The bell above the door jingled merrily as Rebecca stepped into the boutique. Organized chaos defined the shop, a riot of colors and textures. Polished wooden shelves lined the walls. Bolts of fabric in every imaginable hue were stacked high, creating a vibrant tapestry. Rolls of silk, linen, and cotton jostled for space alongside neatly folded stacks of pre-cut materials. There was a crisp scent of new fabric and the faint, lingering aroma of old wood and beeswax.

  The store was relatively empty, save for two figures. A young woman with neatly braided hair sat behind the counter, her pen scratching across a ledger, lost in concentration. Across the room, near a rack overflowing with brightly colored dresses, an older woman with a cloud of silver hair pulled back in a loose bun stood meticulously. She examined a length of deep blue velvet. She was short and stout, her movements precise and economical. Her eyes, though magnified by thick glasses, were sharp and discerning.

  Rebecca had a faint smile playing on her lips. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if the older woman, Mrs. Lydia Salvador, would recognize her. But Lydia, seemingly lost in her inventory, didn't glance up. Rebecca took a few steps further into the shop.

  Reaching the counter, Rebecca paused. The young woman looked up, her pen hovering above the ledger. She offered a polite, professional smile replacing her look of concentration.

  "Good afternoon," she said, her voice clear and welcoming. "Welcome to Salvador's. Is there anything in particular you're looking for today?"

  "Thank you," Rebecca replied, her view drifting towards the older woman across the room. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Salvador, if she's available."

  The young woman's smile widened slightly.

  "Of course," she said, glancing towards the older woman. "Lydia!" she called out, her voice carrying easily across the quiet shop. "You have a visitor."

  The young woman set down her pen and stepped out from behind the counter, approaching the older woman with a graceful ease. Rebecca watched as she spoke softly to Lydia, gesturing towards her.

  Lydia turned, her eyes, magnified by her glasses, squinting slightly as she focused on Rebecca. A warm, grandmotherly smile spread across her face.

  "Well, hello there, dear," she said, her voice a pleasant, slightly raspy alto. "Are you looking for some material? We have a lovely selection of silks and linens, perfect for a summer dress."

  Rebecca smiled, but remained silent, letting the older woman take her in. Lydia's eyes swept over Rebecca, assessing her figure with a practiced eye.

  "You know," Lydia continued, a twinkle in her eye, "you have a lovely shape. You should show it off. A nice dress, perhaps? Not too short, mind you, but something that accentuates those legs." She chuckled with a warm, infectious sound.

  Rebecca giggled softly, enjoying the older woman's frankness. She shook her head slightly with a polite refusal.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Salvador. But I'm not here for fabric, actually."

  She paused, then added.

  "Lydia… don't you recognize me?"

  A flicker of confusion crossed Lydia's face. She peered at Rebecca more closely. Rebecca held her gaze with a small, hopeful smile.

  "It's Rebecca," she said softly. "Oliver's… Becca."

  Recognition dawned on Lydia's face, her eyes widening behind her glasses. The grandmotherly smile returned, but this time it was tinged with surprise and embarrassment.

  "Oh, Rebecca! My dear girl!"

  She rushed forward, enveloping Rebecca in a tight, surprisingly strong hug.

  "I'm so sorry, dear! My old eyes aren't what they used to be. What’s it been, a few years?"

  She released Rebecca, holding her at arm's length with affection.

  "Look at you! You’re only getting more beautiful. It's so lovely to see you, Rebecca. Truly lovely."

  …

  The back office of Salvador's was organized clutter. Shelves, packed floor to ceiling, lined the walls. They were overflowing with bolts of fabric, boxes of buttons and thread, and stacks of patterns yellowed with age. A large, bright light fixture buzzed overhead, casting a cool, even glow across the room. A sturdy wooden desk, scarred and worn from years of use, occupied the center of the space. It was covered in a seemingly haphazard array of papers, fabric swatches, and measuring tools. A single, high-backed office chair with skewed wheels, sat behind the desk.

  Lydia gestured towards the cluttered space with a small, self-deprecating smile.

  "Please, excuse the mess, dear. It's not quite as… presentable as the front."

  Rebecca returned the smile.

  "It's perfectly fine, Lydia. It feels… lived in. Authentic."

  Lydia chuckled, a warm, throaty sound.

