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[beardedmrbean]

A blackmail scam is using instant loan apps to entrap and humiliate people across India and other countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. At least 60 Indians have killed themselves after being abused and threatened. A​ BBC undercover investigation has exposed those profiting from this deadly scam in India and China.

Astha Sinhaa woke up to her aunt's panicked voice on the phone. "Don't let your mother leave the house."

Half-asleep, the 17-year-old was terrified to find her mum Bhoomi Sinhaa in the next room, sobbing and frantic.

Here was her funny and fearless mother, a respected Mumbai-based property lawyer, a widow raising her daughter alone, reduced to a frenzied mess.

"She was breaking apart," Astha says. A panicked Bhoomi started telling her where all the important documents and contacts were, and seemed desperate to get out of the door.

Astha knew she had to stop her. "Don't let her out of your sight," her aunt had told her. "Because she will end her life."

Astha knew her mother had been getting some weird calls and that she owed somebody money, but she had no idea that Bhoomi was reeling from months of harassment and psychological torture.

She had fallen victim to a global scam with tentacles in at least 14 countries that uses shame and blackmail to make a profit - destroying lives in the process.

The business model is brutal but simple. There are many apps that promise hassle-free loans in minutes. Not all of them are predatory. But many - once downloaded - harvest your contacts, photos and ID cards, and use that information later to extort you. When customers don't repay on time - and sometimes even when they do - they share this information with a call centre where young agents of the gig economy, armed with laptops and phones are trained to harass and humiliate people into repayment.

At the end of 2021, Bhoomi had borrowed about 47,000 rupees ($565; £463) from several loan apps while she waited for some work expenses to come through. The money arrived almost immediately but with a big chunk deducted in charges. Seven days later she was due to repay but her expenses still hadn't been paid, so she borrowed from another app and then another. The debt and interest spiralled until she owed about two million rupees ($24,000; £19,655).

Soon the recovery agents started calling. They quickly turned nasty, slamming Bhoomi with insults and abuse. Even when she had paid, they claimed she was lying. They called up to 200 times a day. They knew where she lived, they said, and sent her pictures of a dead body as a warning.

As the abuse escalated they threatened to message all of the 486 contacts in her phone telling them she was a thief and a whore. When they threatened to tarnish her daughter's reputation too, Bhoomi could no longer sleep.

She borrowed from friends, family and more and more apps - 69 in total. At night, she prayed the morning would never come. But without fail at 07:00, her phone would start pinging and buzzing incessantly.

Eventually, Bhoomi had managed to pay back all of the money, but one app in particular - Asan Loan - wouldn't stop calling. Exhausted, she couldn't concentrate at work and started having panic attacks.

One day a colleague called her over to his desk and showed her something on his phone - a naked, pornographic picture of her.

The photo had been crudely photoshopped, Bhoomi's head stuck on someone else's body, but it filled her with disgust and shame. She collapsed by her colleague's desk. It had been sent by Asan Loan to every contact in her phone book. That was when Bhoomi thought of killing herself.

We've seen evidence of scams like this run by various companies all over the world. But in India alone, the BBC has found at least 60 people have killed themselves after being harassed by loan apps.

Most were in their 20s and 30s - a fireman, an award-winning musician, a young mum and dad leaving behind their three- and five-year-old daughters, a grandfather and grandson who got involved in loan apps together. Four were just teenagers.

Most victims are too ashamed to speak about the scam, and the perpetrators have remained, for the most part, anonymous and invisible. After looking for an insider for months, the BBC managed to track down a young man who had worked as a debt recovery agent for call centres working for multiple loan apps.

Rohan - not his real name - told us he had been troubled by the abuse he had witnessed. Many customers cried, some threatened to kill themselves, he said. "It would haunt me all night." He agreed to help the BBC expose the scam.

He applied for a job in two different call centres - Majesty Legal Services and Callflex Corporation - and spent weeks filming undercover.

His videos captured young agents harassing clients. "Behave or I will smash you," one woman says, swearing. She accuses the customer of incest and, when he hangs up, she starts laughing. Another suggests the client should prostitute his mother to repay the loan.

