Chapter Text
The banquet at the Mothma estate was in full swing.
Prominent senators, social dignitaries, and Imperial offers alike were drinking, conversing, enjoying the revelry of the party. Mon Mothma, playing hostess, drifted through the crowd, moving from conversation to conversation. Whenever she got to a particularly dull one, her smile and polite laughter beecame more and more difficult to sustain.
Then, she saw him.
A ripple of unease snaked through her. Standing by one of the towering windows that overlooked the glittering lights of Coruscant, his pristine white uniform a stark contrast to the elegance and color of the majority of the crowd, was Director Orson Krennic. He was laughing at something another ISB agent was saying, a deep sound that grated on her nerves even from across the room.
Mon’s jaw tightened. Krennic. Here. Her mind flashed back to countless Senate committee hearings, to his smooth, infuriatingly eloquent testimonies, always twisting facts, always justifying the unspeakable, always with that disarming smile that never quite reached his eyes. He was vile, yet he carried it with such an infuriating charm, a man who believed himself to be a champion of the galaxy.
She turned on her heel, her smile fixed but brittle, and navigated the clusters of guests until she reached Perrin. He was holding court near a display of antique Chandrilan artifacts, pontificating on their history to an attentive senator.
"Perrin," Mon said, her voice low, strained. "Why is Director Krennic here?"
Perrin turned, a complacent smile on his face. "Ah, Mon. A last minute invite, I admit, yet I thought it would be important. For appearances, you see. To have high-ranking Imperial officers present, to show our commitment to stability. He accepted our invitation with surprising speed." He beamed, clearly proud of his social coup.
Mon felt a muscle tick in her cheek. "I see." She forced her smile wider, pulling her face into one of of polite agreement. "Yes. You're quite right, of course."
She pivoted away, her blood simmering. Perrin, ever the political animal, saw only the prestige, not the venom behind the Imperial smile. Mon spent the next hour in a delicate dance of avoidance, her eyes constantly sweeping the room, tracking Krennic's movements. He seemed to be annoyingly everywhere. Every time he drifted too close, she would find a new group to engage, a new platitude to exchange.
She finally found a brief moment of respite near the back of the main hall, where Tay Kolma sat on a sprawling settee.
"Mon, there you are," Tay murmured, taking a sip of his Chandrilan Squig drink, his voice just above a whisper. "I wish you would consider accepting Davo's invitation, he's-"
"Tay, I've made myself perfectly clear," Mon interjected, her eyes flicking nervously over his shoulder. "I have no desire to aline myself with such a man. We'll find another-"
A shadow fell over them. The air suddenly felt colder.
"Senator Mothma," a voice purred, with a hint of something sharp beneath. "And...forgive me, I don't think I've had the pleasure...?"
"Kolma. Tay Kolma," Tay responded, getting up to shake the man's hand.
"Ah, yes, an established banker, are you not? Forgive my interruption, but I simply couldn't resist. I've been looking for a quiet corner all evening."
I highly doubt that, Mon thought. She herself arose from the settee. "Director Krennic," Mon replied, her voice a careful flat line. "We were merely discussing the quality of the refreshments. They are quite exceptional, don't you agree?"
Krennic chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "I must admit, Chandrilan Squigs are not quite to my taste, Senator."
"On that, we agree, Director," Mon said, her tone polite, her practiced smile in place.
One side of Krennic's mouth upturned in a grin and it took all of Mon to not shudder. Even the smallest of smiles looked wrong on him. He glanced over his shoulder at the part of the main hall where various guests were dancing to the slow beats of music that projected from the droid DJ. Krennic extended a gloved hand. "Might I have the honor, Senator Mothma? A dance with the hostess of this lovely gathering."
Mon froze. Her mind raced, desperate for an excuse. A sudden headache, a previous engagement, a need to check on Leida. Anything. But no words would form. To refuse outright would look odd, especially from a host at her own banquet. It would be a blatant declaration of defiance, attracting the kind of unwanted attention she worked so hard to deflect.
Tay, oblivious to the silent battle raging within her, piped up with an encouraging smile. "Oh, Mon, that's a wonderful idea. You've been playing hostess all evening. Go on, have a spot of fun, we'll catch up later."
Mon felt a surge of frustrated despair. Tay, you naive fool. She managed a thin, strained smile. "Why, Director Krennic," she said, her voice a little too high, "I'd be honored." She practically choked on the acceptance.
