Inheritance Tax and Ghost Stories (1)
"I've sorted and set aside the cases that should be fine to send back to the Tax Collection Bureau. And over here are the ones you'll need to review personally, Special Tax Collector, sir."
Rhea delivered her report without a single crease in her posture, military discipline drawn taut through every line of her body. Just to be sure, he checked through the documents she had organized. There was nothing to fault. Not a thing.
Wait. Didn't she say she couldn't do anything?
Her work was so far beyond what anyone could expect from a new hire that he sucked in a breath of pure disbelief.
"D-did I make a mistake somehow…?"
Rhea watched his face carefully and asked in a small, cautious voice.
"Ahem. No. It's perfect. My eye for talent really is never wrong. You are an exceptionally capable person."
"Th-thank you!"
Damn it.
He had hired her thinking she was incompetent. Why the hell was she useful?
Not that he could exactly get angry about it. Rhea beamed at him, while something inside him blackened and burned to ash.
Is this right?
No matter how he turned it over, he could not make sense of it. Top of the written exams or not, exams and actual work were completely different animals. And yet a brand-new hire who had arrived only yesterday was flawlessly handling duties no one had even taught her?
"Keep giving the work everything you've got from here on out."
There was no way to pick a fight over nothing, so he forced himself to look unbothered and gave a dry nod.
"I will do my utmost! Thank you!! Thank you!"
Rhea looked ready to leap into the air, eyes shining with tears.
Aigoo. Who was the one who actually wanted to cry right now?
This was driving him insane. Truly.
The regular meeting where the Treasury's key personnel all gathered. The session had proceeded in a solemn atmosphere and was nearly finished when—
"Minister, even so, suddenly seating a new hire in a 4th Grade Senior Secretariat post is going too far, isn't it?"
Vice Minister of the Treasury Bern Lockhart frowned and carefully put the question to Minister Elena Astoria.
Everyone present nodded as if they had been waiting for exactly that.
"As you well know, Minister, staff morale has hit rock bottom over this. Honestly, how many people in this ministry even got in without taking the exams? Everyone else starts at 9th grade and is lucky to scrape a 5th-grade rank by retirement, and yet…"
"So you can't stand the sight of a commoner fresh out of the Academy starting at 4th grade. Is that it?"
"That's right. If there were at least some reasonable justification everyone could accept, it might be different. But a 4th Grade Senior Secretariat post is simply excessive."
At Vice Minister Bern's continued remarks, Minister Elena folded her arms and swept a long look over everyone assembled in the conference room.
"Do the rest of you feel the same way?"
They all hurried to avoid her gaze, but it was clear enough that everyone shared the Vice Minister's opinion.
"I don't even know how I'm supposed to report this to the Imperial Household. In the worst case, the Office of the Inspector General could open an investigation."
"Th-the Inspector General!"
"Good heavens! What a dreadful thought…!"
When the answer he wanted failed to come from Minister Elena's mouth, Vice Minister Bern hardened his expression and dropped the words Office of the Inspector General.
The conference room immediately began to stir.
To imperial civil servants like them, the Empire's Inspector General was an object of pure terror. If that office ever set its mind to it, half the people in this room would lose their heads. That was how absolute the Inspector General's power was.
"Heh. Is that so."
Even under Vice Minister Bern's warning, Minister Elena only snorted and blew a dismissive little breath through her nose.
For a moment everyone, Bern included, looked baffled. Then Elena shook her head slowly and let out a sigh.
"Then let me ask something this time. Special Tax Collector Rohan is a 1st-Grade Management officer. Anyone assisting him needs to be at least 5th grade. So tell me—among the staff at 5th grade and above, who exactly would want to work under the Special Tax Collector?"
"……"
"If there is a volunteer, I will cancel Senior Secretariat Rhea's appointment just as you all wish, promote that person to 4th grade, and assign them instead."
Silence dropped over the conference room in an instant.
Who would want to work under Special Tax Collector Rohan, a man who had come out of the Intelligence Bureau—an outfit every bit as terrifying as the Inspector General? On top of that, the Special Tax Collector's job was to squeeze taxes out of the malicious delinquents the regular Tax Collection Bureau couldn't touch.
In short, it was a garbage dump. A living hell.
There was a reason malicious tax delinquents were called malicious. If your luck was truly rotten, you could go out to collect and end up with a knife in you.
So even with a promotion on the table, the Special Tax Collector's Office was a department no one wanted anywhere near.
While everyone held to that silence, Vice Minister Bern once again opened his mouth toward Minister Elena, still composed.
"Haa. Minister, I understand what you're trying to say, but even so—do you really think the Inspector General would care about any of that? And this Rohan fellow is your Academy classmate, is he not?"
"And?"
"Naturally that means he could be dragged into the problem as well…"
"He is someone I formally requested from the Director of the Intelligence Bureau in His Majesty the Emperor's presence."
