The Love of Money II
Copyright© 2025 by MindSketch
Chapter 39: A Fine Line
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 39: A Fine Line - Marcus and the others are no longer just surviving the world—they’re shaping it. Erin has always known what she wants. Now she’s orchestrating it. Helen is learning that submission isn’t surrender. Bobbi, stripped of her old identity, stands at a crossroads. New women cross his path. Old ones return. Some hand him their heart. Some, a leash. Some, a knife in the back. And then there are the ones waiting for him to stumble. It's hard to rest when you have a target painted on your back.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Rags To Riches BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Light Bond Rough Sadistic Spanking Group Sex Harem Orgy Interracial Black Female White Female Oriental Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Massage Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism Big Breasts Small Breasts Slow Violence
Friday, September 27th, 3:19 pm
“Will I be arrested?”
Knowing I couldn’t trust his words, I glanced at the officer escorting me to my study, looking for any sign of an answer on his face.
“No, sir,” the officer said, stopping in front of the dark wood panels. “Detective Reynolds just wants to ask you a few questions.”
And then he opened one of the doors to the study.
My study.
A sickening sensation roiled in the pit of my stomach as I stepped inside, looking around an empty, ransacked room.
No. ‘Ransacked’ wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t like my apartment when that Cartwright guy had torn it apart. That was ransacked. This was done with more precision— cushions were neatly placed to the side of their couch, books were stacked in even towers on the floor, and artifacts had been removed from their cases and then replaced in slightly different configurations.
My study had been the target of a surgical and professional search.
“Sorry about the mess,” a voice said behind me.
I turned to see Reynolds standing in the doorway, his eyes watching me with that same casual gaze I’d seen when we first met.
“You gonna put the books back on the shelves?” I asked.
“No,” he said and stepped into the room. The officer closed the door behind him, leaving the two of us alone. “Our time is valuable.”
“And mine isn’t?” I muttered, glancing back around at the mess. Even the drawers to my desk had been removed and sat in a neat little stack next to a tripod holding a camera.
Reynolds walked past me to sit in my chair, offering me a seat usually reserved for guests. The message wasn’t exactly subtle—he was in charge.
“To be fair,” he continued, “The force has come a long way. Fifteen years ago, you would have had your couch cushions slashed and your desk overturned. We’ve adopted more civilized methods since then.”
I took a seat. “Thanks for saving me the headache then, I guess.”
He leaned his elbows on my desk and folded his hands in front of him. “Right. I suppose now isn’t the best time to buy new furniture.”
The subtle jab at my current financial troubles didn’t go unnoticed.
Reynolds grabbed a small remote and pointed it at the camera on the tripod. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Upton ... I just have a few questions.”
“Happy to answer them,” I said, trying to cover up my nervousness.
“Bobbi Nanford,” he said. “How long have you known her?”
“Uh ... a little over a year.”
“And where did you meet?”
“We worked together at my last job. Marduke.”
“What was your first impression of her?”
I glanced at the camera and then back at Reynolds, wondering if he’d recorded his interview with Bobbi. He had to have talked to her by now, and what worried me was that I would incriminate myself as soon as I opened my mouth—either by lying when she told the truth, or telling the truth when she lied.
None of us had a chance to speak to each other alone before we were divided. There hadn’t been time to coordinate anything.
The moment Reynolds got off the elevator and entered my living room, he gave us a warrant explicitly stating that he had the authority to search for evidence that I had trafficked or coerced Bobbi into a relationship she didn’t want to be in. Since there wasn’t much I could do, I cooperated; the first thing he did was separate us into different rooms.
It had been roughly forty minutes since I’d been escorted to the dining room to be babysat by one of New York’s finest—just enough time for Reynolds’ men to search my study while he had a long talk with Bobbi.
Since I didn’t know what she’d told him, I opted for as much honesty as possible without incriminating myself.
I shrugged. “She was a bitch.”
Reynolds had just started taking notes and glanced up at me as his pen grew still. He arched an eyebrow. “Strong words.”
“They were strong feelings,” I admitted. “I wasn’t alone, either. Almost everyone in that office hated her.”
He looked back down at his notebook and began scribbling again.
I couldn’t keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Sorry, but what is this really about?”
“I told you. We’re here to do a wellness check on Barbara Nanford.”
“You were just here a week ago, asking me about Rajesh Desai.”
“Your point?” he said without looking at me.
“I’m just wondering if this is really about Bobbi.”
“It’s what it says on the warrant.”
“Have you talked to her?” I couldn’t help asking the question.
He finally looked up from his pad, studying me for five whole seconds.
“I did,” he said.
“So ... either she told you that I’m some kind of monster, and you can arrest me, or she told you that there’s nothing weird going on and you can leave, right?”
“It’s not that simple.” He laid his pen down and stood, looking around the room as he placed his hands on his lower back and arched it a little. It made him look at ease, which I assumed was the point. “Testimonies from women in Barbara’s situation only go so far. We look for any other signs that might help tell the whole story.”
He looked back at me. “Barb’s been painting me one heck of a picture, Mr. Upton.”
