Sabina's formal acceptance of his offer arrived two days after their dinner. It was not a gushing letter of gratitude, but a concise, business-like note outlining her conditions: full autonomy for the new commission, an independent budget drawn directly from the imperial treasury, and the authority to subpoena any citizen, senator or otherwise, to give testimony. They were the terms of a partner, not a subordinate. Alex agreed to all of them without hesitation.
He announced the formation of the "Imperial Commission on Fiscal Reform" by public edict the next day. The news landed on Rome like a thunderbolt, shaking the very foundations of the city's political and social order. The co-chairs were to be the unimpeachably stoic and respected Senator Servius Rufus, a choice no one could fault. And, to the utter astonishment and horror of the Roman elite, the actress, courtesan, and businesswoman Aurelia Sabina.
The reaction was a political earthquake. The Curia was in an uproar. The old guard, the patrician families who traced their lineage back to the founding of the Republic, were profoundly, existentially horrified. To appoint a woman—an actress, a figure considered morally suspect and socially inferior—to a position of such immense financial power was an unprecedented breach of all tradition and decorum. It was, to them, definitive proof that the new emperor was not just a radical, but dangerously mad. Senator Metellus and his now-sidelined faction, too terrified to oppose Alex openly, began a new campaign of whispers. The Emperor was a tyrant, they hissed in the shadowy porticos, a man who ignored the wisdom of the Senate to place his "favorites" and "mistresses" in positions of power.
The common people, however, were intrigued. Sabina was a popular figure, a celebrity. She was seen as an outsider, a clever woman who had succeeded in a man's world on her own terms. The idea of her, sharp and ruthless, being unleashed to clean out the corrupt, cobweb-filled halls of the state treasury held a certain populist appeal. The move, while alienating the powerful, had unexpectedly bolstered his standing with the plebeian class.
Days later, Alex convened the first meeting of his new, fully-formed inner circle. The atmosphere in his study was thick with a tension that was almost comical in its awkwardness. It was an alliance of utter oddities, a collection of individuals who would never, under normal circumstances, be in the same room, let alone on the same team.
General Gaius Maximus stood near the window, his arms crossed over his armored chest, a pillar of rigid military honor. He looked deeply, profoundly uncomfortable. He was a soldier who understood clear hierarchies, sacred traditions, and the proper order of things. Sabina, reclining gracefully on a chaise longue as if she owned the place, represented the antithesis of everything he valued. He saw her as a frivolous, untrustworthy civilian, a theatrical woman of loose morals, and he could not fathom why his Caesar had entrusted her with such a grave responsibility. His politeness towards her was so cold and formal it was practically an insult.
Senator Servius Rufus sat stiffly in a chair, a stack of scrolls on his lap. He was professionally cordial, recognizing Sabina's formidable intellect, but his expression was wary. He was a man of the law, of process and precedent. He worried that Sabina's scandalous reputation and her famously radical methods would undermine the commission's credibility before it even began its work. He feared she would bring chaos to his orderly investigation.
Tigidius Perennis stood near the door, a silent shadow. His was the most complex reaction. He was not concerned with Sabina's morals or her methods. He recognized her instantly for what she was: a rival power player of the highest order. They were two masters of manipulation from different worlds, a political serpent and a social one, and they circled each other with a wary, professional respect. Their initial exchange of greetings was a masterpiece of subtext, a duel fought with razor-sharp compliments and veiled inquiries.
Alex sat at the center of this fractured, discordant group, feeling like a chemist who had just mixed a series of volatile, incompatible reagents, hoping to create a new compound without causing an explosion.
"I have brought you all here," Alex began, his voice cutting through the tension, "because Rome faces two great threats: a famine that threatens our people's survival, and a corruption that threatens our state's soul. These problems are intertwined. To solve one, we must solve both." He turned to the old senator. "Rufus, your report on the treasury."
The senator, on firm ground now, unrolled a scroll and began to present a dry, factual, and deeply depressing account of the official state ledgers. He spoke of declining tax revenues from the provinces, of the massive, ongoing cost of the military, of the treasury's obligations versus its assets. It was a picture of a slow, steady bleed, a great empire sliding towards insolvency.
When he finished, the room was silent. Maximus looked grim. It was the kind of logistical problem he understood and hated.
"A grim picture, Senator," Alex acknowledged. "Thank you." He then turned his gaze to Sabina. "Domina Sabina. Your assessment?"
Sabina uncoiled from her chaise with a languid grace. She did not have a scroll. She had a large, elegantly drawn chart, which two of her own servants unrolled and held up for the council to see. The chart did not show official state accounts. It was a web, a complex network of names and lines.
"Senator Rufus is, as always, impeccably correct about the state of the treasury," she said, her voice smooth and confident. "He has accurately diagnosed the patient's fever. I, however, am more interested in the disease."
She pointed a long, elegant finger at the chart. "The state's wealth is not the real problem. The real problem is that all wealth in this city flows through the hands of about twenty families. For example," she traced a line with her finger, "Senator Metellus, through a series of holding companies and proxies, controls the state contracts for nearly all the silver mines in Hispania. Senator Flavius, through the debts he holds over three major shipping guilds, effectively controls the price of timber imports. The family of Cornelius Scipio has a state-sanctioned monopoly on the quarrying of marble from Carrara."
She looked around the room, her eyes glinting. "To reform the treasury, we don't just audit the numbers on the state's books. That is a fool's errand. We must break their private monopolies. We must introduce competitive bidding for state contracts. We must renegotiate the terms of these ancient, corrupt arrangements. We must, in short, wage economic war."
She proceeded to lay out a clear, actionable, and utterly ruthless strategy for doing just that, demonstrating a grasp of the real, hidden levers of power that was breathtaking. Maximus, despite his deep misgivings about her character, listened with a new, grudging respect. This woman understood strategy. Rufus looked both horrified and impressed by the sheer audacity of her proposals.
The new machine was chaotic. It was full of friction and distrust. But Alex could see, in that moment, that it was going to be incredibly potent.
The meeting concluded, with each member assigned their tasks. As the others filed out, Perennis lingered behind, his expression uncharacteristically grave.
"Caesar," he said, his voice a low whisper, ensuring no one else could hear. "A word of caution. Regarding our new… colleague."
"She is brilliant," Alex stated. "Her insights will be invaluable."
"Undoubtedly," Perennis agreed. "But do not mistake her assistance for loyalty. Brilliance can serve any master." He took a step closer. "My agents, the ones who watch the powerful, have been watching her. She has not cut her ties with your sister."
Alex frowned. "What do you mean? I thought she was Lucilla's rival."
"They are rivals, yes. But they are also a class unto themselves," Perennis explained, his understanding of the city's social dynamics profound. "They still meet. Secretly. Not in the forums or at public functions, but at a discreet villa owned by a neutral third party. They are no longer allies in a conspiracy against you. But they are not enemies, either. They are… in communication."
The prefect's words were a cold splash of water.
"Sabina is playing her own game, Caesar," Perennis concluded, his eyes dark with warning. "She is using your power to advance her own interests and settle old scores with the senators who have crossed her. That aligns with our goals for now. But she is keeping your sister as a potential asset, a piece on the board she can move later. She is loyal only to herself, and to the interests of Aurelia Sabina."
Alex stood in the silent study long after Perennis had gone. He had created a powerful new tool in his war to save Rome. But he was just now beginning to understand that it was a double-edged sword, one with a mind of its own, one that he did not—and perhaps could not—fully control.