Krennic's smile widened, and she didn't miss the predatory look in his eyes. He offered his arm, his gaze unwavering. "Shall we?"
Her hand, cold and hesitant, settled on his offered arm. As he led her towards the dance floor, her mind screamed, Why? Why would he possibly want to dance with me? Was it a power play? Or simply a perverse form of enjoyment, a way to remind her of his reach, of the fact that even in her own home, the Empire held claim over all?
The hall, once a haven of polite conversation, now felt like a cage. They found an unoccupied space, one of Krennic's hands slipping into Mon's, his other hand slipping around her waist to land on the small of her back, guiding her with an effortless precision that Mon found deeply unsettling. He moved with a dancer’s grace, confident and in control. Mon forced her breathing to stay steady. He was close, far too close. She could smell the crisp, sterile scent of his Imperial uniform. It took every ounce of her composure to prevent herself from squirming away, from tearing her hand from his.
"Such a lovely banquet, Senator," Krennic murmured, his voice a low, pleasant rumble in her ear as they turned.
"That's very kind of you, Director," Mon managed, her smile fixed and brittle. She focused on the steps, on not stumbling, on anything but the man leading her. Her mind raced, trying to discern his purpose.
"I confess," Krennic continued, his gaze drifting over the decorations, "I find these gatherings quite enlightening. One truly gets a sense of the Empire's reach, wouldn't you agree? To see such elements of the galaxy united under one banner, celebrating a common future. Even if that future is, shall we say, a little more structured than some might prefer." He chuckled, a soft, dry sound.
Mon offered a noncommittal hum. "Stability is often a welcome commodity, Director."
"Indeed," he replied, turning her in a slow, elegant circle. His eyes were no longer fixed on the room. They had returned to her, sharp and assessing. "Which brings me to something that has, incidentally, caused a minor ripple in the otherwise still waters of galactic finance. Nothing urgent, mind you. Just a curious anomaly."
Mon felt a chill ripple down her spine. Her heart gave a sudden, hard thud, and she wondered if he could feel her pulse.
"My ISB agents," Krennic continued, his voice dropping just slightly, "are incredibly thorough. Remarkably so. And they've recently come across some rather interesting data regarding certain financial transfers within a charitable outreach program linked to you and a one Tay Kolma. Nothing illegal, per se, just… interesting."
He grinned. It didn't reach his eyes. Mon held her breath. Tay had warned her of this, of the growing imperial presence at the Bank of Kolma. That's why he had suggested meeting the thug of a man that was Davo Sculdun in the first place.
"Specifically," Krennic said, his voice still low, eerily conversational, "they've noticed some rather significant, albeit discreet, diversions of funds within the charity. And, coincidentally, a smaller, though still noteworthy, pattern of transfers from your personal accounts, Senator."
The blood drained from Mon’s face. The smile, already precarious, felt like it was about to shatter. She all but swayed, but Krennic’s grip remained firm, unrelenting.
"Diversions?" Mon managed, her voice light, feigning confusion. "Director Krennic, I assure you, you must be mistaken. My outreach program is managed by my estate's financial administrators, with the utmost transparency. I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to." She forced a dismissive laugh. "Perhaps a clerical error?"
Krennic’s grip tightened, almost imperceptibly, at her waist. His eyes, still holding hers, held a knowing, almost mocking glint. "Oh, Senator, please. Let's not play coy, shall we? These aren't clerical errors. These are meticulously executed, highly sophisticated transfers. Small amounts, yes, but frequent. Designed to evade automated flagging. Very clever, actually." He leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to an even lower register. "And the destination of these funds? Utterly untraceable. A delightful mystery."
Mon's head spun. Cold terror gripped her. For kriff's sake, did he know? Was he implying he knew the funding was going towards the rebellion?
But then, Krennic continued, his tone devoid of the chilling accusation she expected, simply one of detached curiosity. "No record of recipients, no corresponding purchases, nothing but a black hole where the credits simply… vanish. One has to wonder, Senator, what fascinating diversions could necessitate such elaborate measures?"
Mon internally sighed. He didn't know everything. He didn't know where the money was going, didn't know its purpose. He just knew it was gone. But that was still enough. He had no evidence of her secretly funding the rebellion, but a quiet scandal, a disappearance of funds from her charity account, that could be spun into anything. It could lead to an audit, an investigation, which would in turn lead to a quiet erosion of her reputation.
