The Bully Pt. 26

Unbelievably, Samantha still had existing student loans that were being repaid at twelve hundred dollars per month. In addition, Samantha had spent six thousand dollars on clothes in the last thirty days, and twenty five hundred dollars on eating out in fine restaurants.

Working backwards from her net income of forty-two thousand dollars per month, I calculated her pre-tax salary using a Federal Income Tax Calculator. This yielded a gross monthly income of about eighty thousand dollars, based on the fact that she filed as a single person. Samantha was obviously a baller, but she spent money like there was no tomorrow. As I perused her detailed monthly bank statement, I came across something quite unorthodox. Buried within the multitude of outgoing expenses was a deposit from a client. It was a small amount, sixteen hundred dollars, and with four hundred thousand dollars in the account it was conceivable that it could go unnoticed by Samantha. However, as I scrolled through her bank history, I stumbled across at least half a dozen such deposits in the last three months.

I never thought for one second that there was any nefarious intent on Samantha's part. It was definitely lazy behavior, sloppy even, perhaps borderline negligent, but I didn't think that there were any criminal intentions. However, the law is explicit with regard to commingling funds. I was intimately familiar with the code as it was one of the essays that I had written at school. In fact, in a random twist of fate, I had written John's essay too. He would have been oblivious to the code as I handed him two well-researched and written essays, and John simply selected which one he wanted to take credit for, before I gave him his bedtime blow-job.

Under a multitude of Federal statutes, commingling is a breach of trust in which a fiduciary mixes funds held in care for a client with their own funds, making it difficult to determine which funds belong to the fiduciary and which belong to the client. I was also aware that the problem of commingling was of particular concern in the legal profession. In fact, under Federal laws, attorneys were strictly prohibited from commingling their clients' funds with their own, and I knew that such activity was grounds for disbarment in virtually every jurisdiction, because of the ease of embezzlement and the difficulty of detection.

Once again, I knew that Samantha had zero nefarious intent, but she had engaged in behavior that could get her disbarred. Disbarment was the ultimate punishment for an attorney. It would be imposed as a sanction for conduct indicating that an attorney was not fit to practice law, had willfully disregarded the interests of a client, had commingled funds, or had engaged in some kind of fraud which impeded the administration of justice. This was a very serious matter, and after I printed out a couple of incriminating pages of Samantha's bank statements, I sat quietly contemplating my options. Unsurprisingly, I felt my cock stiffen as I realized that I held Samantha's legal career in my hands.

A few days later, after Samantha was released from the hospital, she returned to work. Her feet were heavily bandaged, and she was taking morphine to keep her pain levels manageable. The partners had cleared Samantha's schedule for the first two days of her return, allowing her to adjust to her temporary lack of mobility. Samantha was working in her office, although there were a multitude of interruptions as most of the staff stopped by to check in on her recovery. I waited until late in the afternoon, right as some employees started to leave the office, before I took my turn to offer my well-wishes.

Samantha was cordial at first, and thanked me for acting so decisively by pouring chilled water on her feet right after she dropped the jug of coffee.

"The Doctor said that your quick actions reduced the severity of the burns, Mark," Samantha began pleasantly. "For that I am grateful. However, there is a more pressing issue that I need to talk to you about. Close my office door."

Samantha's door had been open all day to allow her fellow employees to stop by and offer their support. Once it was closed, it served as a de facto 'do not disturb' sign.

"Have a seat, Mark," Samantha said coldly, her face clouding over. "You have some explaining to do."

Despite knowing that I held all of the cards when it came to Samantha, I let her run with her disciplinary monologue.

"First of all, Mark," Samantha began heatedly. "I know that you accessed my personal computer and my iPhone. Apple products keep a meticulous record of all activity, if you know where to look. I know that you were snooping around in my photo gallery, and that you forwarded a naked picture of me to yourself."

"Topless, Samantha," I corrected her. "You were topless in the photo that I sent to myself."

"Shut up, Mark," Samantha ordered me. "Sit and listen like a good boy."

Her denigrating choice of words was designed to elicit a reaction from me, but I remained silent.

