The Love Of Money - Episode 307
01-09-25 (04:51)
Amber ties up loose ends with deadly precision.
Wednesday, August 28, 12:50 am
"I'm outside the building. Please watch for my text."
Amber Bell hung up her phone and adjusted her glasses
as she looked up at the strange building before her. It
was a collection of large glass cylinders and spheres
combined in an avant-garde design. Highly inefficient,
incredibly expensive, and an eyesore if Amber were to
be asked. Especially considering every other building in
the immediate area was constructed in the mid-century
modern design typical for this area—no doubt the
vanity project of a mayor or other local politician hoping
to make a name for themselves. A large piece of the
building jutted off the side with a sign attached to it:
Christoph Jarden Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility.
"Hm," Amber said, her lips tightening as she stared at
the sign. Hardly a prison, Christoph Jarden was more of
an involuntary 'Club Med' for the wealthy, powerful,
and influential who just so happened to get caught one
too many times for the public's liking. It had squash
courts, comfortable beds, indoor butterfly gardens, and
Michelin-quality cuisine. It was a chance for the wealthy
to enjoy the finer things while appearing to pay the
incurred debt for their crimes while padding the pockets
of other wealthy individuals who invested in these
facilities.
As she ascended the stairs, Amber approached the front
door just as a police officer emerged and held the door
open. "Ma'am," he said, smiling at her.
The reaction was expected. Amber would never grace
the cover of a lingerie magazine, but she was not
unattractive. Her long, shimmering copper hair was one
of her best physical features, and she wore it long,
hanging straight down to the middle of her back. It was
parted to the side, with long bangs tucked behind her
ear. She wore a blouse that plunged just enough to
tease a bit of cleavage—it was her second-best asset.
Hip-hugging khaki pants were a final touch to show off
the ripe curves of a middle-aged woman without
breaking the image of professionalism. It was
unfortunate that physical traits carried so much
influence in modern society, but at the same time, they
afforded Amber natural tools that man did not possess.
She would never have men falling all over themselves
for her, but occasionally bending over to allow a
neckline to droop or wearing something form-fitting to
show off a well-formed buttock had made for an
occasional interesting outcome, and she wasn't above
using whatever tools she had to work with. It was
practical, after all.
"Thank you, officer," Amber said without looking at the
man. She never entirely understood why so many
people were so free with eye contact. Amber found
such prolonged ocular intimacy… off-putting.
The sound of her heels clacking on the floor echoed
through the halls as she approached the metal detector
and -scanner standing between her and her quarry. A
male officer was manning the -scanner while a female
and another male were waiting for her to approach.
They both gave her tight-lipped smiles and nods.
"Morning," the uniformed female said. "If you would,
just place your bag on the belt. Place any keys, phone,
rings… all that goes in one of those trays."
"Of course," Amber said, complying. After emptying her
pockets, she waited for someone to tell her to step
through the metal detector. The female guard waved
and said, "Ma'am, if you'd just step through here."
Amber did so without setting off any alarms. The officer
gave her a nod and stepped aside, gesturing at the tray
holding her keys, phone, glasses, expensive-looking pen,
and roughly two dollars in change. Amber scooped
them up and slid her glasses back where' they
belonged; she was practically blind without them.
"And what's your business here?" The male officer
asked.
"Gwen Bartlet here to see Phillip Castor as his defense
attorney."
The man picked up a tablet and skimmed through it.
"Ah. Got it. One o'clock appointment." He handed the
tablet to the female officer and said, "Ma'am, if you'll
follow me, I'll take you to the visitor's center.
"Of course, officer," Amber repeated as she hefted her
leather business bag off the table and followed the
man as he led her through the double doors and to a
set of elevators. Neither spoke as they waited for their
ride nor exchanged pleasantries as the lift's doors closed
behind them, and they began to ascend. It would have
been labeled an uncomfortable silence if Amber had
been able to feel such a thing. Instead, she pulled out
her phone and texted: I'm in the elevator. Please begin. Don't forget to leave a Comment 