She pulled her smile tighter, a desperate, frantic effort. "Director, I assure you, there must be a misunderstanding. Perhaps some investments I'm not privy to, managed by my financial team. I'm certain there's a perfectly good explanation."
Krennic’s smile didn’t falter. He was clearly enjoying this delightful game of his, a cat to her mouse. "Oh, I'm certain there is, Senator. I simply thought I'd bring it to your attention. Just in case you might want to clarify these investments before the ISB decides to become less quietly interested and more inquisitive. We wouldn't want any scandals disrupting the world of senate politics, would we?"
His eyes held hers, a silent challenge. Mon's heart hammered. He wasn't accusing her of treason outright, not yet. He was dangling the threat of public scandal, a financial audit that would expose her and Tay as embezzlers, her as a corrupt politician. It was a subtle, insidious warning. And it was pure Krennic. He wouldn't dirty his hands if he could simply ruin her reputation and cut off her funding with a whisper.
"All I'm saying, Senator," Krennic continued, the innocence of his tone as big a lie as his charm, "is that it would be an awful shame if the wrong kind of people found out about this."
Mon's heart was now racing, and it took all of her effort to keep her smile, but surely the cracks were now showing. "I'm not sure what you mean, Director."
"Oh, you know what I mean," Krennic said lightly, his tone almost dismissive. He chuckled, a low sound that sent a fresh wave of ice through Mon. "The HoloNet, for instance. Always so eager for a juicy story. 'Senator Mothma's Mysterious Millions – Where Did the Credits Go?' Such a headline would certainly draw attention, would it not?"
For a moment, the world spun around Mon, blurring into streaks of color and light. When her vision settled, Krennic's eyes were fixed on her, no longer with just a knowing glint, but with a deliberate, calculating coldness that stripped away the last vestiges of his charming facade.
"And then there are the fiscal oversight committees," he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, audible only to her. "Or perhaps even the Emperor's own auditors. They do so dislike anomalies in the accounts of high-ranking senators. Especially those who, shall we say, express rather independent opinions in the Senate Chamber."
He paused, a beat of silence between them.
"It would be a shame, Senator," Krennic concluded, "if information of this nature was to fall into the hands of those who might misinterpret them." He smiled this time, flashing his teeth. "Or rather, perhaps, interpret them correctly in a way that proves inconvenient for your esteemed career."
Mon felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin clammy. The implication was clear. He wasn't talking about a financial scandal anymore. He was talking about something far more dangerous. He was talking about politcally destroying her. Her breath caught in her throat. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to maintain her composure, to deny, to deflect. But his words, so casual and cruel, broke through her carefully constructed shield. The polite society smile shattered.
Mon stopped mid-step, bringing them to a jarring halt, though Krennic's grip on her remained firm. Her eyes, usually so serene, were blazing with a cold fury. Her voice, though barely above a whisper, was laced with steel, a dangerous edge she rarely allowed to surface in public.
"Director Krennic," she said, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage, "are you threatening me?"
Krennic’s eyes, devoid of humor or charm, remained locked on hers, a predator’s gaze. He simply stared, a subtle tilt to his head.
Then, his smile broadened, losing all pretense of charm and settling into something chillingly predatory. "Threatening you, Senator?" he mused. "I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial understanding."
He tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her slightly closer, his breath a warm whisper against her temple. "Now, Senator, smile. We wouldn't want anything to look amiss, would we? Not at such a joyous occasion."
With monumental effort, Mon forced the shattered pieces of her smile back together. Her eyes, however, burned into his. "Blackmail," Mon whispered, the word a bitter taste on her tongue. The surprising part wasn't that he was doing it, but that he was so brazen about it. "I'm not shocked, Director. Not from you. You wouldn't be below blackmail, would you?" The question was rhetorical, edged with contempt.
Krennic’s eyes danced with amusement, a genuine delight. He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through her. "You wound me, Senator. Though, I confess, I do appreciate your candor. It's so rare these days, particularly in the Senate."
The proximity was suffocating. Mon could feel the warmth of his body, the subtle tension of his muscles. How she was not recoiling and screaming, she did not know.
"So," Mon whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "What do you want?"
