In the High Court, investigators and judges worked in cooperation, yet the divide between them was as stark as that between officers and soldiers. Judges issued orders, often scolding the investigators for their perceived inadequacies. For an investigator to see a judge suddenly show interest in their casual chatter was unusual.
Damn, if I’d known, I would’ve kept my mouth shut and pretended to be out investigating.
But what’s said cannot be unsaid. Whatever happens, happens.
“Baron Olbia’s household has been spending suspicious amounts of money recently,” the investigator remarked, omitting the unspoken implication: Judging by the circumstances, they’re likely involved in criminal activities.
Though the advanced investigation tactics in the Toscana Empire allowed suspects to be detained and interrogated with little evidence, arresting a noble—especially a baron—without concrete proof would cost the investigator his job. In the worst cases, such a judge could face prison for “insulting a noble.”
Being a judge of the “robe nobility” with no possessions beyond his office, Al Dante knew he had to tread carefully.
“This seems premature,” he said, “even if it’s just idle talk among colleagues. For a High Court investigator to doubt Baron Olbia over such trivial suspicions... let’s see.”
Judges and royal officials of the High Court, despite being “robe nobles,” were expected to memorize legal texts and reference materials due to limited access to printed books. Thus, judges were often regarded as walking legal encyclopedias.
The investigator felt cold sweat trickling down his neck. If I don’t satisfy Deputy Judge Al Dante, I’m dead.
Not physically, of course, but the reprimands from him and his superiors would descend relentlessly.
“The offense of insulting a noble, Article 12, Clause 4 of Imperial Criminal Code,” Al Dante began, “though Clause 5, Addendum 1 does provide leniency for High Court staff, stripping titles is mandatory.”
Although High Court investigators had less authority than judges, they still wielded enough power for minor nobles to offer “gifts” to maintain amicable relations. Losing their title meant losing any protections, making them easy targets for revenge.
Yet Al Dante had no desire to apply such strict standards to his subordinate. Doing so would make him the equivalent of a “whistleblower,” a role sure to earn lifelong disdain. If there’s nothing substantial, I’ll simply give a stern warning and end it.
Of course, this “stern warning” would leave the investigator wishing he’d never spoken, but Al Dante would avoid further trouble.
“I’ve been an investigator here for five years, and I wouldn’t make baseless claims. There’s something off about how Baron Olbia’s household is spending money.”
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Typically, when a judge issued such a warning, investigators would back down immediately to avoid charges of insolence. But this investigator, instead of apologizing, insisted he wasn’t lying.
There might be something substantial here, Al Dante mused.
“They’re treating even the servants to Café Medici cakes, and the stable hands wear full plate armor with swords. Rumor has it they’re indulging in all sorts of luxury.”
“Hmm... not without reason,” Al Dante replied.
Arming stable hands was common among nobles for protection, yet in the urban areas frequented by nobles, wearing armor was often cumbersome and impractical. More likely a display of wealth...
In Al Dante’s experience, those who flaunted their riches usually had skeletons in their closet. Most nobles could be caught with some form of tax evasion or embezzlement, but the degree varied greatly.
“And recently, there’s been an increase in carriages traveling between Baron Olbia’s territory and his estate in Florence, with unusually high security.”
Hearing this, Al Dante grew more certain. This reeks of smuggling precious goods like spices, gold, or jewels.
No noble besides Baron Rothschild would involve themselves in smuggling directly. Rothschild’s operations were far more sophisticated anyway—he’d be nearly impossible to catch even if the entire Florence High Court went after him.
But Baron Olbia, who was competing with Baron Sicia in displays of extravagance, seemed a prime target.
Eager at the thought of a substantial case, Al Dante pulled out his wallet and handed a few silver coins to the investigator.
“If you gossip during work hours, you’ll give people the wrong impression. Chatter about rumors at a tavern over drinks instead. Treat everyone to beef with this money.”
“Thank you!” The investigator, grateful for avoiding punishment and winning a “beef party,” felt proud of his achievement. He resolved to be more cautious with his words in the future.
Al Dante then knocked on Chief Judge Mancini’s office door.
“Chief, we’ve got an opportunity for a big case.”
Mancini suspected that Al Dante had overindulged at some point since his marriage, but a glance at his eyes revealed that he’d genuinely found something substantial.
“What is it?”
“I’ve heard that Baron Olbia’s extravagance has reached suspicious levels. Several heavily guarded carriages have been making frequent trips between his territory and Florence.”
The High Court’s duty was to investigate, audit, and prosecute, and apprehending a noble meant career advancement.
On top of that, seizing evidence of tax evasion or embezzlement meant that 5-10% of recovered funds traditionally went to those leading the investigation. A win-win situation.
“Suspicious indeed. Start an investigation and see how it pans out. There’s no one without dirt; let’s see how long he can withstand it.”
Al Dante promptly borrowed investigators and soldiers, seizing every document in sight.
Among the documents were records detailing Baron Olbia’s various misdeeds, organized so neatly it was as if someone had intended them to be found. But everyone simply felt lucky.
After all, who would be mad enough to arrange their household’s crimes in such an orderly fashion?
Following the High Court’s raid, Baron Olbia’s household descended into chaos. His key vassals—stewards, military officers, and intelligence agents—formed factions, each blaming the other.
With Chief Judge Mancini, who had been rising in prominence with his “no mercy, no sanctuaries” policy, overseeing the investigation, Baron Olbia felt his hair thinning from the stress.
“This is hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Who in the world could have done this to us?”
Until now, the Olbia family had led an unremarkable life. Their extravagance had increased, but it was hardly enough to justify a High Court raid.
Baron Olbia suspected someone had sold internal information to initiate the charges, but no matter how closely he monitored his vassals, he couldn’t find a single suspicious trait.
Without any clear suspect, the Olbia barony’s inner council meeting was filled with accusations and bitter exchanges.
“It was you, the steward, who sold out our family, wasn’t it? How else would the High Court come to investigate?”
“Preposterous! Didn’t the military officer need money for his son’s wedding? I’d say he’s the one who sold us out!”
“Intelligence agent, what were you doing? How did this happen?”
The Olbia family could only brace for the impact of the High Court’s verdict, knowing it would be a massive blow. Worse still, they had no idea who to retaliate against.
With internal divisions crippling the household, any response seemed impossible.
...Baron Olbia could only hold back his tears.
But to survive, he had to bear every humiliation and disgrace. In the end, a noble must shoulder responsibility.