Chapter Text
Jaime Lannister marched out of the solicitors offices, Pycelle and Qyburn, legal advisors to the wealthiest incumbents of Kings Landing, a wad of bank statements in one hand and an all too short list held in the other.
Seething with anger.
Running a hand through his slightly overlong hair, he scowled at the picture of an obsequious Pycelle above the startled receptionist’s head, before slamming the door hard behind him as he left. Tywin Lannister had already disowned him, twice, but to then all too conveniently bump into his smugly amused parent on the way out of the most horrendous meeting of his life, had been enough to make a furious Jaime see red.
A vengeful, debt driven Lannister red.
"I always told you Hollard was a fool, and you for trusting him." His father had reminded him.
And if anything that made me more determined to employ him than ever, thought Jaime.
It was the senior partner of the firm, Mr Pycelle, who had just broken the unhappy news to Jaime that his trusted independent business advisor had taken every one of his bank accounts, and emptied them. Jaime Lannister was down to his last silver stag, despite having just completed a prestigious contract that had delivered over two million dragons into at least one of them.
One of a portfolio of accounts now so empty that his last silver stag would probably have to be found down the side of a sofa somewhere, Jaime thought to himself grimly.
“Ruined,” he said aloud, trying out the feel of the word in his mouth as he said it. He’d worked damned hard for every last penny of that contract, his employers keen to squeeze all they could from him as they were fully aware that he had no intention of renewing his agreement with them for another term. Wildfire Men’s fragrance and body products had to look elsewhere for a high profile front man Jaime had told them. Jaime was done with them, or so he had thought. In one of his less sane moments he might be tempted to think that they had a hand in reducing him to penury, although having seen his father’s triumphant face as he beat a hasty retreat from the Pycelle & Qyburn offices, it would seem that Tywin Lannister seemed a far more likely candidate. Jaime was well aware that his father seemed to have a keen interest in reducing him to financial rubble, if just to secure Jaime’s return to the family firm.
Well if that was the plan, it won’t work .
Jaime kept walking, at a brisk pace, not wanting to be seen to even glance at the list gripped in one white knuckled fist before he was well out of sight of the of the Pycelle and Qyburn offices.
I've given every one of those grey sunken cunts enough of a show for one day, he fumed.
Jaime eventually slowed to a halt and only then looked down at the paper clutched in his hand.
Dontos bloody Hollard had stolen everything, everything that was not quite literally nailed down. All cash, bank accounts and easy to trade bonds had been taken. All that remained were his two doer upper projects in Kings Landing, and an odd array of businesses that Hollard had seen fit to invest in. Pycelle had fought to keep a straight face as he had listed the businesses Jaime now owned, as well as the huge losses they were incurring. A list of companies that included a finger nail boutique, a family portrait studio, a dirty book store and a detective agency.
Ye gods, a shady detective agency, Jaime was taken aback, as if the dirty book store wasn't enough! The thought of Tywin's distaste at him being involved in such lowly pursuits made him smile.
Then he started laughing, a rumbling laugh of real amusement as he stared down at his list, grinning at the name of the firm.
The Blue Isle Detective Agency, he snorted loudly, what impression was B Tarth, the person running that outfit, trying to give people?
The vision of a stern faced septon, complete with a blue rinse and a magnifying glass came instantly to mind.
Ha! Maybe I should employ my own detective agency to find Hollard and my missing funds, he joked to himself and sobered immediately.
“Hey… hey, aren’t you… you know, the Wildfire guy?”
Jaime glanced up to look straight at a woman pointing at him. The woman was about the same age as himself and his twin, Cersei, but even as he opened his mouth to reply, the woman’s companion hauled her onwards, away from Jaime.
“Of course he isn’t, he isn’t half as prett... as good looking as the Wildfire guy,” the man told her.
The woman looked as if she was about to argue, but Jaime pre-empted any disagreement by simply shaking his head and pulling a face, “No sorry, not me… I’m not the Wildfire guy.”
Not any more, anyway.
“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she insisted, “are you well known for something else?”
For being the twice disinherited heir to the Lannister fortune, scion of one of the oldest families of Westeros, a high ranking member of the diplomatic service dismissed in unusual circumstances for the mysterious death of a superior. If the woman had read any one of several newspapers in the past decade she would know exactly who I am.
That was what he always been known for and that was the reason that he had been recruited for the Wildfire campaign.
The promotion managers had wanted to take a risk, to recruit someone edgy and unusual to build the brand.
“No, sorry,” Jaime smiled at them, aware of the other man’s combined look of anger, embarrassment and even jealousy as he led his girlfriend away.
He was all too familiar with that look as well, it came with the Lannister territory of wealth and beauty.
Jaime sighed slightly and looked around, before ruffling his hair over his forehead slightly, all the better for obscuring his well-known features.
Well, this mess won’t fix itself, he thought, reading the address of the detective agency once again, moving the thumb of his left hand so he could see it more clearly.
The Blue Isle Private Detective Agency, proprietor B Tarth.