Wire Pulling Pt 02

Chapter 5

There was no sleep for me that night. Between those never-ending thoughts about my new living situation, spurred on by the feeling of my mother's basically naked body pressed into mine and the worry about the seemingly stagnating case against the senator, I just couldn't calm down. And, sadly, in more ways than one. That raging hard-on I unsuccessfully tried to will down throughout the night kept reminding me of how great that blowjob felt that I got in the afternoon.

I just couldn't understand how my plan failed! I was

so

sure that once I pointed out that I was her son, which, in turn, should have made her realize that she was my mother, it would rip her out of this weird state she was in and make her question what she was about to do. As it turned out, though, I was utterly off track on this one. Instead, it seemed like she enjoyed pleasing me sexually even more after I insisted on her calling me 'Son'. It actually sounded like she took delight in saying it out loud every time she addressed me.

Or, maybe, she was just happy that I had accepted her. After all, and according to her own words, serving someone was all she wanted. She had told me so multiple times. My only resolve was to not abuse her like Dick had for so long. Maybe she understood my attempt at making her see reality as some kind of simple condition for allowing her to please me. And I had to admit... my resolve to make her stop wasn't just wavering. It was crumbling, fast.

On the other hand, she was clearly not in a good mental state. If I continued to play into that, it may not constitute abuse like she was used to from Dick... But I sure as hell was taking advantage of her!

Even still, I couldn't get that voice out of my head. That quiet but clearly angry voice that sounded like my sixteen-year-old self, demanding retribution and proclaiming his disbelief over me still caring for the woman after everything she allowed to happen to us.

Just at that moment, I felt Mom's leg push itself up my body until her knee came to a rest on my upper thigh, threatening to travel the remaining few inches needed to start nudging the tent in my boxers. I equally dreaded and anticipated what would happen if she discovered this new opportunity to 'make me happy'.

That pulled me out of my thoughts, and I realized that I was doing it again! Just like the night before, I was lying in bed, with my thoughts circling the issue of how to deal with this whole fucked-up situation, but never reaching a conclusion because, if I managed to be honest with myself... the mental image of me using her body got me harder than I had ever been! And I didn't think it was because of how kinky it was, or how it was every man's dream to have a devoted woman catering to his every need. It was the prospect of payback that was more exciting than anything else.

I needed to get some distance. Clear my head again. Draw my attention away from that soft, warm, and enticing body pressed into me, willing and ready to be grabbed and...

I shook my head and started the process of carefully extracting myself from Mom's hold. I had to get away, and I had to do it quickly! But, if I woke her up, there was no doubt in my mind she would make a fuss over it, and I didn't need another argument with her that would leave me feeling guilty in the morning. So, forcing myself to move as carefully and as slowly as possible, I managed to leave the bedroom and close the door behind me without waking her.

But then I just stood in the living room, unsure what to do next.

I needed a plan. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I had to deal with the allegations the senator brought forth against Mom before I could deal with Mom herself. The way I responded to her offerings... I was so sure I had successfully moved past all the pain from my childhood after I left their house. But now, I realized just how much resentment I still held towards both of them and how hard it was to not take it out on her. Maybe, if I managed to prove Mom's innocence and thereby ruined the senator, I could then approach Mom with much less baggage!

With this new resolve, I pulled out all the documents I got from Breston regarding this case and started making notes of all the things I needed to check up on. Doing this, I could only shake my head when I realized that I had been involved in this case for three full days, but only now started working on it earnestly. That simple fact really drove home how much I had been distracted by everything else going on.

When I was done with my list, I understood that it made no sense to start on it in the middle of the night. There was too much to check that involved business hours and help from other people who were fast asleep at this hour. Also, I could work a lot more efficiently after a few hours of sleep. However, since I was reluctant to go back into the bedroom and lie down next to my undoubtedly still-naked mother, I just turned on the TV and stayed on the couch until my brain finally calmed down. Another few minutes later, my eyes got heavy, and I finally lay on my side to let sleep take over.

