Taming My Sugar Mommy

The late evening sun cast long shadows across Marcus's desk as he pored over the accident report for the fifth time. Something wasn't adding up, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The burner phone call to the truck driver nagged at him like a loose thread begging to be pulled. He'd been at it since dawn, fueled by coffee and the gnawing certainty that they were missing something obvious—something that had been staring them in the face all along.

The security feeds from the accident scene played on a loop on one of his monitors: the truck approaching the intersection, Christina's car making the turn, the impact that shouldn't have happened. Frame by frame, he'd watched it dozens of times, looking for any sign that this was more than just another tragic accident. The driver's statement sat on his desk, each word carefully chosen, too carefully chosen.

"You're going to burn a hole through those papers if you stare any harder," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Diana Evans stood there, her suit jacket draped over one arm, a manila folder tucked under the other. After fifteen years working cases together—first in law enforcement, now in private security—she could read his frustration like an open book. Her blonde hair was pulled back in its usual no-nonsense bun, but the shadows under her eyes suggested she'd been pulling the same long hours he had.

"Tell me you found something," Marcus said, not looking up from the report. The office was nearly empty at this hour, most of Ashworth Events' employees long gone, but the real work was just beginning. The cleaning crew had already made their rounds, leaving behind the faint scent of lemon polish and the soft hum of the overhead lights.

Diana closed the door behind her and settled into her usual spot—the leather armchair in the corner of his office. That chair had witnessed countless breakthroughs and dead ends over the years, its worn leather holding memories of cases both solved and lost. "Just got this from Rodriguez. Said it was urgent." She handed him the folder. "Haven't had a chance to look through it myself."

The folder was heavy with potential, thick with what Marcus hoped were answers. He opened it carefully, his practiced eyes immediately scanning the contents. Inside were surveillance photos from the coffee shop Christina frequented, crisp and clear despite the early morning light they were taken in. The woman in the photos was careful—never facing the cameras directly, always wearing oversized sunglasses. But there was something familiar about her posture, the way she carried herself. Something that tugged at his memory like a half-forgotten dream.

He was about to comment when his phone buzzed. Isabella.

The name on the screen made him pause. Isabella never called this late unless something was wrong. He caught Diana's eye before answering, watching as she pulled out her notebook—another habit from their police days that had served them well.

"Any progress?" Isabella's voice carried that edge of careful control he'd come to recognize as dangerous. In the background, he could hear the soft clink of ice against glass—another bad sign. Isabella only drank when things were about to get complicated.

"I've found something interesting about the driver," Marcus said, spreading out the photos as he spoke. "The coffee shop connection might be more significant than we thought." He gestured for Diana to look at a particular image, one that showed their mystery woman checking her watch—exactly one hour before Christina's usual arrival time.

"And the burner phone?"

"Purchased with cash from a convenience store near the prison where David's being held. But here's the thing—the buyer wasn't one of his known associates. Professional job, knew exactly where the cameras were. Never showed their face." Marcus pulled up the convenience store footage on his second monitor, the grainy images showing a figure in a nondescript jacket, face hidden beneath a baseball cap.

Diana leaned forward, her attention caught by something in the stack of papers she was now examining. Her slight intake of breath was all Marcus needed to know she'd found something significant.

"I have to call you back," he told Isabella, ending the call before she could protest. The look on Diana's face demanded his full attention.

Turning back to the documents, Marcus spread out the bank statements and transaction records across his desk. The paper trail told a story of its own—one of careful planning and meticulous execution. "Look at this," he said to Diana, pointing to a series of transfers. "Three days before the accident, someone made a series of transfers through six different shell companies. Textbook laundering pattern. But they got sloppy on the final hop."

Diana leaned in to examine the documents, her frown matching his. The years of working together had taught them both to trust these moments of shared insight. "These routing numbers... they're internal to Ashworth Events."

Marcus pulled up the company's internal financial database on his third monitor, cross-referencing the numbers. "The transactions were authorized at odd hours—all between 2 and 4 AM. Security logs show no one accessing the system during those times, at least not through normal channels."

"A hack?"

"No signs of external breach." He rubbed his tired eyes. "This was someone with inside access. Someone who knew our protocols, our security measures."

"It gets worse." Marcus pulled out another photo, this one from an ATM camera. The timestamp matched the final withdrawal, the grainy image showing a woman whose features were partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. "The final withdrawal was made by this woman." He laid it next to the coffee shop surveillance photos. "Same height, same build. Different wig, but definitely our mystery coffee date."