It was all I could do not to vomit. I imagined Bobbi in an interrogation room spilling the entire scenario—how we came to this little arrangement, the night before she moved in ... the whole ordeal with Astrid. I could feel the walls closing in around me and was desperately racking my brain for any way out of this.
Could Reynolds be bought off?
I eyed him, trying to assess whether or not he was one of those crusader types who would weaponize an attempt at bribery.
Or ... he could be in Hiro Tanaka’s pocket. Showing up minutes after our conversation seemed a little too coincidental.
Either way ... offering a bribe was too much of a risk.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound like I didn’t care. “If she’s told you everything, then why do you need evidence? Just arrest me and get it over with.”
He sat on the corner of the desk nearest me, looking relaxed while also able to stare down his nose. “Like I said, Mr. Upton. Due diligence.”
Glancing at the phone in my hand, he nodded to it. “Speaking of which, mind handing over your phone?”
He held out his hand expectantly, and I started to hand it to him out of pure instinct. Then I stopped myself—there were texts from Bobbi on my phone ... from early on in our relationship. They weren’t the kinds of texts that I wanted someone like Reynolds to see.
There were also pictures to consider. A lot of pictures.
Hell ... my phone held a buffet of things that could make even an open-minded person draw certain insinuations about the nature of my relationship with Bobbi.
I slid my phone in my pants pocket. “No thanks.”
“Need I remind you, Mr. Upton, that we have a warrant for this search?”
“Does that include my phone?” I pushed back.
“It extends to anything to do with Barbara Nanford.”
“My phone has nothing to do with ‘Barbara’ Nanford.”
Reynolds smirked. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. Not sure why you wouldn’t want to cooperate, unless there’s something on that phone you don’t want me to see.”
“Dick pics,” I said. “I took them for my girlfriend, but you know how it goes ... you send it and forget it. They’re all still on my phone, and I’m shy.”
“Oh,” he said, not sounding like he particularly believed me. “I don’t mind.”
“I want to speak to Helen VanCamp—my attorney.”
“You sure that’s necessary, Mr. Upton? I’m not here to arrest you. I’m not charging you with anything. You get a lawyer involved now, and it just makes you look guilty.”
“Are you refusing me my right to legal representation?”
Reynolds held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. I’m just trying to help you out with optics. You want to play hardball, though, then that’s on you.”
He slid off the desk but hesitated. “Last chance to fully cooperate, Mr. Upton.”
“Lawyer.”
“Fine,” Reynolds huffed and headed for the door. I simply stared at my desk, listening to him retreat. The door opened. Then shut.
Now that I was alone, I wanted to launch myself out of the chair and search through my stuff to make sure it was all there ... that there wasn’t anything that could be incriminating.
Then I remembered that Reynolds had turned on the camera and hadn’t turned it off before he left. It was still recording. I would have bet a million dollars that it had been intentional—he was a clever son of a bitch.
Instead, I decided to give him nothing besides a recording of me simply staring around the room, looking bored. At least he wouldn’t be able to see my internal screaming.
As someone who had been constantly busy for the last few months—either learning how to manage a portfolio that spanned a global chain network of companies or having sex with incredibly gorgeous women—I found it especially difficult to sit there and do nothing. All I could think about was what Bobbi might have told Reynolds. What if others decided to talk? What if Jessica said anything?
The torment of sitting there, stewing in my own thoughts, lasted for roughly ten minutes before the sound of an opening door pulled me out of my reverie, making me twitch in my seat.
“Mr. Upton,” Reynolds said, coming into view as he stopped by my desk. “I’ve brought your representation.”
The sound of a chair sliding across the office’s rug drew my attention to the welcome sight of Helen as she sat next to me. She offered me a brief smile, but otherwise remained calm and collected, radiating that chilled exterior that was so familiar.
The effect was only slightly spoiled by the fact that she was still wearing her workout attire.
“Now, Mr. Upton, as I was saying—”
Helen interrupted him. “Mr. Reynolds, since my client has requested representation, I would ask that you direct all your questions through to me.”
God bless this blonde angel warrior.
The detective looked annoyed. “Before asking me to get you, I’d requested Mr. Upton’s phone in the spirit of cooperation with my investigation. It might speed up the process.”
“My client declines,” Helen said.
“We have a warrant to search the premises for any signs of abuse.”
“Is my client’s phone specifically named in the warrant?”
“We have reason to believe relevant parties utilized that phone.”
“The warrant covers Ms. Nanford,” Helen countered, “not Mr. Upton or his phone. You’re permitted to search the premises because she resides here. That does not apply to Mr. Upton’s phone. It contains privileged communications and confidential material, and per Riley v. California, speculative access isn’t enough. You don’t get to violate the Fourth Amendment just because the phone has been in a room at the same time as Ms. Nanford.”
Reynolds stared at Helen, his lips compressed into a thin line. “Ms. Nanford’s already told us quite a bit about her situation here. I think it might be in your client’s favor to cooperate with us.”