I woke up to the sounds of pans and pots being moved in the kitchen, which was accompanied by the smell of coffee. At first, this pissed me off. This was an apartment, not a house. Thanks to the "open kitchen theme" people are raving about for some reason, there wasn't even a door she could have closed to muffle the noise, and I was lying on the couch barely fifteen feet away! I was still dead tired and, after trying to move a little, felt my back protest because that couch was not meant to be slept on.

When I tried to sneak a peek at what was happening in the kitchen, however, what I saw almost made me laugh. Mom was in there, dressed in another set of lingerie while wearing her high heels again, and trying to prepare breakfast while making as little noise as possible by not only moving slowly but also by literally trying to tip-toe in her heels. The sight was comedy gold, and it calmed my anger significantly.

Instead of calling out to her, I decided to first try and sit up. It was then that I noticed the blanket someone had placed over me. That was a curious deviation from the way she had chosen to wake me the day before. And, again, I felt relief and regret in equal parts about that.

As my eyes took in the mess I had made on the coffee table when going through the paperwork, I suddenly heard Mom let out a small shriek before the loud clacking of her heels told me that she was rushing into the room. Before I could even turn my head completely towards her, she was on the ground, kneeling before me in the very same submissive pose she had used the day before, though this time, her head was fully bowed instead of maintaining eye contact with me.

This wasn't an attempt to be alluringly submissive towards me. She was scared after waking me by making noise.

"Please forgive me, Son. I didn't mean to disturb you," she implored me with a frightened voice. It confused me for the tiniest of moments before I, once again, noticed how the lingerie framed her body, and how this pose presented her breasts to me. I felt the strangely growing urge to actually put her over my knee under the pretense of punishment. That only lasted until I, for the millionth time in just three days, contemplated what exactly Dick had done to her to cause such a frightened reaction over something as little as disturbing my sleep. Thankfully, I managed to gather my wits quickly enough and address the problem in what I hoped to be a reassuring tone.

"No problem, Mom." I saw her shoulders lose some of the tension upon hearing my tired but calm tone. "What's for breakfast?"

"I was thinking of Pancakes." She waited for me to proclaim my approval before speaking up once more and waking me up fully. "Would you prefer me to fellate you now or after you ate?"

That made me sputter. She had delivered that line with such indifference, like it was now somehow a given that she would suck her son's cock every morning, that I was hard-pressed for a response. Though, she didn't move an inch while I just stared at her. She just remained kneeling on the ground, waiting for me to say something.

"Uh..." My eyes darted around the room while I tried to decide what to do, until they, again, came to a halt on the coffee table. "No. I need to concentrate on the case for now. Just... carry on."

I saw her nod and raise herself in that graceful way before she moved back into the kitchen and continued preparing breakfast. Shaking my head, I decided to simply not deal with this to instead continue my work from last night.

First, I went into the bedroom and got my work laptop. Then I went back to the couch and started my research on the two involved banks located in the US. I had an account at a site that gathered and preprocessed business reports and financial statements of basically all companies and institutions operating in the US, and used that to download both banks' annual financial statements for the past five years. These would have been accessible for free on the internet, as they publish those as a form of advertisement for investors, but doing it this way spared me not just the search but also the work I'd have to put in to sort through it.

Contrary to my worry from last night, I didn't need a business degree to see that the competing bank, that allegedly paid Mom to steal those documents, had bled a lot of money over those past few years. While Schrader Bank & Trust had made record winnings, the competing bank had made record losses by gambling with real estate funds and nearly went bankrupt over those.

This was, undoubtedly, a plausible motive for the data theft. However, taking another look at the data they got, I quickly understood Tim's and Breston's confusion over this. At first, the stolen datasheets listed customer information that wouldn't have helped the bank improve its investments at all. But, looking at it further, the documents also listed which customer had bought into which funds, followed by detailed information on how those investments played out. Basically, this was detailed information on what the senator and Schrader had proposed to their investors, allowing others to maybe work out their past investment strategies. But, just as Breston had said, there was nothing about the future! No strategies, no recommendations, no market analyses, and nothing that would help anyone decide on an investment

now

.