Rohan recorded over 100 incidents of harassment and abuse, capturing this systematic extortion on camera for the first time.

The worst abuse he witnessed took place at Callflex Corporation, just outside Delhi. Here, agents routinely used obscene language to humiliate and threaten customers. These were not rogue agents going off-script - they were supervised and directed by managers at the call centre, including one called Vishal Chaurasia.

Rohan gained Chaurasia's trust, and together with a journalist posing as an investor, arranged a meeting at which they asked him to explain exactly how the scam works.

When a customer takes out a loan, he explained, they give the app access to the contacts on their phone. Callflex Corporation is hired to recover the money - and if the customer misses a payment the company starts hassling them, and then their contacts. His staff can say anything, Chaurasia told them, as long as they get a repayment.

"The customer then pays because of the shame," he said. "You'll find at least one person in his contact list who can destroy his life."

We approached Chaurasia directly but he did not want to comment. Callflex Corporation did not respond to our efforts to contact them.

One of the many lives destroyed was Kirni Mounika's.

The 24-year-old civil servant was the brains of her family, the only student at her school to get a government job, a doting sister to her three brothers. Her father, a successful farmer, was ready to support her to do a masters in Australia.

The Monday she took her own life, three years ago, she had hopped on her scooter to go to work as usual.

"She was all smiles," her father, Kirni Bhoopani, says.

It was only when police reviewed Mounika's phone and bank statements that they found out she had borrowed from 55 different loan apps. It started with a loan of 10,000 rupees ($120; £100) and spiralled to more than 30 times that. By the time she decided to kill herself, she had paid back more than 300,000 rupees ($3,600; £2,960).

Police say the apps harassed her with calls and vulgar messages - and had started messaging her contacts.

Mounika's room is now a makeshift shrine. Her government ID card hangs by the door, the bag her mum packed for a wedding still lying there.

The thing that upsets her father the most is that she hadn't told him what was going on. "We could have easily arranged the money," he says, wiping tears from his eyes.

He's furious at the people who did this.

As he was taking his daughter's body home from the hospital her phone rang and he answered to an obscenity-laden rant. "They told us she has to pay," he says. "We told them she was dead."

He wondered who these monsters could be.

Hari - not his real name - worked at a call centre doing recovery for one of the apps Mounika had borrowed from. The pay was good but by the time Mounika died he was already feeling uneasy about what he was part of.

Although he claims not to have made abusive calls himself - he says he was in the team that made initial polite calls - he told us managers instructed staff to abuse and threaten people.

The agents would send messages to a victim's contacts, painting the victim as a fraud and a thief.

"Everyone has a reputation to maintain in front of their family. No-one is going to spoil that reputation for the measly sum of 5,000 rupees," he says.

Once a payment had been made the system would ping "Success!" and they would move on to the next client.

When clients started threatening to take their own lives nobody took it seriously - then the suicides started happening. The staff called their boss, Parshuram Takve, to ask if they should stop.

The following day Takve appeared in the office. He was angry. "He said, 'Do what you're told and make recoveries,'" Hari says. So they did.

A few months later, Mounika was dead.

Takve was ruthless. But he wasn't running this operation alone. Sometimes, Hari says, the software interface would switch to Chinese without warning.

Takve was married to a Chinese woman called Liang Tian Tian. Together, they had set up the loan recovery business, Jiyaliang, in Pune, where Hari worked.

In December 2020, Takve and Liang were arrested by police investigating a case of harassment and released on bail a few months later.

In April 2022 they were charged with extortion, intimidation and abetment of suicide. By the end of the year they were on the run.

We couldn't track down Takve. But when we investigated the apps Jiyaliang worked for, it led us to a Chinese businessman called Li Xiang.

He has no online presence, but we found a phone number linked to one of his employees and, posing as investors, set up a meeting with Li.

With his face shoved uncomfortably close to the camera, he bragged about his businesses in India.

