluster. "Thirty-seven death threats in a coordinated geographic pattern. They're not just defending territory—they're implementing a systematic intimidation network."
"Exactly. And three of those yellow pins are for nobles who've approached me directly about 'adjusting' my tax reporting methods." The Baron's jaw tightens. "The most recent arrived yesterday."
From a locked drawer, Baron Aldric produces documents bearing royal seals. The parchment crackles as he spreads them across his desk. "These are official complaints filed against you in the past week. Charges include: conducting unauthorized financial investigations, disrupting lawful tax collection, inciting peasant rebellion, and practicing unlicensed magic."
Kenji examines the accusations with the same analytical approach he'd use for any fraudulent documentation, but his pulse quickens as he reads. Each charge carries severe penalties. "Standard defensive tactics. Criminal organizations typically attempt to criminalize investigation activities when direct intimidation fails."
"Can you prove these charges are false?"
"Given adequate time and resources, yes. But defending against fabricated accusations while simultaneously conducting fraud investigations would significantly impact operational efficiency." Kenji looks up from the documents. "You understand what you're asking me to step into."
Baron Aldric nods grimly. "Here's what I'm offering: appointment as Provincial Auditor with full investigative authority. Royal backing, official documentation, and a team of trained assistants."
The offer comes with paperwork that Kenji reviews with professional thoroughness. The terms are remarkably generous: substantial salary, wide investigative latitude, legal protections against retaliation. Too generous, perhaps.
Kenji sets down his teacup with deliberate precision. The porcelain clinks against the saucer in the sudden silence.
"Baron, I have one condition."
The room falls quiet except for the crackling fire. A wrong answer here could mean losing his only chance at institutional support—or walking into an elaborate trap.
"Which is?"
"I want to audit your books first."
The words hang between them like a blade. In Kenji's experience, this was the moment honest people proved their honesty, and criminals revealed their true nature. He watches Aldric's face carefully, cataloging every micro-expression.
Baron Aldric's response begins as a quiet chuckle, then builds into full laughter—not the nervous laughter of someone caught off-guard, but the delighted laughter of someone whose faith has been validated.
"Master Kenji, I was hoping you'd ask." His eyes light up with genuine pleasure. "I've been wondering when you'd get around to the obvious question. A competent auditor should never accept employment without verifying their employer's legitimacy."
He produces keys to multiple locked cabinets, the metal warm from being carried close to his body. "Full access to five years of financial records. Revenue, expenses, tax collection, administrative costs, agricultural investments, infrastructure projects, and personnel expenditures."
"And if I find irregularities?"
"Then I'm a hypocrite who deserves exposure, and you should decline my offer without hesitation."
Kenji accepts the keys with the reverence of a scholar handling ancient texts. They feel heavier than they should. "How much time do I have?"
"Take as long as you need. I'll have chambers prepared and meals provided. My steward will assist with any questions about local accounting practices."
---
As evening settles over Greyhold Manor, Kenji begins what may be the most important audit of his career. If Baron Aldric proves legitimate, he gains powerful backing for his anti-corruption efforts. If the Baron proves fraudulent...
Well, at least he'll have detected the fraud before accepting employment with criminals.
Kenji works through the night, transforming Baron Aldric's study into what resembles a forensic accounting laboratory. Ledgers spread across every available surface, calculations covering spare parchment, cross-reference charts mapping financial relationships across five years of governance.
The Baron's financial records tell a story of methodical competence that initially seems almost too good to be true.
Revenue streams are properly documented and diversified: agricultural taxes calculated at exactly royal-mandated rates, trade levies applied consistently, feudal obligations met precisely. No mysterious windfall gains, no unexplained revenue spikes, no suspicious patterns of over-collection.
But Kenji knows that sophisticated fraud often hides behind apparent perfection. He's seen executives create flawless paper trails while stealing millions.
He digs deeper, checking correlation ratios between reported harvests and weather records, cross-referencing trade levy collections with merchant guild documentation, analyzing infrastructure investment patterns for signs of embezzled construction funds. His eyes burn from reading by candlelight, but he pushes forward.
By dawn, he's assembled a comprehensive financial profile that would impress auditors in his original world:
- Tax collection accuracy: 99.7% compliance with royal rates
- Administrative efficiency: 12% overhead ratio (kingdom average: 28%)
- Infrastructure investment: 23% of annual revenue (kingdom average: 8%)
- Popular welfare expenditures: 15% of budget (kingdom average: 3%)
"Either Baron Aldric is genuinely exceptional at governance," Kenji murmurs while reviewing his final calculations, "or he's running the most sophisticated accounting fraud in medieval history."
The breakthrough comes when he discovers a slim volume tucked behind the official ledgers—the Baron's private accounting system.
Kenji opens it with trembling fingers. The entries read like a moral audit trail:
- "Widow Marta's farm taxes: waived due to harvest failure (covered from personal funds)"
- "Bridge repair: advanced payment from estate account (reimbursed by public works two months later)"
- "Miller's son: medical expenses, 3 gold (source: sold personal books)"
Kenji stares at that final entry, his vision blurring slightly. In his original world, he'd audited thousands of executives. None had ever sold their own possessions to pay for a peasant child's medicine.
This isn't creative accounting to hide theft—it's creative accounting to hide generosity.
"Fascinating," he breathes, realizing he's discovered something unprecedented: a medieval noble who actually follows the ethical principles he claims to uphold.
Baron Aldric arrives with breakfast to find Kenji surrounded by the organized chaos of a completed audit. Dark circles under his eyes tell the story of a sleepless night, but his posture radiates quiet satisfaction.
"Conclusion?" the Baron asks simply, setting down a tray of bread and cheese.
"Your financial management demonstrates exceptional competence and integrity. Administrative efficiency exceeds kingdom standards by significant margins. No evidence of fraud, embezzlement, or systematic irregularities detected."
"And personally?"
Kenji hesitates, then decides on complete honesty. "Your private expenditures suggest you're either genuinely committed to ethical governance or sophisticated enough to create false evidence of moral behavior spanning five years. Given the mathematical consistency of your public records and the... personal sacrifices documented in your private ledger, I conclude the former."
Baron Aldric nods with quiet satisfaction. "Then you'll accept the position?"
"I have one final question." Kenji stands, stretching muscles cramped from hours of hunching over ledgers. "Why do you want to support systematic anti-corruption efforts? Most administrators benefit from maintaining the status quo."
The Baron moves to his window, looking out over fields where peasants work under fair taxation, villages that prosper under honest administration. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of lived experience.
"Master Kenji, I've seen what corruption does to a land." His knuckles whiten as he grips the windowsill. "My father's territory was productive once. Rich soil, strategic location, hardworking people. Then came corrupt tax collectors, fraudulent grain assessments, stolen infrastructure funds. By the time I inherited, half the villages were abandoned ruins. I spent ten years just undoing the damage."
He turns back to face Kenji, and for a moment his composure cracks, revealing genuine pain beneath his noble bearing.
"Beyond that, corruption is economically inefficient. When officials steal from the system, productivity drops, innovation stagnates, prosperity declines. I want my lands to thrive, not merely survive." His voice strengthens. "I've calculated the mathematics myself. Systematic fraud costs the kingdom approximately 40% of potential prosperity. That's an intolerable waste of human resources."
For the first time since awakening in this world, Kenji feels something shift inside his chest—a warmth he'd forgotten was possible. He smiles, and realizes with surprise that it's genuine.
"Baron, I believe we're going to work very well together."
"Excellent." Aldric's answering smile transforms his stern features. "Now, shall we discuss your first official case?