"Why are those people throwing their own coins in?"

"I think they’re workers under Caesar."

"The workers are voluntarily coughing up their own money?"

As bewildered murmurs rippled through the crowd, dozens, then hundreds of men climbed onto the wagons and tossed their coins into the silver-filled chests.

Every single one of them worked for Palmolive, the paper mills, the technical school, the insurance enterprise, or one of Caesar’s other businesses.

Marcus was among them.

Having recently secured a job as a signal tower operator, he and his colleagues climbed up onto the wagons.

"How could we just stand there and do nothing after everything we’ve received?"

"Exactly. Caesar stepped up to save the citizens; the least we can do is help him."

"Of the Roman citizens, by the Roman citizens, for the Roman citizens."

There were even retired legionaries among the crowd.

Veterans who had received pensions and housing support from the Veteran Fund pulled out handfuls of coins and dropped them into the chests.

As the citizens watched in utter shock, more and more coins clattered into the chests, filling them to the brim.

"Do you think Caesar ordered his workers to hand over their wages?"

"Don’t be stupid. If he did, the rumor would have leaked immediately. You can’t keep hundreds of workers quiet about something like that."

"Fair point. But giving up their hard-earned coin like this is..."

"That’s just the kind of loyalty Caesar breeds. Don’t forget, Lucius was the one who established the Veterans’ Fund in the first place. And he gives his workers ridiculous benefits."

But this unprecedented wave of donations didn’t stop with just the workers under Caesar.

***

"Sir, look over there! The people are throwing their money into Caesar’s chests!"

"I have eyes, boy."

At his slave’s shout, Trimalchio cleared his throat.

Trimalchio was a freedman.

He had spent his youth as a slave in a patrician household, and when his master passed away, he was fortunate enough to be granted his freedom.

However, freedom did not automatically equate to a better life.

While it was customary for generous masters to leave their freedmen with a small sum to start their independent lives, Trimalchio’s master had been deeply impoverished.

Left with nothing but his freedom, he was forced to bounce between grueling labor jobs just to keep from starving.

Rome was a merciless, brutal city for a man with no connections and no money.

But one day, his life changed entirely.

"I... I won?"

"Yes, you lucky bastard! Hurry up and go to the payout desk! They’ll verify your identity and give you your prize money!"

He had purchased a lottery ticket on a whim, and won.

Receiving an astronomical sum of money, he purchased a luxurious estate, drawing the envy of everyone who knew him.

Determined to expand his newfound business ventures and forge connections with nobles, he frequently hosted lavish banquets, inviting influential guests and donating to various foundations.

Even at this very moment, he was surrounded by a small entourage of his own political clients.

"Caesar truly is a remarkable man. Pouring out his own personal fortune to save the Roman citizens, and his employees stepping up to help him..."

"There is nothing more sacred than Rome and our fellow citizens."

Trimalchio cleared his throat again. He gestured for his slave to come closer.

"Yes, Master?"

"Go and donate all the coins I brought with me."

"Right now, Master?"

"Yes, you moron! When else would I do it? You have to do it while everyone is watching!"

Having whispered that, Trimalchio quickly schooled his features into a mask of solemn, civic duty.

"It is all for the sake of our fellow citizens."

"As expected of Trimalchio! You are truly a generous man!"

"No one cares more for his fellow citizens than Trimalchio does!"

As the clients hovering around him showered him with praise, Trimalchio waved a hand.

"Oh, please, no need for such flattery. I am merely fulfilling my duty as a citizen of Rome."

While he casually shrugged off the praise, more and more citizens were inspired to join the donation line.

"As young Caesar said, every citizen has a duty to act for Rome and for fellow Romans, doesn’t he?"

***

"You didn’t secretly order the workers to do this, did you, Felix?"

"How could I possibly pull something like that off? Even if I gave the order, how many men would actually surrender their own coin without a fight?"

Felix threw up his hands, looking just as surprised as I was.

I let out a laugh and looked at the wagons.

Even now, a steady stream of citizens was approaching the procession, donating whatever they could spare.

It wasn’t orchestrated. It was an entirely spontaneous movement.

"I suppose it doesn’t matter why they’re doing it right now. Thanks to them, the atmosphere has shifted back in our favor."