"We are still operating now, just not letting Indians know we are a Chinese company," he said.

Back in 2021, two of Li's companies had been raided by Indian police investigating harassment by loan apps. Their bank accounts had been frozen.

"You need to understand that because we aim to recover our investment quickly, we certainly don't pay local taxes, and the interest rates we offer violate local laws," he says.

Li told us his company has its own loan apps in India, Mexico and Colombia. He claimed to be an industry leader in risk control and debt collection services in South East Asia, and is now expanding across Latin America and Africa - with more than 3,000 staff in Pakistan, Bangladesh and India ready to provide "post-loan services".

Then he explained what his company does to recover loans.

"If you don't repay, we may add you on WhatsApp, and on the third day, we will call and message you on WhatsApp at the same time, and call your contacts. Then, on the fourth day, if your contacts don't pay, we have specific detailed procedures.

"We access his call records and capture a lot of his information. Basically, it's like he's naked in front of us."

Bhoomi Sinha could handle the harassment, the threats, the abuse and the exhaustion - but not the shame of being linked to that pornographic image.

"That message actually stripped me naked in front of the entire world," she says. "I lost my self-respect, my morality, my dignity, everything in a second."

It was shared with lawyers, architects, government officials, elderly relatives and friends of her parents - people who would never look at her in the same way again.

"It has tarnished the core of me, like if you join a broken glass, there will still be cracks on it," she says.

She has been ostracised by neighbours in the community she has lived in for 40 years.

"As of today, I have no friends. It's just me I guess," she says with a sad chuckle.

Some of her family still don't speak to her. And she constantly wonders whether the men she works with are picturing her naked.

The morning that her daughter Astha found her she was at her lowest ebb. But it was also the moment she decided to fight back. "I don't want to die like this," she decided.

She filed a police report but has heard nothing since. All she could do was change her number and get rid of her sim card - and when Astha started receiving calls her daughter destroyed hers too. She told friends, family and colleagues to ignore the calls and messages and, eventually, they all but stopped.

Bhoomi found support in her sisters, her boss and an online community of others abused by loan apps. But mostly, she found strength in her daughter.

"I must have done something good to be given a daughter like this," she says. "If she hadn't stood by me then I would have been one of the many people who've killed themselves because of loan apps."

We put the allegations in this report to Asan Loan - and also, through contacts, to Liang Tian Tian and Parshuram Takve, who are in hiding. Neither the company nor the couple responded.

When asked for comment, Li Xiang told the BBC that he and his companies comply with all local laws and regulations, have never run predatory loan apps, have ceased collaboration with Jiyaliang, the loan recovery company run by Liang Tian Tian and Parshuram Takve, and do not collect or use customers' contact information.

He said his loan recovery call centres adhere to strict standards and he denied profiting from the suffering of ordinary Indians.

Majesty Legal Services deny using customers' contacts to recover loans. They told us their agents are instructed to avoid abusive or threatening calls, and any violation of the company's policies results in dismissal.

[feedyourmind1031]

An Overview of Different Financial Instruments in Global Trading

Introduction Entering global trading can be both exciting and complex. To help you navigate, this guide explores various financial instruments, assisting you in finding the best trading platform and making informed investment decisions. 1. Stocks Buying stocks means owning a share of a company. Stock prices fluctuate with company performance and market trends. Stocks are ideal for long-term investments, especially for those aiming to become the best forex trader. 2. Bonds Bonds are loans given to companies or governments, repaid with interest. Bonds are generally safer than stocks but offer lower returns. 3. Forex (Foreign Exchange Market) The forex market deals with currency trading and is the largest financial market globally. It operates 24/7, providing high liquidity. Forex trading involves buying one currency while selling another, requiring a good grasp of market trends and currency pairs to excel as the best forex trader. 4. Commodities Commodities include raw materials like gold, oil, and agricultural products. Trading commodities can diversify your investment portfolio. Their prices are affected by supply and demand, political events, and natural factors. 5. Mutual Funds Mutual funds collect money from numerous investors to invest in a diversified portfolio of stocks, bonds, or other assets. Managed by professionals, they are ideal for beginners, offering a hassle-free investment approach. 6. ETFs (Exchange-Traded Funds) ETFs are similar to mutual funds but trade like stocks. They offer a diversified investment portfolio with the flexibility of stock trading. ETFs can cover various assets, including stocks, bonds, and commodities. 7. Options Options provide the right, but not the obligation, to buy or sell an asset at a predetermined price before a set date. They can be used for hedging or speculative purposes, presenting high rewards but also high risks. Conclusion Grasping the different financial instruments available in global trading is vital for making smart investment choices. Whether you're interested in stocks, bonds, forex, or commodities, selecting the best trading platform and strategy will set you on the path to success. Begin with the basics, continue learning, and discover the best investment opportunities tailored to your goals.