Diana's years of investigative experience showed in the methodical way she arranged the photos, creating a timeline. "The coffee shop meetings started exactly three weeks before the accident. Always Tuesdays and Thursdays, always an hour before Christina arrived." She paused, something clicking into place. "Wait. How did she know Christina's schedule?"

Marcus's expression darkened. "That's what got me thinking." He pulled up an encrypted file on his computer, entering a series of passwords. "I ran facial recognition against every database I could access. Nothing current came up, but then I tried something else." He pulled out one final document—a heavily redacted personnel file from their law enforcement days. "File's been sealed by court order, but look at the date."

Diana's eyes widened as recognition hit. "That's from the David Harrison case. The one that—"

"The one that made our careers, yeah." Marcus stood, walking to the window. The city sprawled below, a maze of lights and shadows. "Ten years ago, we thought we got them all. The smuggling ring, the corrupt officers, everyone. What if we missed someone? What if this isn't about David at all?"

"You think this goes back to the original case?"

"Think about it. The timing, the precision of the accident, the money trail. This isn't just about revenge—it's about finishing something that started a decade ago."

A memory flashed through Marcus's mind—the warehouse raid that had ended the Harrison case. The gunfire, the screams, the stack of documents they'd recovered that had blown the whole operation wide open. He'd always wondered about those missing pages, the ones that had clearly been torn out before they arrived.

Diana was about to respond when a sharp knock on the door made them both freeze. Through the glass walls, they could see Seraphina standing outside, her expression unreadable. Even at this late hour, she looked immaculate in her tailored suit, not a hair out of place. Her presence at this hour could only mean one thing—the board was getting nervous.

"Want me to stay?" Diana asked quietly, already gathering the scattered documents.

Marcus shook his head slightly. "Circle back to that sealed file. Find out who ordered it classified. And Diana?" He caught her eye. "Check the visitor logs at the prison. Not just for David—for everyone involved in the original case."

Diana nodded, smoothly slipping the documents back into her folder. As she stood, her hand brushed against his desk briefly—their old signal for trouble. "Watch yourself. If this goes where I think it's going..."

"I know." Marcus straightened his tie. "Check in every hour?"

"Like always." She gave Seraphina a polite nod as they passed in the doorway, their long-standing practice of professional detachment serving them well.

"Marcus," Seraphina said as she entered, closing the door with a soft click that somehow seemed louder than a slam. "I believe we need to have a conversation about loyalty." Her eyes followed Diana's retreat down the hallway. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything crucial."

"Not at all." Marcus gestured to the chair Diana had vacated, keeping his expression neutral. The folder still open on his desk felt like it was burning a hole through the polished wood. "How can I help you?"

Seraphina settled into the chair with the grace of a cat prepared to pounce. Her pearl necklace caught the light as she moved, reminding Marcus of the price tag that came with her position—and the expectations that accompanied it. "I assume you've discovered something interesting about the recent... incident."

"That depends on what you already know." Marcus kept his voice level, years of interrogation experience coming into play.

A thin smile curved Seraphina's lips, the kind that never reached her eyes. "I know that you're about to make a decision that will affect a lot of people's lives. Including your own." She reached into her bag and withdrew a single photograph, placing it face-down on the desk. "Before you make that decision, there's something you should see."

Marcus's phone buzzed again—Diana's hourly check-in, right on schedule. He ignored it, his hand hovering over the photograph Seraphina had placed before him. In the gathering darkness of his office, the shadows seemed to lengthen, and he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was captured in that image would change everything.

His mind raced through the implications. The mystery woman at the coffee shop. The sealed file from the David Harrison case. The money trail leading back to Ashworth Events. And now Seraphina, with her cryptic warnings and hidden photographs. The pieces were there, but the picture they formed was still just out of reach.

'Isabella,' he thought, 'I hope you know what you're doing.' Because suddenly, he wasn't sure anyone did.

The photograph lay between them like a loaded gun, waiting to go off. Outside his office, the city lights began to twinkle on, one by one, as if the stars themselves were gathering to witness what would happen next. Ten years of carefully constructed plans, of buried secrets and maintained lies, all balanced on the edge of whatever truth that photograph contained.

Marcus took a deep breath and reached for the photo. Sometimes, he knew, the only way forward was through the fire. His fingers touched the glossy surface, and as he began to turn it over, Seraphina's smile widened just a fraction—enough to make him wonder if he was about to discover the truth, or just another carefully constructed lie in a game that had started long before the accident.

The photo revealed its secret inch by inch, and Marcus felt the air leave his lungs as recognition dawned. There, in perfect clarity, was an answer he'd never expected and a question he'd never thought to ask.