Thanks to the sudden wave of donations, the kites snapping so ominously had already been pushed to the back of the citizens’ minds.

In fact, the murmurs I was hearing now had taken an entirely different tone.

"Wait, why did the kites snap in the first place?"

"Isn’t it a good omen? Maybe Great Jupiter snapped the strings because he approved of them ascending to the heavens!"

"Ah, you might be right!"

I let out a sigh of relief and looked over at my father.

His expression had also relaxed. He surveyed the crowd with a satisfied smile before continuing his march up the Capitoline Hill.

And finally, before the majestic Temple of Jupiter, the sacrifices to mark the homecoming of the Pontifex Maximus commenced.

I murmured as I looked at that scene.

"I think I can finally breathe again."

***

My father didn’t return to our home until late in the afternoon.

"Father!"

"Julia! Look how much you’ve grown! You’re practically a lady now."

Mother and I watched with smiles as Julia sprinted toward him.

My father caught her, sweeping her up in a tight embrace before walking over to us.

"And you have only grown more beautiful, Cornelia."

"Save your silver tongue for the Senate, Gaius," my mother chuckled, embracing him warmly.

"Are you hurt anywhere? Why did you pass out when you meet Lucius and..."

"I am perfectly fine now." My father nodded, his expression turning serious.

She was referring to his seizure.

My mother had been terrified when the news reached Rome.

He had just returned from a brutal military campaign in Hispania, only to collapse in front of his own son.

"I had already summoned the finest physicians in Rome, but Lucius chased them all away..."

"I can be of far more use to you than those quacks, Father," I interjected.

The only ’medical advice’ those so-called doctors had to offer was telling him to eat more duck meat.

Seriously, why were Greek and Roman physicians so obsessed with duck meat?

"Well, if Lucius says so, it must be true. Our boy has the blessing of the gods, after all."

My father winked at me.

"I deliberately cleared my schedule for today and tomorrow. I just got back home; I have no desire to immediately dive back into the political muck. Let’s just enjoy some quiet family time."

Saying that, my father gestured to me.

"Let’s catch up first, just the two of us."

"I believe we already did that yesterday at the Rubicon."

"You really have no sense of humor, boy."

While Mother, Julia, and the household servants busied themselves preparing a grand welcome feast, my father and I reclined on the couches in the atrium.

"The mood in the streets has stabilized. Starting tomorrow, the mobs swarming the Forum will dwindle to a trickle. The money we showed is more than enough to cover the remaining panic."

"And as more people successfully retrieve their deposits, the underlying fear will evaporate completely," I said with a heavy sigh.

It had been an exhausting few weeks.

Running all over the city late at night, poring over ledgers, and putting out fires everywhere.

"But there’s still one thing I don’t quite understand."

"What is that?"

"Why did the citizens donate their own money today?"

Not just my workers, but ordinary citizens with no ties to me also donated significant sums.

Countless people had voluntarily given up their hard-earned coin.

"Lucius, you built a foundation for the veterans. You employed hundreds of citizens who were starving on the streets. You built schools to teach people valuable skills for free—no, you actually paid your students."

My father let out a laugh.

"Today, those people were simply showing their gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

"Or you can say it was paying off a debt, depending on how you look at it. You gave them so much; it’s only natural they felt an urge to repay you."

"I see," I murmured.

Repaying what one has received.

It sounds simple, but in Roman society, it was a sacred, unwritten law.

That was the patron-client relationship.

The patron provides protection, resources, and legal representation to their clients, and in return, the clients offer loyalty and political support.

It wasn’t a legally binding contract, but it was the foundational tradition that had held Rome and Italy together for centuries.

"Everything you’ve done since the moment you launched your insurance enterprise bore fruit today."

My father looked at me with a serious expression.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you, Lucius."

"..."

Instead of answering, I offered a faint smile.

To be honest, most of my actions were just me mimicking my father’s historical playbook.

The word most frequently associated with Julius Caesar was Clementia—mercy, or clemency.

He was ruthless to those who actively fought him, but he showed surprising generosity toward those who surrendered and begged for forgiveness.

But it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart.

It was actually a calculated strategy.

