The Audit

Brenda liked a mystery.

She always had, no matter where they'd come from. She was the only girl in elementary school to bother with Sherlock Holmes or Miss Marple. The puzzle pieces fascinated her and she tried to make them fit through page after page, hoping to beat the detective to the culprit. She was satisfied when she could and when she couldn't. When she could it was a victory and when she couldn't she happily conceded to the author's skill and resolved to be sharper next time.

She was in the midst of a mystery now, but it wasn't one of murder weapons, locales, and the motives of jilted lovers. It was a mystery of disappearing funds, shell companies, and blind trusts. What started as a few small discrepancies in an in-house audit of a client unraveled into this...whatever this was.

She took a drink from her cup of now cold coffee, putting it down without looking and very nearly spilling it over a stack of files. It shocked her from scrolling through the ledgers to catch it and blot up the liquid that already escaped with the sleeve of her navy blouse. Her blue eyes were bleary from the sudden change and she chased spots even as she chased coffee.

"Where do you want these, Brenda," a small voice asked from behind two file boxes.

"Anywhere you can find room, Elizabeth."

"Ooooookay." she said, head tilted to the left to see where she was going before plopping them down next to the desk. "Can you tell me why I had to go downstairs and get all these? I mean, isn't all this stuff on the computers already?" Even when she sounded just a little annoyed and put upon, her voice was soft, almost lyrical in tone and projected a young woman who always seemed willing to go with the flow.

"Not everything," Brenda told her, going back to the screen for clues as to what boxes to start with, having spent many hours on similar searches over the years. "Only the things that people think are relevant for the most part. Lots of things get left back, accidentally or not."

"So which is this?"

Brenda pondered what to say. "I'm not sure yet." Fact was that she knew something was probably criminal. The bread crumbs alone were too meticulously buried to be by accident or incompetence. "When I find out, I'll let you know." She glanced at the clock on her screen, "You should go home while there's still some night left."

"Are you sure?" There was excitement there. "I told David I didn't know how long you'd need me, but we could make it to the ten o'clock if I left now. If you're sure..."

Brenda finally turned with a wistful smile for her assistant. With that golden blonde hair and those sky blue eyes, Brenda easily imagined her as fairytale princess come to life. Her personality only fed that perception. Elizabeth always came in to work with a smile and left with one, even when she didn't have reason to, always put in her best effort, and Brenda couldn't even recall a time when she'd raised her voice to anyone. She sighed. "You go, have a great time, and I'll see you Monday."

Elizabeth flashed a bright smile at the prospect of release. "I'll start you some coffee before I go."

"Thank you, dear." But her eyes were already locked on a new set of entries.

It was nearing three in the morning before she pried herself away, locked the office, and headed to her car. She didn't want to go, but three late nights in a row was taking a toll. When she started having to look at the same entries three times in a row she knew she just wasn't effective anymore and it was time to pack it in. The sound of her heels against the concrete echoed through the structure. In the space across from her was a rather harried looking, dark-haired woman moving her own belongings from a hand cart to the trunk.

Brenda thumbed her key fob to unlock her doors. As she approached she gave a little wave when the stranger glanced in her direction. "Late night for you, too? Lots of stuff there, I see."

The dark-haired woman rose, stretched and reached for another box. "Would have been home a while ago, except working late and then they're starting the remodel of the fifth floor offices and I never realized how much of my own shit I had in there before they told me I finally had to get it out and take it home."

Brenda chuckled, as it wasn't the first person she'd seen doing that the past couple of weeks. "It's crazy how you basically end up living in your office, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, "One thing gets in there at a time, and before you know it..."

Brenda eased towards the cart, "Need some help loading up?"

"No, thanks," she said to Brenda casually. "We were only really waiting for you to show up anyway."

Fatigue created a moment's confusion as she processed the unexpected answer. "Pardon?"

Almost as soon as the question left her lips, the dark-haired woman pulled what looked like a pepper spray canister from the trunk and depressed the trigger, sending a green fog to envelop Brenda. It tickled her nostrils and she inhaled out of reflex, finding it smelled like a strange mix of apple and the electric tang of ozone. As it filled her lungs it seemed to add a hundred pounds to each limb and fifty to each eyelid. They slammed shut and, just before she lost the last bit of consciousness, she felt herself falling backward with all the finesse of a freshly sawed redwood into waiting arms.

