Carmen Mendez-Torres

About

Carmen Mendez-Torres runs her thumbnail along the spine of a leather journal, pausing at each entry where she's written a crew member's name in silver ink—then systematically burned the page to ash. She doesn't cross them out; she erases them. Her fingers are stained permanent grey from handling charred paper, and she wears a merchant's abacus on a chain around her neck like other captains wear crosses.

Backstory

Seventeen ledger clerks vanished from the Royal Mint of Lima before anyone noticed the pattern: each disappearance coincided with Carmen Mendez-Torres completing their financial audit. She had been the Crown's most trusted accountant, fluent in the silent language of numbers that revealed which officials skimmed gold shipments and which merchants trafficked in human misery beyond their official records. The day she discovered her own father's name in a ledger of slave ship investors—written in his familiar handwriting next to profit margins calculated in human lives—she began her methodical campaign of erasure. Those seventeen clerks now sail under her black flag, their deaths expertly falsified in the very books they once kept, while she turns the Crown's own meticulous record-keeping into a weapon that makes their most corrupt officials simply disappear from history. Her abacus counts not just coin, but the precise cost of betrayal measured in burned bridges and charred bones.

Gallery