"Snooping around in my personal space is, in itself, a complete invasion of privacy, Mark," Samantha bellowed at me. "But sending yourself indecent images of your boss, on company time, no less, is disrespectful and illegal. Not dissimilar to when you pilfered my intimates, you fucking pervert."

Like I said, I knew that I had Samantha over a barrel, so I let her continue her rant.

"I also know that you were looking at my bank statements," Samantha added, in an acerbic tone. "The next time I logged on to my Bank of America app, it clearly showed when the account was last viewed, which corresponded with my visit to the emergency room. Also, because you are an idiot, you neglected to delete the text message that Bank of America sent to my iPhone with a random six-digit verification code. Do you admit to everything that I have accused you of, Mark?"

"Guilty, as charged, Samantha," I responded politely.

"You have completely underestimated the amount of trouble you are in, Mark," my boss continued. "It is a personal affront that you were poring through my finances. I am a very private person, and I don't need you, or any other man, knowing when I last had a Brazilian Wax, or how much I spent at LaPerla last month. That kind of personal revelation is humiliating. Do you have anything to say in your defense, Mark?"

"Like I said, Samantha," I responded calmly. "Guilty as charged."

"The topless photo irks me the most," Samantha said angrily. "The thought of you jerking off while ogling my breasts makes me nauseous. You are a dirty pervert."

Samantha paused momentarily, as if weighing her options.

"This is undoubtedly sufficient grounds for dismissal, Mark," Samantha said, enjoying the control that she perceived she was exerting over me. "However, because you are useful to me, I am going to settle this matter quietly, in this office, without any intervention from Human Resources."

I already knew where this was heading, even before Samantha verbalized her intent.

"I warned you that this would happen if you fucked up at work, Mark," Samantha said authoritatively. "As soon as I can walk comfortably, I am going to bend you over my desk and butt-fuck you. I have been using forced sodomy as a corrective punishment for years, but you are the only person dumb enough to get pegged twice for work-related misconduct."

Reaching into her desk drawer, Samantha extracted a large, black, latex phallus. Standing up behind her desk, in an attempt to make herself seem physically imposing, Samantha tossed it casually onto her desk, where it landed with a resounding thud. Under different circumstances I would have been terrified, but I sat there calmly, simply acknowledging her efforts to intimidate me.

"Take this with you, Mark," Samantha instructed me, gesturing at the scary looking strap-on dildo, as she rounded her desk. "I will let you know when I am ready to ram it up your ass."

"Are you finished, Samantha?" I asked politely.

"Yes. Get the fuck out of my sight you pervert," Samantha said firmly, as she began to walk towards her office door.

When I didn't move quickly enough, Samantha shouted at me.

"Get lost, Mark. Grab my dildo and beat it. Now."

Samantha had a look of bewilderment on her face when I got to my feet, reached inside the pocket of my suit jacket, and handed her two crumpled up pieces of A4 paper.

"What the fuck is this, Mark?" Samantha asked angrily. "Your resignation?"

"It's actually a sneak peek at your checking account, Samantha," I said with a smile on my face. "I have many more pages but this should be enough to get your attention. There are some things on that page that are of far more interest to me than the fact that you had a Brazilian Wax eleven days ago. Or that you spent nine hundred dollars at LaPerla last month."

"What are you talking about, Mark?" Samantha said angrily, as she picked up the two sheets of paper. "You are going to regret talking back to me."

"First page, about one third of the way down, Samantha," I said cheerfully. "That deposit, sixteen hundred dollars. That money belongs to a client. Legally, it should have been deposited in our company escrow account, not in your personal checking account. Second page," I continued, as the color drained from her face. "Right near the top. Another small deposit. Different amount, different client, but same illegal transaction. And there are plenty more, Samantha," I added. "Going back at least six months."

Even though the evidence against Samantha was incontrovertible, initially she denied it. I believed her too, and upon further examination it was apparent that John had made the deposits. Completely unaware of the ramifications of commingling funds, John had deposited funds that belonged to Samantha's clients into her personal bank account.