  "Authentic. That's one word for it. My granddaughter keeps telling me I need to 'modernize,' but…" she shrugged, "I like things the way they are."

  Lydia paused, as she looked at Rebecca.

  "Would you like some tea, dear? I have some chamomile brewing in the back."

  Rebecca hesitated, then shook her head.

  "Thank you, Lydia, but no. I appreciate the offer, though."

  Lydia nodded, understanding.

  "Well then, it's been… what? Almost ten years since I've seen you. It's a lovely surprise, Rebecca, truly. But it's also a bit… random, isn't it? Especially with all the turmoil happening in the government these days."

  She didn't elaborate, but Rebecca understood.

  Rebecca's smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet shame.

  "You're right, Lydia. It is random. And I'm afraid I'm not here for a social visit." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I… I need your help. Or, rather… your insight"

  Lydia's eyebrows rose slightly. She gestured towards the lone chair behind the desk.

  "Please, sit down, dear. Tell me what's troubling you."

  Rebecca hesitated, then perched on the edge of the chair. Her posture was tense and her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  "I know you've been out of the political world for a long time, Lydia. And I don't want to put you in any jeopardy. I just… I need to understand something. Something that happened while you were still head of the Economic Bureau."

  Lydia leaned back in her chair, the worn wood creaking softly beneath her weight. Her eyes, magnified by her thick glasses, narrowed slightly.

  "Go on.”

  "It's about economic policies," Rebecca began, her voice low. "Specifically, the loan programs. The ones designed to help struggling communities, Sector 1 in particular."

  Lydia's senses sharpened. She didn't interrupt, but her silence was a clear invitation for Rebecca to continue.

  "I've been looking at the data," Rebecca said, her voice gaining a hint of urgency. "The default rates, the foreclosures… the companies that were… benefiting… from those defaults."

  She paused, meeting Lydia directly.

  "It doesn't make sense, Lydia. It looks… deliberate. Like a… a conspiracy."

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

  "I need to know what you know, Lydia. I need to hear your side of the story."

  Lydia remained silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, Lydia spoke.

  "Why, Rebecca? Why are you interested in this now? After all these years?"

  Rebecca leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

  "Because I think I've stumbled onto something. Something that could…change things."

  She paused, her eyes pleading.

  "I need to know if I'm right. If it's true, I might be able to use it. To protect people I care about."

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  Rebecca added, desperately.

  "It's not about me. If it were just me, I'd disappear. The continent is vast, there are still places to hide. But… it's not just me anymore."

  Lydia studied Rebecca's face, her eyes searching, assessing. She saw the fear, the determination, the underlying vulnerability. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.

  "You always were an altruistic one, Rebecca. Even when you had enough power to ignore compassion, you chose not to."

  She paused, as her attention drifted towards the cluttered shelves.

  "You want to know about the SDRA, don't you?"

  Lydia leaned back in her creaky office chair. A thoughtful frown creased her brow, deepening her wrinkles.

  "Oliver was indeed a patriot, Rebecca. In his own way. Much of what he did, the… methods he employed, were driven by a genuine desire to help Synoro. To develop it, to lift it out of the mire of corruption that plagues so much of this region."

  Lydia’s eyes drifted towards a dusty, framed certificate on the wall – a relic from her days at the Economic Bureau. Her fingers, gnarled with age, traced the edge of the desk.

  "But…there are forces at play here. Forces far older, far more entrenched than anything my great-grandparents ever faced. They've been manipulating this…a shadow war, for generations. And Synoro…" she sighed, "…Synoro holds a special place in their game. Because of its resources. Its almost infinite resources."

  Rebecca nodded slowly, her expression grim.

  "I know that much, Lydia. It's almost a known secret, isn't it? Among Synorans, at least. The honey pot that Synoro is. The way powerful people, and their interests, from all over the continent, are drawn to it."

  She paused, frustration crossing her face.

  "But I never truly understood the details. The mechanics of this… shadow war, as you call it."

  Lydia's lips tightened, a subtle warning in her eyes.

  "And perhaps it's best you don't, Rebecca. Some knowledge is a burden."

  Lydia focused on Rebecca with renewed intensity.

  "But the SDRA was different. That was meant to be a weapon. Not for conquest, not for aggression, but for… leverage. A way for Synoro to become a player on the continental stage, instead of a perpetual pawn."

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice gaining passion.