Her eyelids had snapped shut as she passed out, but fluttered open as she awoke on a leather couch staring up at the ceiling. She took a deep breath and all seemed well even if she still felt a little tired. She rose to a sitting position slowly and looked around. It was a nice office. Earth-tones on the walls and the seating complimented metal and glass shelving and the curved desk. She noted her brown coat and purse hanging neatly on hooks near the door.

The room was immaculate, but that wasn't the most interesting thing. What drew her eye were the two tall female sentries at the door. Twins that had their brown hair, bobbed in a way that complimented their gray eyes. Both were well muscled and fit, their bodies accented by black latex, thigh-high boots and more of the same material covered their crotches and then looked as if strips from each side criss-crossed over their ribs and under their breasts, leaving them exposed before meeting at the neck to form a collar. They seemed to be staring off at a point in the distance, and, as she drew closer to them, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up with the realization that there wasn't really anything going on behind the eyes of either of them. She slowly passed her hand over the face of one of them, not sure of what she expected to happen.

At first nothing did, but the woman's eyes seemed to find focus and her head dipped toward Brenda with a smooth, seemingly mechanical motion before a smile appeared on those lips painted a deep purple. "How may this slave assist the guest?"

"Guest? Where am I?"

"You are in the offices of Doctor Samuels. Beyond that, this slave is not authorized to disclose your location." It was smooth and automatic, like a recorded message.

Brenda didn't recognize the name, "Who is Doctor Samuels?"

"Doctor Samuels is She who controls this facility."

"Where are the ones who brought me here? Who are they?"

"This slave is unaware of the circumstances of your arrival, therefore this slave has no information with which to respond to your query."

"Did this Samuels person have me brought here?"

The smile never wavered. "This slave is unaware of the circumstances of your arrival, therefore this slave has no information with which to respond to your query."

"This is nuts." She reached for the door and her forefinger had just brushed it before she hissed in pain as the guard's hand moved like lightening to put her wrist in a vise. Brenda looked up in pain to see the smile gone, but the tone still pleasant. "You are not to be harmed, but you are not to leave these offices without the permission of Doctor Samuels."

The grip was so tight it was cutting off her circulation. "Okay, okay, okay." She looked to the other twin who simply continued to stare off at that unseen point.

As quickly as the grip was applied it was removed and Brenda shook her arm out. "Never mind that that hurt."

The smile returned. "This slave apologizes to the guest. You are not to be harmed, but you may be restrained by any means necessary to keep you in these offices."

Brenda decided to change tacks. She didn't know what sort of games were going on, but she aimed to find out at least something before this Samuels person arrived. She thought about the exchange up to this point. "What do you mean you're a slave?"

"I am a slave," she said flatly. "The common definition applies. I obey Doctor Samuels or her designates in all things."

Right. Clearly there's some weird-ass fetish stuff going on here. "Do you have a name?"

"This slave has a designation. To facilitate ease of interaction with guests or interactions beyond this facility it also retains the name Staci. You may refer to this slave as Staci."

Brenda was suddenly curious. "Umm...you have instructions when it comes to me?"

"Yes."

"What are they?"

Staci began her recitation, "You are to be observed in the event of an adverse reaction to the sedative and medical assistance is to be called if required. You are to remain in these offices so that Dr. Samuels may speak with you upon Her arrival. In the meantime, should you awaken and require refreshment or sexual satisfaction we are to see to those needs."

Her mind slammed on the brakes, "Wait, what? Did you say sex?"

"Yes."

"You mean...if I tell you I want to have sex right here, right now, on the floor, that's just fine?"

"This slave would find that order a particularly pleasant one to obey." The smile changed and so did her eyes. There was a hint of genuine lust there as though she wanted to be given that order.