Helen gave him a brittle smile. “If you have everything you require to file formal charges, then you shouldn’t need my client’s cooperation or any information from his phone. If you do need to access his phone, I suggest you get a warrant specifically for that.”
The silence was tense as Reynolds fixed Helen with a glare.
“I’m curious,” Helen continued, “Have you read Ms. Nanford her rights?”
“She’s not in our custody. She’s free to leave whenever she wants.”
Helen glanced at the camera, which continued to record everything. “I assume you’re recording all our interviews?”
Reynolds nodded.
“And if I were to play back any conversation you had with Ms. Nanford, I wouldn’t see her attempting to leave at any point, in which you implied that she couldn’t?”
The detective didn’t respond.
Helen tsked. “You’re walking a fine line, detective. Please ensure that Ms. Nanford is aware of her rights and that she is allowed to go wherever she wants. If we find that neither of those things has been provided, we will take the New York Police Department to court.”
Jesus Christ ... no wonder Helen made the big bucks.
Reynolds looked like he was chewing rusty nails—jaw clenching and unclenching, canted to one side.
“May I have a few moments alone with my client?”
The detective didn’t move.
“Detective Reynolds...”
He shoved off the desk and started toward the door.
“Camera off, please,” Helen called out.
He stopped, turned around, and pointed the remote at the camera.
“Please take it with you,” Helen said.
Without a word, Reynolds stalked to the device, unsapped it from its tripod, and made his way to the door, his stance nowhere near as carefree as when he first entered the office.
The door shut behind him—a little too loudly.
“God,” I breathed.
“Took you long enough,” Helen said.
I balked. “I’m sorry ... I’ve never been in trouble with the law like this before, Helen. I was taught to respect the police, so my knee-jerk reaction is to do whatever they say.”
“You need to unlearn that fast. You’re too high-profile to talk to the police without a lawyer present.”
“Noted,” I said. I looked her up and down. Seeing her this way—wearing everyday workout attire—made her feel more approachable ... less like a goddess and more human. Sure, I’d seen her without makeup, naked, sweaty, and chest heaving. It was always either that or pristine and professional. Right now, though, she felt more real than ever.
“That was amazing, by the way,” I said.
Her gaze softened, and she actually cracked a warm smile. “Thank you ... Sir.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I detected a hint of flirtation behind the ‘Sir.’ I wanted to act on it—to throw her to the floor and show her how impressed I really was by her legal acumen—but dammit ... now wasn’t the time or place.
“So, what next, counselor?”
“Well, Bobbi hasn’t given him a smoking gun yet, or he wouldn’t be asking questions right now. That means she’s either not cooperating or she’s weighing her options.”
“You haven’t talked to her yet?”
Helen looked at the door worriedly. “No, and that has me concerned. I assumed she would ask for me, but it might not have occurred to her. I’m hoping Reynolds reads her rights and that she acts on them, requesting me as her lawyer.”
“Has anyone else done that?”
“Erin did it before they even got her to her office. She hasn’t been questioned yet, but I have to be present whenever they do.”
“So, they have every single one of you separated?”
Helen nodded. “More officers arrived to help manage the search and interrogation after we were all escorted out of the living room. I think Reynolds is playing it safe ... didn’t want this to become a spectacle.
Chloe’s beside herself. She was about ready to shoot a couple of the officers, but I convinced her to stand down and just wait for everyone in the living room. She’s not happy about it, but she’s smart enough to understand what’s going on.”
“This has to be about the murder, right?” I said. “This isn’t just about Bobbi.”
She glanced around the room. “I agree. This is his attempt to get his foot in the door so that he can hunt for evidence linking you to Rajesh’s death. They’re going through the entire apartment, searching for every room.”
“Every room? Can he do that?”
“Under the pretext of looking for evidence for Bobbi, yes.”
“Even my office? It doesn’t have anything to do with Bobbi. I didn’t think he could just search wherever he wanted.”
“He can, within reason,” Helen said. “Bobbi lives here, and it’s reasonable to assume that she’s been in all these rooms.”
“But not phones?”
“Phones are different—there are private pictures, messages, and financial data stored on them. They have their own special set of rules.”
“So, what do I do while he continues the investigation?”
“The only thing you can do is wait, and not say anything to them without me being present,” Helen said.
I picked up my phone. “I could just text Bobbi.”
My lawyer laid her hand on top of mine. “I wouldn’t do that. Someone’s with her when she’s not there. If everyone starts getting text messages from each other and the police catch on, it could look incredibly suspicious and might even trigger a phone-specific warrant.”
“Helen, I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Honestly, Marcus, that’s the best thing you can do.” She leaned in and pressed her mouth to mine. There was no tongue ... no nuclear makeout session. It was a sweet kiss full of gentle meaning. “Trust the team you’ve put together to work for you,” she murmured against my lips.
I wanted to argue that my team consisted of a hateful bitch and my ex-girlfriend, but I couldn’t think of a legitimately real thing that I could contribute to the situation. She was right. I had to trust that my people knew how to do their job ... and that Bobbi and Jess preferred their current lives to the alternative.
Loud knocking on the door made both of us jump, and Helen sat straight in her seat.