  "According to the economic rules dictated in The Letters – and you know this, Rebecca, you studied them – city-state governments have the right to print debt-free currency. It's a fundamental principle. They are the supreme law of the land, within their borders. They don't borrow into existence; they create. The forefathers wanted to do away with the centuries old banking system of our ancestors. But…"

  She emphasized the word, drawing it out.

  "…the value of that currency… that's the key. It's dependent on a complex interplay of factors. The strength of the city-state's GDP, its HDI score – how developed its society is, how healthy and educated its people are – and the Gini coefficient, the measure of inequality."

  Lydia paused, as she scanned over the cluttered office, as if searching for a tangible representation of the abstract concepts she was discussing.

  "It's almost impossible for a state to score high on all fronts. A perfect balance is a utopian dream. But in the less corrupt city-states, governments at least try to find a healthy equilibrium. A sustainable balance within that spectrum."

  She looked directly at Rebecca, her eyes questioning.

  "Do you understand why the value of currency matters, in this context?"

  Rebecca nodded.

  "The stronger the currency, the more advantage a state has in import-focused trade. It makes foreign goods cheaper, which in Synoro's case is crucial. Because even though we extract all these resources, and use them for local manufacture, all those manufacturers… they're foreign entities. Meaning the finished goods are sold at foreign value, which is often… prohibitively expensive… for the average Synoran."

  Rebecca paused, bitterness crossing her face.

  "It's an unfortunate situation, to say the least. Our workers are paid at the value of our state, which is practically worthless, because our currency is so weak."

  Lydia nodded, a sad, almost resigned expression on her face.

  "That's true…tragically true. But…"

  Lydia hesitated, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk.

  "…it's not the whole answer. The benefits of a strong currency extend far beyond just import trade. It allows the government to maintain tighter control over the money supply. Less printing is needed, which, in turn, keeps inflation in check. This creates a cascade of positive effects: a lower cost of living, wages that can remain relatively low because less is needed to survive, and, crucially, domestic manufacturers can keep the prices of their goods reasonable, making them competitive in the international market."

  She tapped a finger on the desk for emphasis.

  Lydia leaned back, drifting towards the ceiling, lost in the complexities of the past.

  "Through the SDRA policy, Oliver hoped to achieve two things. First, to increase loyalty among bureaucrats. He created a safety net for them, a guarantee that they wouldn't be financially ruined if they lost their employment, for whatever reason."

  She paused, a subtle shift in her tone hinting at the darker undercurrents.

  "And, of course, loyalty is… essential… in a system like ours."

  "Secondly," Lydia continued, her voice regaining its earlier strength, "the SDRA included a stimulus package, the GEM loans – Guaranteed Economic Monies. These loans were specifically targeted at human development organizations and businesses. Increased vouchers for grade schools, allowing more of the poor to enter and stay in school. Higher frequencies of scholarships for university. Funding for a library system, museums, orphanages… In essence, Oliver was building the cultural arts for Synoro, something that had been sorely lacking."

  She paused again, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow.

  "Oliver knew, of course, that the mass printing required for these loans would inevitably increase inflation, further devaluing the already weak Synoran dollar. But, he believed that if this money was strategically invested in human development, it would, to some extent, stabilize that inflation. It wouldn't be necessary for the government to offer these loans at high interest rates – in fact, there were no interest rates. It was, essentially, free money for the borrowers."

  Lydia's voice trailed off, a shadow of regret passing over her face. She looked directly at Rebecca.

  "There was only one problem…"

  Rebecca met her gaze, her own expression hardening with a grim certainty.

  "Hadic. I know, Lydia. I've studied the data. The defaults, the foreclosures, the… beneficiaries. It all leads back to him, or to organizations linked to him."

  Rebecca leaned forward.

  "It was a deliberate sabotage, wasn't it? A way to undermine my father’s plan, to consolidate power, to… to bleed the system dry."

  Lydia's hands tightened on the edge of the worn desk.

  "It wasn't that simple, Rebecca. Hadic wore many hats in Oliver's government, as we all know. Aside from running the… deepest aspects of the state, Hadic, by the very fact that his wife was of the Premjestr families –" she paused, a subtle emphasis on the word, "– was well-connected to high society in Synoro, and beyond."

  She leaned back slightly, as if searching for answers among the stacks of forgotten documents.

  "Oliver neededHadic for this program to be supported, or at the very least, not sabotaged by the many numerous enemies Oliver already had."

