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Dreadfort
298 AC
Treygar Caro, now the left hand man of Domeric Bolton. Yet Maester Rigmond had taken the position of being the right hand man of the young lord, the two were always up to some form of creation. They had become as thick as thieves and Rigmond had become close to him if not on equal standing as Domeric was with the Redforts.
Yet thinking back on that brought no surprises. They grew wealthier everyday and he had grown more powerful than he ever was in bravos.
How he smiled in their faces when they'd realize he'd surpassed some of those bootlickers and backstabbers. How high he had risen now!
A disgraced banker now one of the most powerful men on this side of the continent. And a member of the ever expanding South East Trading Company. The conglomeration of 15 merchant and investors that had joined hands to dominate trade in westeros and of the essos. A far off ambition it was , but they had been taking a step towards it everyday, getting closer each time.
Before his downfall and traversal to Westeros, he had belonged to a consortium of Braavosi financiers, a lesser branch tied loosely to the Iron Bank with enough respectability to be invited to their domed halls on celebrated days, and enough wealth to lend coin to merchant princes and even the occasional bravo captains.
He was neither the richest among them nor the most daring but what he was, was statistical, highly competent and cunning . A man who believed profit was best earned over logical and innovative means. Taking proper risks but also managing said risks to not falter and ruin one's self.
For a time, his formula worked greatly. His books and coffers swelled. His networks grew and the consortium also grew on his successes. Many wealthy men and women drank with him, praised him, and claimed they had foreseen such success.
But he knew they lied; none had believed in him at the beginning. The bankers of Braavos believed in proof, collateral, lineage, guild endorsements, and their own approval .
Yet here he was, he had risen out of the slums of bravos. He had only himself and the results he made happen.
And through it all his results, unfortunately, could be stolen. And they eventually were.
The first blow fell in the form of gossip . Small at first, like fleas. A merchant galley had returned from Pentos one day claiming he had miscalculated the spice prices and sent vessels laden with saffron, powder spices and peppers at a loss. How they dared then.
None of it was true of course , but truth mattered less than anything when you had wealth and power. And when spoken often enough in Braavos' fog-wreathed streets, truths had little value against the wealthy.
The second blow though came from within his own consortium. Master Varo Penzali, a man whose nose resembled a quill, approached him one day and misled him to a road of damnation and ruin.
His colleagues had wanted to remove him and he had refused, citing the contracts he himself had built changed the consortium overnight. Other men withdrew support for his ventures, claiming his disputes threatened their standing. One offered to buy him out of his stocks at half value. Another refused to speak to him at all.
The Iron Bank then did not intervene yet, they seldom intervened unless profit demanded it. They moved quietly as stalkers though watching and waiting for any issues, and those who hoped for their sympathy when it came to coin drowned in a pit of pitch.
The third blow though had done the true damage and it had sank him truly.
A report reached the Sealord that he had colluded with Lysene competitors to undercut Braavosi tariffs. It was a fabrication, clever and supported by doctored contracts, forged ship manifests, and enough witnesses bribed through intermediaries to give it shape. His offices were searched, his books and servants seized, and inquiries opened he had prevent himself from being thrown in a cell but he was all but a prisoner in his own abode.
He tried to fight back with facts and numbers.
And even as they examined his paper works and contracts for days. He knew what conclusions they would make.
Guilt had already been sliced into the public's imagination. And when the Sealord had finally made his verdict. They had stamped the seal to finally cast him out
He was barred from the operation of merchantile ventures for five years, and stripped of administrative duties and of his banking license and seal. He could no longer do business in bravos or any of its colonies.
He did not commit treason. Not fraud. Not even criminality. He just committed the crime of almost surpassing bigger competitors.
They who had coveted his success had ruined him. The fifteen years he worked to reach to that point of his life had all now been flushed down the drains.
And the Titan for all its talk of modesty and integrity did not mourn him nor any one like him. Because at the end of the day it was all just business.
From then on he left and came to Gulltown where he had first met the young lord bolton in the markets, where he'd used the llittle money he had to manage small time spice shops in coastal town.
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"Whats going on Arthur?"
"Whats going on where ?" The man asked looking around playing coy.
"Goosefat bill he was found in this brothel of yours and that doesn't look good on you Arthur."
"Your name keeps coming up!" The bald headed man added as he shifted his black gauntleted hand to rest on the back of a chair.
"In what circles?" Big boy, one of Arthur's companion inquired.
"In my mums sewing circle…. I'm a black leg sergeant stupid what circles do you think?", he shut big boy up before looking back at Arthur.
" Goosefat Bill is a spy in the skin of a mercenary and he is accused of treason and is to be arrested upon contact , he and his band are ragged traitors and these traitors were seen drinking and whoring here." The army officer said.
"If he was here I would've seen him and sent for you at first sight but as I said I don't know nothing Jack." Arthur brushed off again.
Jack walked closer to the man entering his personal space to whisper something only he could hear.
"You're walking on a thin line Arthur. One of these days what little silver you pay me wont be enough to shelter you from the storm that's coming and when that day comes there will be little warning from me. Cause I won't be hanged in your place. So watch yourself".
The man stepped back and looked at all three men one last time before leaving, his yellow cloak flowing behind him.
"What a cunt!?" Miller scoffed as he saw the man exit through the door.
"Hush up miller, jacky boy is our friend", Arthur says.
"Until he's not," Big boy added, arms now crossed over his chest.
"He's just being pressured by those fancy commanders of his. Politics and all you know how they are? Lord Bolton has been ramping up on security since lately they're under pressure. And now Jack is taking that pressure on us all. They even dug up old man wellen's house the other day citing he was hiding a traitor"
"And thats the thing, who are these men traitors for that the lord bolton have his black legs searching and harassing everyone?" Miller asked in frustration
"No one knows, but one thing I do know whenever their caught it wont be pretty" Arthur voiced.
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