Sure, knowing what went wrong in the past could help them make better decisions in the future. But nobody would be willing to pay four million dollars for information they could just as well get through some free research! I mean, for Christ's sake... just make an appointment with one of Schrader's financial advisors and take some notes! The result would be the exact same as what they allegedly stole.

However, that was also the point at which I had to pause my research to appreciate Mom's cooking once more. Just like the day before, she had somehow managed to make those pancakes taste exactly like I remembered them, despite the fact that Dick had viewed a breakfast like this as beneath his status, so she hadn't made them in over a decade. The smile that spread on her face after seeing my reaction to her food, somehow made it taste a little better.

After this break, I grabbed my coffee and moved back to the couch. I leaned back in my seat and entertained the idea of a third bank instigating the whole mess in an attempt to get rid of both their competitors. But I quickly realized that only one of those two banks was now dealing with the damage, and that was the one already waiting for another bail-out on the taxpayers' dime.

Groaning to myself, I decided to stop the useless speculations until I had spoken with all the possible witnesses and gathered every piece of information available. Though, Mom must have heard my groan, as I suddenly felt her hands grasp my shoulders from behind the couch and start kneading them with surprising strength. It felt good! Especially after I had spent the night on the couch. And this was a form of pleasure I did not have to feel guilty about when accepting it from my mother.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked in a quiet but caring tone.

"No, but thank you. It's just a lot to work through."

"Just call me if you need anything, Son. I would be happy to help in any way I can."

I had no doubt about her sincerity, but I still had to concentrate on the task at hand. So, thanking her again, I leaned forward and out of her reach, and started to work my way through the photos of her and Carver before hearing Mom's heels clack all the way back into the kitchen.

My next point of attack was the photos the senator had presented as proof of Mom's affair. Last night, I had gotten hung up on a particular picture showing Mom and Carver at that street fair she spoke about in Tim's office. The two of them could be seen standing in the first row, entangled in what seemed like a slow dance. What caught my attention, however, was the band's lead singer not only looking directly at them but also extending a hand at the pair, as if he was addressing them with his song. Maybe he could give me some more information.

A quick Google search revealed the band's name which, in turn, led me to their website. As it turned out, the lead singer, a Cilian McMahon, also worked as a vocal coach and gave singing lessons in his home. And that home was at Lake Jackson, not even an hour away!

I considered using the same approach I already used with Carver's actor friends and try to sneak in by playing someone who was interested in his coaching, but quickly noticed that I had no interest in singing. Not even under the shower. So, a teacher would probably see right through my disinterest in learning and ask me why I would pay for lessons. In search of further insight into the guy's character, I found his Instagram page and very quickly determined that someone had a severe craving for recognition and admiration! So, I decided on a more direct approach.

"Mom!" I called out before even looking up from the laptop, just to immediately adjust my volume when I noticed her standing not even ten feet away from me. It was a little creepy, but not entirely unusual anymore. "I gotta go check something out. You gonna be okay if I leave you alone for a while?"

Contrary to the day before, when I had to visit Tim in his office, she did not hesitate or seem insecure. Curiously, her body language looked like she suddenly realized how this was convenient for her.

"Yes, Son. Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."

I looked at her for a moment, trying to interpret this sudden change in attitude, but ultimately decided to just accept it. It was convenient for me as well, after all, since her presence would be contra-productive this time and I honestly didn't know who I could safely leave her with.

"Great. I'll be quick."

With that, I walked into the bathroom for a quick shower and then dressed in my cheapest clothes without bothering to iron any of them.