  A small, humorless smile grew on Lydia's lips.

  "Hadic pretended he loved the plan. Oh, he played the part beautifully. But I…" She shook her head slowly, her eyes clouding with a mixture of regret and a lingering distrust. "…I was cynical about Hadic's intentions. It was known how… sadistic… he could be, with how he operated The Factory. And he was a Premjestr, after all."

  She looked directly at Rebecca.

  "I knew Oliver was always wary of Hadic, but he needed him. So, Hadic 'supported' the plan, but…" Her voice dropped to a near whisper, "…he insisted that this program could not be opened across all of Synoro. Not at first. It would need to start small. A test run, he called it."

  Lydia's fingers traced the edge of a faded, leather-bound ledger on her desk. It was a nervous gesture.

  "So, that's why it started specifically with Sector 1 banks. The poorest district of the city-state, encompassing Bonao, Pachekho, and periphery communities… like Hooma. Hadic argued that these were the areas most in need of stimulation."

  A bitter irony laced her tone.

  "And Hadic also convinced Oliver that investing this money only into human development was not enough. He stressed that it wouldn't be enough to prevent panic about inflation. He argued, persuasively, that the loans should be open to every aspect of the economy in Sector 1. All businesses, real estate… everything."

  Lydia took a deep breath, the air hissing softly between her teeth.

  "And although the GEM loans would be kept at no interest, Hadic insisted that they needed to have a performance measure. Something that could provide collateral. These performance measures had to be met, usually within the first year or two. If not…" She shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. "…the borrower would automatically default, even if they had been making payments. And whatever was purchased with that loan… it would be used as collateral."

  Lydia's gaze sharpened, focusing on Rebecca with renewed intensity.

  "And finally, Hadic stressed that, to help offset the state acquiring all of this collateral without any immediate use for it, they needed a plan. A plan to help the state regain their losses. This," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice, "is where Hadic was most relevant, most needed by Oliver. Hadic could begin networking, developing relationships with parties who would step in to buy the collateral, if the worst-case scenario happened."

  Rebecca's expression hardened.

  "And within a month of the SDRA law passing," she said, suppressing anger, "Hadic had formed the New Dawn Trust, with all the major stakeholders of the Synoran economy."

  "Exactly," Lydia confirmed, a grim nod of her head.

  Lydia pushed herself back from the desk slightly, the chair creaking in protest.

  "Within a year of the plan rolling out, I began to run audits on all the Economic Bureau's Sector 1 banks. And I… I began to find immense issues. I knew what had actually been organized."

  A shadow of fear crossed Lydia’s face.

  "And when my audits became a nuisance, I began experiencing threats."

  Rebecca's eyes widened, her anger flaring.

  "Threats?"

  Lydia waved a hand dismissively, a forced nonchalance that didn't quite mask the lingering fear.

  "Oh, you know… the usual. Some of my pets mysteriously ended up dead. The brakes on my car were messed with. I experienced being followed a few times, on the metro. And… my grandchildren… they were picked up by some strangers one day."

  She paused, her voice trembling slightly.

  "But thankfully, they still made it home."

  She looked directly at Rebecca.

  "I knew who was behind it, Rebecca. I put in my resignation. And I… I warned Oliver. I warned him of what was coming."

  She sighed, a heavy, defeated sound.

  "And your father…he told me that he knew. That he was already working on a way to prevent Hadic's mess. And you should know the rest, Rebecca. Within the next seven years, the defaults…they happened. But inflation managed to stay under control. And I doubt," she added, defiantly, "it was because of Hadic's cronies buying everything back. No…It was because of what Oliver did. He managed to use that money, to still invest it back into the people. And then…"

  She trailed off, her voice filled with a weary sadness.

  "…within the next five years, Oliver experienced an increased opposition. His enemies got wealthier thanks to all the collateral they gained…and eventually…well, I don’t have to tell you that. You were there."

  Rebecca sighed with a heavy, defeated sound. She realized how it all fit together, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

  Lydia stood up abruptly, her movements surprisingly agile for her age. She walked around the desk and placed her hands on Rebecca's shoulders. Her grip was firm. With eyes magnified by her thick glasses, she gave Rebecca a fierce, almost desperate intensity.

  "I have no idea what you plan to do, Rebecca. But if you care about your friends, you'll help them disappear with you, too."