Senator of Vandelhelm
Late was the hour in which the crucial meeting finally arrived.
A young, ambitious senator and a shadowed special interest group—what else could such a pairing be but a union seemingly ordained by the Force itself? These were the moments through which politicians climbed. They manoeuvred, bartered, compromised, and quietly disposed of those deemed undesirable. Power was never inherited through ideals alone. It was cultivated in rooms precisely like this one.
Of course, such dealings required immense caution. Too many bright and ambitious figures had found themselves reduced to cautionary tales after the revelation of corruption, their careers sacrificed so the machine could preserve the illusion of purity.
And so, tonight, Elara would take her first true step.
The circumstances appeared simple on the surface. A person of interest had been detained by the Jedi, and the Kenari wished for that individual to disappear from Republic custody. Straightforward enough. A carefully negotiated discussion with the Jedi could resolve the matter quietly. If handled correctly, it would earn her influence within the Senate, elevate her standing, and provide another foothold from which to begin shaping the High Republic into what she believed it should become.
If she succeeded.
The rented office was dimly lit, deliberately chosen far from the eyes of curious aides, journalists, or political rivals. Elara herself had arranged the location specifically for dealings such as these, places where appearances had to remain flawless regardless of what ugliness unfolded behind closed doors. There was no telling what sort of bargains, corruption, or quiet horrors awaited at the end of negotiations like this.
Security lined the room. Four guards in total, positioned with professional precision, all loyal to Vandelhelm and paid directly through discreet channels. No expense had been spared. No angle left uncovered. There would be no surprises tonight. No hidden blades. No sudden betrayals.
At least, none she had not already anticipated.
The information she had received beforehand had already granted her an advantage. She understood the outline of the game being played here. She knew enough to avoid stumbling blindly into some elaborate trap or Republic sting operation. Everything now depended on aligning the pieces correctly and ensuring the board remained under her control.
She would not become another cautionary tale.
She was a senator of the High Republic. In this room, as anywhere else, she would preserve both her position and her image. Not because morality truly mattered to her—she was every bit as ambitious, greedy, and self-serving as the political vermin infesting Theed—but because a single misplaced word could destroy everything she intended to build.
Slowly, she reached for the glass of wine resting upon the desk and took a measured sip.