Ignoring Mom's disapproving look upon noticing my get-up, I first made my way into the office to retrieve my press card from the Houston Chronicle, the biggest newspaper in all of Texas at the time, and my camera. The press card was real, by the way. I got it a while back after almost messing up a case in which a press card would've been more than helpful to approach my investigation in a different, safer way. So, Bill had me contact a local newspaper and work out a deal to start writing articles about some of the more curious cases we worked on in this town. The newspaper appreciated the easy content for their feuilleton while Bill appreciated the free advertisement, and in return I got real credentials.

Arriving at Mr. McMahon's home address, I could hear what sounded like a cat dying as soon as I reached the small gate securing his front yard, accompanied by some kind of nondescript techno beat. By the time I reached the front door, though, both had stopped. Suddenly, the door flew open, revealing an angry-looking teenage girl, holding onto the doorknob while shouting towards the inner parts of the home. Next, I saw Mr. McMahon walk into view while speaking up.

"Look, you manage to hit the tones, except for the second H, but your voice lacks the necessary volume and can't produce a proper vibrato. The casting is in two weeks. If you had come to me two years ago, I could have helped you make it into the recall, but now? I'm sorry to say, I don't work miracles, Darling."

"You wouldn't recognize talent if it spat you in the face, asshole! My parents say I'm great at singing!" the girl huffed before turning to leave and finally noticing me. "Oh. Don't bother with this guy. Better look for an actual teacher."

I had wondered why the guy would speak with a client this way. After all, if he didn't need the money, he wouldn't work as a vocal coach in addition to all of his other endeavors. But the way he spoke to the girl just enforced the impression I got from looking through his social media presence. This guy was full of himself, and teaching people without obvious talent was something he considered a waste of his time. So, I decided to use this opportunity and put myself into his good graces by addressing the girl.

"You know, at some point, your parents probably also praised you for going potty all by yourself. Doesn't mean you did good enough to land a TV gig for it."

After I finished that statement, two things happened. First, I heard McMahon break out in laughter. Second, the girl regarded me with this disbelieving stare before giving me the finger and storming off.

"Thank you," McMahon said. "I don't know who you are, but thank you!"

"Oh, I can change that!" I said and held my press card up to his face. When he saw that, he looked at me with a certain amount of suspicion, but also expected me to explain myself. "I don't know if you heard about it, yet. Do you remember the case of Senator Anderson's cheating wife?"

"Oh!" His eyes lit up instantly and a slight grin spread on his face. "Yes, I do. I met both of them, you know? The wife and her lover. But I was actually friends with Steven. Knew him very well."

Yeah. My assessment of the guy was spot on. First chance to distinguish himself, he jumps at the opportunity. But what stood out the most to me was the way he used Carver's name to achieve that goal, proclaiming their friendship, and yet not looking the least bit stricken by his death. Maybe, Carver's statement about not having friends wasn't that much of a lie after all.

"Yes, that's honestly the reason I looked you up." I pulled out the photo of Mom and Carver at the street fair. "You see, with Mr. Carver's untimely demise, my editor asked me to look into the whole mess once more. Maybe there are some developments we missed over more current events. And then we found this photo of you performing, which looked like you may know them personally."

"Oh, yeah. That was actually because he told me beforehand to expect him with his newest conquest. Always works wonders with the girls if you know the band and can get them to meet the performers, you know?"

His whole demeanor told me how he deemed himself famous, even though all the guy did was perform at a street fair. I took note of what he actually said, though.

"Oh, don't I know it!" I gave him my best fake laugh. "You wouldn't believe the stories I heard about groupies. Almost like they spontaneously develop another personality with how willing they suddenly are. I guess it pays to have a friend like you."

This little statement worked like a charm!

What followed was about an hour of conversation with the guy, learning about all of his 'professional' endeavors and personal history with Carver, but, sadly, nothing else that would help me in any way. However, the little bit about Carver enlisting this guy's help before he even showed Mom the ad for the street fair was worth the trip! This revealed a whole new level of deception in their scheme. It meant that he not only had been briefed about Mom's interests before meeting her, but had also made preparations in case he could convince her to go on a date with him. The more I learned, the more it seemed like every nuance of their encounters had been meticulously planned out.