Within the shadowy, high-stakes corridors of power where Tom Marriott operated, the gears of bureaucratic destruction moved with a silent, terrifying efficiency. Following the encrypted directive from Dominic Mylod, Tom had bypassed the local red tape and reached directly into the heart of the Customs General Administration. Within minutes, the formal decree was signed, sealed, and transmitted: Frances, the Deputy Director of the Bank of Duskhaven's local customs branch, was not merely suspended; he was stripped of his rank, his pension, and his future. The directive was total—he was to be purged from the system entirely.
Back in the meticulously decorated halls of the Nagano-ya, the air remained thick with the scent of expensive sake and the lingering shock of the art appraisal. Brian Wa