"Okay...this is a fucking freak show," she muttered, heading back to the couch. Partly because she still felt a few cobwebs in her mind and partly because she thought she needed more information that only one person was in a position to give her, she decided to wait it out. So she thought and watched the hands of the analog clock drag forward for a little over an hour before the door swung open to reveal a petite auburn-haired woman carrying two mugs, followed closely by a taller woman who moved like she was all business. Her hair was black and pony-tailed with some gray at the temples that seemed to birth a streak of it that blazed a trail across the right side of her head.

Her dark eyes looked at and almost through Brenda through her black-framed glasses. She walked between the chair and the desk, slapping the former firmly, "Have a seat over here, Ms. McLemore. I feel stupid talking to anyone across the room." She made her way to the chair behind the desk as her assistant sat the two mugs down on the desk nearest each chair.

"You know, I was worried about you for a little bit there. The sedation usually doesn't hit anyone quite as hard as it did you, but, once I factored in your sleepless nights, it made a bit more sense. I kept you up here because I figured it'd be a lot less stressful than you waking up on a gurney or something."

"Do you require anything else, Dr. Samuels." It sounded normal mostly, but Brenda still detected a hint of the, 'please order me,' that she'd heard from Staci.

"No. We're fine. Let Miller know that I'll call him when I'm finished here."

"Yes, Dr. Samuels." She left like the same whirlwind that had arrived, leaving the room with just Brenda, the doctor, and the twins staring off into their happy place. Brenda rose from the couch and cautiously approached the chair before the good doctor. She settled into it, angry, confused, and a little scared. She tried for a moment to self-soothe by holding her own hands before reaching for the steaming mug. She almost put it to her lips before stopping herself and looking at the doctor.

Samuels was mildly amused."I had no trouble bringing you here and I could have done as I pleased. I still can, and now that you're where I am in complete control of things I really don't need to drug you. But, if it'll make you feel better, I'll drink from yours if you want." She sipped her own. "It's just coffee with a little cinnamon, honey, and nutmeg. It's a comfort thing my grandmother used to make for me. I really only want to talk to you. I'm Dr. Rebecca Samuels."

"And you could have made an appointment." She decided that Samuels was right all around. Whatever this place was, it seemed to revolve around her and they could just drag Brenda kicking and screaming anyway, so she drank. It was sweet and smooth and soothing down the throat. In a way it reminded her of Christmas.

"I could have, but, to be honest, I love all the cloak and dagger stuff. You love mysteries, I love the spy novels."

Brenda stopped drinking and felt those hairs on the back of her neck rise again. "How do you know that?"

She waved the question away "I know a lot about you. That's bad for me and good for me. I'd prefer not to know you at all. She sipped before speaking again. "Not that I have anything against you, but I only know you as well as I do now because the people that assured me that the work here was untraceable clearly lied to me or are too incompetent to hold their jobs. Either way, I'll have to deal with them. It's good for me because I can deal with it and, one way or another, move on with my business. It may well present me with an opportunity, and, perhaps you, too."

It dawned on Brenda and she wanted to slap herself for not seeing it sooner. "This is about the tax records, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Based on the records you have. I'm probably more familiar to you as either Anthony Wallace or Jennifer Davies."

It's Jennifer I've been chasing all over the planet."

"Henderson, Daniels, and McLemore was selected for some of our necessary public dealings because it was small, easily monitored, and had a reputation beyond reproach. I should have thought twice given your love of a good puzzle and your personality. But again, I was assured by so-called experts that there would be nothing unusual for you to find." She shook her head in dismay at the mess.

Brenda couldn't quite keep the triumph out of her voice "The more balls you have in the air, the more you have to watch and things get missed. You don't have one person really watching all of whatever this is, do you?"

Samuels sighed. "I and others thought it wiser to attempt to compartmentalize operations wherever possible. That was clearly an error. There needs to be at least one individual, answerable to only to me, that knows all aspects of the financials so they can perhaps see the holes and patch them before others begin to snoop about."

Brenda looked around, trying again to glean a clue, her mind racing to piece together the bits she was certain of, "Lots of money changing hands globally, probably to be laundered...freight companies...private jets accessible by mid-size companies that should barely be able to afford to rent one..." The twins caught her eye, as the revulsion hit her in the gut like a fist. She put her mug down on the glass table as she spat out the words to the only conclusion there was. "Jesus, you're into human trafficking, aren't you?"