By Roman custom, those who received his mercy were bound to repay that debt.

Of course, Brutus and his fellow conspirators didn’t exactly share that sentiment though.

Which was exactly why, even after successfully assassinating Caesar, they failed to win the public’s support and were chased out of Rome.

I had simply focused on employing and helping as many citizens as possible to build that kind of political foundation.

"But I didn’t expect to receive this kind of help from the citizens."

"To be honest, neither did I." My father chuckled.

"And I certainly didn’t expect the kites to snap like that either. But in the end, it was a blessing in disguise. It gave the citizens the perfect opportunity to demonstrate their support for us."

"However, the embers haven’t been completely extinguished yet."

In fact, it was the exact opposite.

Countless bankers, including Metellus, had managed to survive this crisis only thanks to our rescue.

If we let them walk away without paying a price or facing any consequences, they would just repeat the exact same reckless gambling all over again.

As I explained my concerns, my father nodded in agreement.

"A valid point. I assume you have a countermeasure in mind?"

"I assumed you already had a plan ready, Father."

"Well, actually, I was planning on dumping the whole thing in your lap."

My father shrugged with an innocent expression.

Wait, isn’t that exactly what I do to Felix?

Karma really does work terrifyingly fast.

I cleared my throat and straightened my posture.

"I do have one idea. But it will require your help, Father."

I leaned forward.

The easiest solution was for the Senate to pass comprehensive banking regulations.

We needed to enact strict reserve ratios, legally preventing banks from loaning out the entirety of their clients’ deposits.

Of course, that would require establishing a new Senatorial oversight committee to audit and monitor the banks which would take eternity to accomplish.

How was I going to pull that off?

There was another way.

Caesar, Crassus, and Pompey had already publicly united to resolve this crisis.

Which meant it was time for the Triumvirate to formally step out of the shadows and show our hand.

"Oh."

Hearing my proposal, my father’s eyes lit up with interest, and he sat up from his lounging chair.

"Tell me in more detail."

***

"It is a true shame I wasn’t there to witness it. The citizens of Rome, voluntarily stepping forward to donate their own coin."

Brutus murmured, letting out a long, heavy sigh.

He was riding alongside Mark Antony, who, unlike Brutus, looked completely bored.

"Why didn’t they just pass an emergency decree blocking all bank withdrawals for a few weeks? I have no idea why they went through such a complicated process to fix it. Or they could have just legally capped the withdrawal amounts."

"You truly are a fool." Brutus clicked his tongue.

"If they forcibly stopped all withdrawals and lifted the ban later, what do you think would happen? The citizens would lose all faith and never trust a bank with their money again."

"And why is that a problem? They can just hide their coins under their beds like they always did."

Trailing behind them were hundreds of allied cavalrymen.

They were the riders who had participated in the bandit subjugation campaign, now marching to Rome at Caesar’s invitation to join the Floralia festival.

Brutus and Antony had finished wrapping up the allied city tours and were finally returning to the capital.

"If the banks disappear, where exactly are the citizens supposed to borrow—"

"Look over there!"

Antony abruptly cut Brutus off, raising his finger to point at the signal towers along the outskirts of Rome.

Every single tower was affixed with a massive wooden panel covered with painted sheets of paper.

"So those are the famous billboards I’ve been hearing about," Brutus murmured, squinting at the bold lettering.

"I heard Lucius is using those to fund the Floralia festival."

"People actually pay money for that?" Antony muttered.

Leading the cavalry column, they slowly approached the imposing walls of Rome.

But suddenly, both Brutus and Antony pulled their reins, bringing their horses to a dead stop in front of one particular tower.

"Is that..."

"A painting of the goddess Flora?"

The paper affixed to the massive wooden billboard featured a painting of a woman.

Clad in a sheer, vibrant yellow stola that exposed her flawless, pale skin and a long stretch of leg, she was depicted holding a bouquet of blooming flowers.

Beneath the stunning illustration was a short slogan for the Floralia festival.

Brutus and Antony sat on their horses in silence, staring at the painting.

"Let’s... just admire it for a little while longer before we head in."

"I agree."

For the first time since they had left Rome together, the two men were in absolute agreement.