"Minister, I am saying that the Treasury—which of all ministries must remain the most transparent—cannot afford to come under suspicion over something like this."
"I understand what you mean. Have you said everything you needed to say?"
"Minister!"
"Vice Minister, I will handle everything outside these walls myself. The Inspector General will not be coming. So please just keep the house in order."
Even under Vice Minister Bern's continued persuasion, Minister Elena only shook her head and refused to bend.
Everyone in the conference room thought, Our Minister has finally lost her mind!, but her manner had been so absolute that no one could manage another word. They only sighed.
Elena, for her part, paid them no mind at all. She looked down at the dossier on Rohan that the Intelligence Bureau had sent over and smiled to herself.
Of 262 total missions, 261 were executed to perfection, with only a single exception.
Even the Minister of the Inspector General falls over in shock at the sound of Rohan's name. How exactly is the Inspector General supposed to lay a finger on him?
Rohan's true identity was known only to ministers and above. Some of those ministers went pale at the mere mention of his name and hurried to hush the subject. So what if he had promoted a 9th Grade Junior Assistant straight to 4th Grade Senior Secretariat? Who was going to pick a fight over it?
With the skill of a man once called a demon on the northern front, our Treasury will absolutely overcome this crisis.
Elena flicked her fingers, kindled a tiny flame, and burned the dossier on Rohan she had been holding. Then she turned back to the heads of each department in the conference room with her usual bright smile.
"All right! Meeting adjourned! Everyone do your best again today!"
"Special Tax Collector, sir! I was worried you might be thirsty, so I brought some black tea!"
"Special Tax Collector, sir! Are your shoulders stiff? Shall I call a healing mage?"
"Special Tax Collector, sir! I thought you might be getting hungry, so I bought some food from nearby!"
"Special Tax Collector, sir, have you heard the news? Lately in the capital…"
"Special Tax Collector, sir…!"
Ah. He wanted to submit his resignation.
Why could that mouth of hers not stay still for even a second? This wasn't work. This was torture.
I thought she was just competent. Turns out she has zero sense of atmosphere, too.
Did she have a motor installed in her jaw? Watching Rhea chatter without end and keep bringing him things summoned a headache all on its own. At this point he seriously wondered whether the Minister, Rhea, and everyone else were running a hidden-camera prank on him.
"Rhea. Did you hand the documents over to the Tax Collection Bureau?"
"Yes, sir! The people at the Tax Collection Bureau looked pretty put out, but the moment I said it was an order from the Special Tax Collector, none of them could move a muscle!"
"Have you had lunch?"
"You told me earlier to go eat, so…"
"Dinner?"
"It's only been an hour since lunch?"
"This is going to drive me mad."
"Sir?!"
"Never mind. Then go out, get some dessert, and walk it off while you're at it."
He truly could not endure another minute of this. In the end he dug a few silver coins from his coat and set them on the desk.
Rhea's eyes lit up. Her hands began to tremble violently.
"S-silver coins! This many!"
Ah. Right. This kid's family was dirt poor, wasn't it.
Well, a single silver coin was roughly a commoner's living expenses for a week. Of course her eyes were spinning.
"S-Special Tax Collector, sir. I-I've never eaten dessert even once in my entire life. I-is it really all right for someone like me to eat such noble, refined food? *Slurp!*"
Aigoo. Wipe your drool before you say things like that.
And honestly, a few silver coins to get her out of the office was a bargain. In a world without hearing aids, he was terrified of what would happen to his ears once he got older.
"Rhea. You are a 4th Grade Senior Secretariat directly under the Special Tax Collector. Do not make a fuss over something as trivial as dessert. You need to carry yourself with a little more pride."
"Special Tax Collector, sir…"
Rhea teared up as she gathered the silver coins.
Yes. If you would just throw your shoulders back and raise hell all over the place—noble or commoner, no exceptions—he would have nothing left to wish for.
"You've worked hard today. Go rest properly. Rest is part of the job too."
"Yes, sir! Senior Secretariat Rhea! I shall carry out the Special Tax Collector's orders!"
Whether she understood his true feelings or not, Rhea bolted out of the office like a dog released for a walk.
"Finally. I can breathe."
Peace restored, he let out a long sigh of relief and picked up the documents in front of him again.
He was looking for a sacrificial lamb to secure his comfortable retirement life.
How long did he sift through the papers? At last, one file on a malicious tax delinquent caught his eye.
Ghost stories surrounding the mansion of Barton, president of the Barton Merchant Company, in connection with unpaid inheritance tax.
Mansion ghost stories?
What kind of nonsense was this supposed to be?
What on earth did inheritance tax have to do with ghost stories?
A commoner merchant not only defaults on his taxes, he owns a mansion in the capital?
This smelled. And not a faint smell—a thick, nose-stinging stench.
His instincts, honed to a razor edge during his years as an Intelligence Bureau agent, were telling him so.
This should be fun.
Fine. Barton. You get to be my sacrificial lamb.