Samuel's nostrils flared in annoyance, "Oh, now, Ms. McLemore, that's insulting. Any idiot can drug some girls at a sorority party and shove them in a shipping container headed to parts unknown. I create customized companions for discerning clientele. I control the operation, from procurement to processing to shipping. Those that are selected aren't sobbing in fear or obedient so that they might get their next dose of whatever street drug the idiot has selected to attempt to control them. By the time processing is complete they are happy with their new lives and eager to obey."

Brenda snorted, her revulsion now mixed with utter disbelief. "You can't make someone a happy slave."

The doctor's tone turned more serious, "My dear Ms. McLemore, if you understand how the human mind works you can make an eighty-year old man believe he is a six-year old girl and never will he be dissuaded from that. He'll go to his death with that as his absolute truth. Rest assured, I understand exactly how to do that."

The certainty in her tone made Brenda fall silent.

"All right. I'm happy to make my point with a demonstration." She opened the drawer to her left and retrieved a silver-handled stiletto, calling, "Come here, Traci."

"Yes, Mistress." The previously silent twin moved fluidly to stand before Samuels."

"Take this blade."

"Yes, Mistress." She took it without looking away from her.

"If I tell you to drive this blade through the center of your throat, what will happen?"

Her response was matter-of fact."This slave will die, Mistress, most likely either from the initial trauma making it impossible to breathe or from aspirating on the blood flow caused by the trauma."

"If I tell you to die because it will please me, will you obey?"

Brenda swallowed as she saw Traci's eyes become the home for an almost maniacal bliss, like her mind was in the throes of an orgasm already, "This slave will obey, Mistress."

"Take the knife, press the tip to the center of your throat and slowly apply pressure until you die."

Without another word, Traci put the point to her throat and slowly pressed it towards her. Brenda saw the soft skin dimple and she knew the blade wasn't fake. Her eyes darted to the door to see Staci staring ahead, making no move at all to save her sister. She watched Samuels watching dispassionately, like it was some clinical experiment. Brenda's heart began to race as she watched in morbid fascination until a trace of blood could be seen. She gasped and jumped up, "Stop!! Jesus Christ, stop!"

"Stop," Samuels said smoothly. "Give me the blade."

The gleam in her eyes never fading, she lowered her hand, taking the knife by the blade and proffering the handle to the doctor.

"Excellent, Traci." She eyed the small cut critically. "Go to the infirmary and have that seen to, then return to me."

"Yes, Mistress."

She turned to leave as Samuels took tissues from her desk, wiped the blade, and then returned it to the drawer. "I'm really glad you stopped that. I'd hate to ruin a matched set. Do you know how hard it is to find a truly hot set of twins like that?"

The door closed as Brenda stared, the color drained from her face. "You're fucking crazy."

Samuels shrugged. "Maybe. But, if I am, it's all in ways I can live with."

Fear took hold, "Is that why I'm here, so you can turn me into one of them to get me out of the way?

She finished her coffee. "I could. There are levels. Staci and Traci have enough personality stitched back together that they can function in the world. Some men and women here never leave the facility. They're just drones that do grunt work. Some were submissives when we took them and practically begged to be changed once they realized they couldn't stop it and how good it felt."

Brenda was disgusted standing there. "How can you do this to other women?"

She laughed. "You can't have men running something like this. Oh, there are a few in high positions, but fill the hierarchy with them and they turn into rutting, territorial, greedy idiots at the notion of having an endless supply of slave girls. They ruin the business end. They ruin the work environment. You pretty much have to have women running things." She smirked at the thoughts that came with her next words. "I do like my fun, but business first."

"Besides, when it's done, they're all happy. Everyone wins."

"You like your mind though, Ms. McLemore. You'd fight even if you tried not to. I could turn you and you'd happily tell me about all the flaws in our financial system. I'd fix them, but we'd probably end up with the same problems later. You're right, we need an overseer; someone smart that can look at it all, find the gaps the others miss, and close them on an ongoing basis."