Krennic leaned in, so close she could feel a whisper of his lips against her ear, his breath warm and unwelcome. It took every ounce of her senatorial training to prevent her from pulling away, from breaking the contact, from letting other guests know something was amiss.
"You're a beautiful woman, Senator," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "Infuriatingly moralizing, of course, and self-righteous to a fault. But beautiful nonetheless."
He paused. His gaze drifted to her lips for a split second before returning to meet her gaze, hot and heavy with implication.
"What do you think I want?"
The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. The suggestive words, the insinuating tone, the lingering gaze. He wasn't talking about political favors or intelligence. He was talking about her .
Mon's face flushed crimson, blood pounding in her ears, a wave of heat washing over her, from her neck up to her hairline, a visceral reaction to his words. The sheer audacity, the disgusting arrogance of the man, to even suggest such a thing.
"How dare you?" Mon hissed. Her carefully constructed facade cracked wide open. "You are crossing a line, Director. A reprehensible line." Her grip on his arm tightened instinctively in a desperate urge to push him away. She emphasized her next words, spitting them out like poison. "I am a married sitting Senator. I would never stoop so low. I would never dishonor myself, my family, or my office with such a... a vile suggestion!"
Krennic, however, seemed impervious to her rage. Her fury barely registered with him. His smile, that chilling, amusement-laced baring of teeth, remained firmly in place, as if her impassioned protest was nothing more than a faint buzzing in the background. His eyes, fixed on her, held only calculating interest.
"Oh, Senator," he purred, his voice a smooth, unbroken stream of self-satisfaction. "You misunderstand. I am a simple man, you see. I like simple pleasures in life." He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face, lingering on the furious blush that still stained her cheeks. "And I like getting what I want."
His thumb subtly brushed the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending a fresh jolt of revulsion through her.
"And you, Senator Mothma," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl, "are something I very much want."
The words were delivered with such casual conviction. Her anger and disgust faded, replaced with pure horror. His words were a proud declaration, and it was the sheer arrogance of them that broke through her control. Before she could stop herself, before she could think better of giving him the satisfaction of her curiosity, the question, born of a desperate need to understand this monstrous audacity, escaped her lips.
"Why?" Mon whispered, the single world laced with disbelief. "Why me?"
Krennic’s smile widened, a slow, predatory unfurling of his lips. He pulled her even closer, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"Why you, Senator?" he echoed, his voice low, sending shivers of revulsion down Mon's spine. His gaze swept over her face, lingering on the barely concealed flicker of terror in her eyes. "You are, as I mentioned, beautiful." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"
His thumb now moved to her knuckles, tracing a slow, deliberate path. Mon wanted to tear her hand away, but she was paralyzed by fear and rage.
"You represent something, Senator Mothma," Krennic continued, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper that oozed venom. "You are the symbol of all that the Empire is trying to eradicate . The old ways. The moralizing. The stubborn, outdated ideals of a Republic that is long past its prime." He chuckled humorlessly. "And yet, you persist. You stand there, a beacon of defiance. You lecture in the Senate, your carefully chosen words always skirting the edge of outright treason, but always, always carrying that irritating scent of self-righteousness."
His blazing blue eyes bore into hers. "You are a challenge, Senator. A puzzle to solve. A prize to claim. Imagine," he whispered, the word dripping with an insidious suggestion, "the satisfaction of bending such a will. Of seeing that unbreakable spirit finally yield." He paused deliberately. "And to do so publicly, with you still holding your position, still appearing to be in good standing...that, Senator, would be a triumph. A true testament to the Empire's reach. To my reach."
He quickly turned her in their perverse dance, momentarily throwing her off balance. "It would send a clear message, wouldn't it? That even the most revered figures among the old guard are not untouchable. That everyone has a price."
Mon felt a fresh wave of nausea. It was about his desire, yes, but it was also about power. It was about humiliation. He wanted to strip away everything she stood for, to possess not just her body, but her very essence, her defiance, and then display it as a trophy.
"And besides," Krennic added, his voice lightening, as if he were discussing the latest gossip on Coruscant, "the ISB records, those delightful little diversions from your accounts, would remain a secret."
He squeezed her hand, a final, definitive gesture. "So, Senator," he concluded, his smile returning to its full, infuriating brilliance. "What do you say? Shall we finish this dance?"