I couldn't really even blame John for the colossal fuck-up. At that point in law school I was doing the homework for both of us, and John hadn't learned the significance of commingling funds. As it transpired, Samantha had given John the wrong banking codes, and he had inadvertently deposited the checks into her personal account. With four hundred thousand dollars in the account, and a myriad of outgoing payments, the small deposits just got lost in the wash.

"That fucking moron," Samantha exclaimed angrily, trying to pass the blame to John as she comprehended the ramifications of her mistake. "The optics are not good, Mark," Samantha added. "This makes me look really bad."

"At this point we are beyond optics, Samantha," I said coldly, even as my heart soared as I absorbed John's career-changing mistake. "This makes you guys look complicit in a crime for which you will both get disbarred."

In one of the most defining moments of my life, I watched as the dynamic between my boss and I completely changed. Samantha, who until recently had been in complete control, unraveled as she realized that she had fucked up royally and I now held her career in my hands.

"Jesus," Samantha whispered under her breath. "Fuck me."

I loved watching her squirm as she processed her dire situation. It was a bonus to me that I could also ruin my nemesis, John, and thoughts of how I would punish him circulated around my brain.

Samantha was one of the smartest people I had ever met. She also possessed an uncanny ability to assess risk. It was the combination of these two skills that brought her back to the reality of the gravity of her situation. Lowering her head in an uncharacteristic display of submission, Samantha spoke quietly.

"What do you want from me Mark?" she asked. "In exchange for your silence. I can transfer the monies right now and fix this mistake."

"Transferring the money only makes the client whole financially," I responded. "It doesn't fix the fuck-up, Samantha. You know that."

"How can I fix this in your eyes, Mark?" Samantha whispered. "What do you want me to do?"

"First of all, I want you to fire John," I replied.

"We both know that I can't do that," Samantha responded. "That would open up a can of worms. However, I will demote him and reduce his pay if that makes you happy."

"It's a start, Samantha," I responded. "Also punish him," I added. "I want to watch you physically punish John."

"I will do that," Samantha responded. "Anything else?"

Emboldened by her lack of pushback, I verbalized my desires.

"I want to date you, Samantha," I said with renewed confidence.

"That ship has sailed, Mark," Samantha said firmly. "We both know that."

"I am serious, Samantha," I said assertively. "I want you in my life. I want us to date again. I miss your touch."

"You miss my touch? Do you want to date me or fuck me?" Samantha responded angrily. "Please be brutally honest, Mark. I need to know what is at stake before I make my final decision."

"Everything is at stake for you Samantha," I said firmly. "You need to fully understand the gravity of this situation. In fact, why don't you get on your knees and show me some fucking respect?"

"Fuck you, Mark," Samantha said, as she flashed me a defiant glare.

Ramping up the pressure, I continued.

"I believe you when you say that this is John's fuck-up, Samantha," I began coldly. "However, in the eyes of the law, you are responsible for any financial transactions that occur within your personal bank accounts. The evidence is incontrovertible. Whether intentional or inadvertent, you have commingled your personal funds with those of clients. That is grounds for disbarment in every single jurisdiction in the country."

"I didn't know anything about this," Samantha answered weakly, her stress evident on her face. "Mark, please. I had no clue."

"Kneel, Samantha," I said sternly. "Or I get Human Resources involved right now."

Samantha seemed to momentarily weigh her options, before lifting the hem of her skirt slightly and lowering her knees to the carpet.

"Good girl," I said condescendingly, as she flashed me another death stare.

Once my boss, and ex-lover, was kneeling before me, I waited for a few moments, allowing the silence to wash over her. Samantha was completely out of her element. Not only was she in an uncharacteristically submissive pose, but she was experiencing a high level of stress, as evidenced by her heavy breathing and flushed face.

"I completed a thorough examination of your finances, Samantha," I began, as she shuffled around uncomfortably on her knees. "You are literally living paycheck to paycheck. If your income was terminated today, or even suspended, pending internal investigations, you would be bankrupt within six months."

"Mark, please," Samantha begged, her voice quivering under the stress of her predicament. "I knew nothing about this."

"If it were one isolated incident it might possibly be excused, Samantha," I intoned slowly for maximum effect. "However, I discovered six different deposits in the last three months alone, which makes it look like a willful act."

Samantha lowered her head in defeat as she considered the long-term ramifications of this colossal fuck-up. Part of me wanted to take my foot from her jugular vein, but I knew that this was the perfect time to extract concessions from my boss.

"Here's how this plays out, Samantha," I said condescendingly, enjoying her complete capitulation to me. "Once Human Resources gets notified of the complaint, they will suspend you, without pay, pending investigation. At your current burn rate of approximately thirty-nine thousand dollars per month, your life savings will be exhausted in a few months. Even if you completely eliminate your discretionary spending, you still have a monthly nut of close to thirty grand, between your mortgage, Lamborghini and student loans. That means no eating out, no shopping, no unnecessary expenditure. Still with me, Samantha?" I finished, in a patronizing tone.

"Mark, I am begging you," Samantha offered weakly, as if she was completely out of ideas.

"The disciplinary committee will demand that you hand over your bank statements, Samantha," I continued, despite her pleas for mercy. "The partners, Stephanie the Human Resources Manager, Danny Marshall, and the other senior executives who make up this committee, will have a detailed forensic examination of your expenditures. I know that you don't want all of the senior male employees to learn that you spend over a thousand dollars a month on lingerie. Or that you get a Brazilian wax once a month."

"Oh, god," Samantha cried out, as the intrusion into her personal life became apparent. "That would be a fucking nightmare."

"You spent the first few years of your career fighting the systemic paternal element of this law firm, Samantha," I continued. "Now that you are finally respected as an integral and equal senior member of the company, do you really want your male peers to have access to your personal accounts at LaPerla and Agent-Provocateur?"

"Stop torturing me, Mark," Samantha finally cried out. "What do you want from me? Be specific."

I could tell that I had broken Samantha, even before she looked up at me through tear-stained eyes, and pleaded for clemency.

"I want to own you, Samantha," I said without any emotion. "Body and soul, the way that John owned me for all those years."

"No," Samantha spat defiantly. "I was not put on this earth to be a man's fuck-toy."

"You will be everyone's fuck-toy if you end up in prison, Samantha," I responded. "So far we have only considered your financial ruin, but there will undoubtedly be criminal charges to face too. Commingling of funds is a felony, punishable by a long custodial sentence, if convicted."

"No Mark," Samantha insisted, her resistance futile but nonetheless impressive in nature. "I am not one of your wayward teenage runaways from Wisconsin. I definitely won't be your plaything. Fuck you."

"We both know that being owned by me is the lesser of two evils, Samantha," I said calmly. "I understand that you are a proud, independent woman, but you are going to submit to me. It will take time, but eventually I will condition you to obey my commands reflexively. I don't like your hesitation. It makes me feel like you think that you have a choice in this matter. Which you don't."

"I don't know what you want from me, Mark," Samantha cried. "I am willing to pay you to keep quiet. In addition, maybe I could negotiate a higher salary for you? A bigger office? A promotion?" she continued, clutching at straws.

"This isn't about money for me, Samantha," I replied with a chuckle. "Although it will certainly be all about money for you. Once you lose your income stream and get disbarred, your employment options will be limited, particularly if you have been incarcerated and are a convicted felon. You will lose your house, your Lamborghini and everything else of any value."

"I will let you fuck me once a month, Mark, if you agree not to inform Human Resources of John's mistake," Samantha blurted out, the stress finally causing her to capitulate.

"Once a month," I repeated derisively. "Not even close to a fair price for my silence. Also, Samantha, the first step in your long road to redemption is to take responsibility for your fuck-up. John is going to get his comeuppance, I can assure you of that. However, you need to own your part in this criminal act."

"There was no criminal intent on my part, Mark," Samantha pleaded. "You know that, right?"

"I am one hundred percent convinced that there was no nefarious intent on your part, Samantha," I said pleasantly, as she breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Mark," Samantha said, looking up gratefully at me from her kneeling position.

"However," I continued, as the color drained from her face. "Title 20 of the United States Code, Section 1078-4 addresses commingling of funds, and there is no requirement to prove criminal intent in order to prosecute. The act of commingling itself, is the crime. You know this, Samantha. You are a smart girl. You taught ethics at my Law School. You know that you are in deep shit."