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Making Motions

Summary: Months ago, Y/N shared an unexpected flight of fancy. Arthur decides to take it to heart.

Words: 3,652

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: @sweet-nothings04​ requested to see Arthur enact the fantasy mentioned in Ch. 3 of Stepping Stones. 👓 This is the result! Hope you all enjoy this story! Thanks for your support! 😊

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Three sandwiches in a row. Three lunches gobbled in a meeting. Three breaks skipped to pace the length of an oak conference table. But going up against NCB required more than a will to find a way, so Y/N took another bite of pastrami on wheat and settled on the windowsill.

Popular wisdom held that harassment was a worry solely for women. That they were never, ever perpetrators. Having come of age before she could get a loan on her own, experienced an era in which an employer had sought her ex-husband's permission to hire her, it'd been a hiccup for Y/N to get past that assumption.

But power had a way of begetting bad behavior, which in turn begat ever more power. And when Aaron Williams had stumbled into her office, embarrassment trembling his squared off fingers, she'd believed him.

Lana Miller, Gotham's Golden Girl, charmed the city on the six o'clock news. Bringing You the Truth! as the slogan went. Bleached teeth smile, gleaming grey gaze, a confident cadence that demanded trust.

She'd set her eyes on Mr. Williams a month after he'd signed his contract. Blocking his way as he'd try to exit the production control room, suggestive comments that'd escalated to the outright lewd. An offer to put in a good word with management if he'd visit after a broadcast. ("I hold a lot of sway with the boys upstairs.")

When a meeting had devolved into her nude on his desk, that grey gaze had turned steely. He'd kicked her out and filed a complaint.

A cardboard box shoved at his chest, an order to leave the premises by noon. That a handful of others had reported bullying hadn't mattered to The Top. Ratings were too high, too critical to hassle the on-air talent. A behind the scenes guy was expendable, a money saver even. Big deal if he blabbed about it over beer with buddies. That kind of tale had been blabbed before. Bye, bye trouble, hello to the next desperado trying to break into showbiz.

Wage theft, safety violations, employee misclassifications. Those were matters Dube, Ellis, & Flat handled on a regular basis. Filing a motion in court often got the Mom and Pops to behave. Publicized cases, though? Speculation aired on tabloid television? The firm wasn't used to that.

Williams v. National Center for Broadcasting had spent the past year collecting dust in the corner filing cabinet, waiting for its turn on the docket. NCB had stalled every way it could. Frivolous Motions to Dismiss, fillings for discovery every month as if a past due bill. A flurry of due process that felt like old money showing off. Then, low and behold, another case settled, and their matter was set for a two-week trial.

The delay had allowed Y/N plenty of investigation hours. He saids, She saids were hard to prove, and anything she could find to put a dent in the network's excuses was worth the effort.

She'd snuck into NCB studios as part of a tour group, just to refamiliarize herself with the place. When a copy editor discovered her in the stairwell, pretending to be a new employee had been the easiest solution. ("Oh, you must be Brenda's replacement! Personnel is one floor up.")

Mrs. Cunningham was a barrel of woman, a cigarette held perpetually in her left hand. Y/N asked about Spencer Fox, a counterfeit sounding name that kept appearing in NCB's filings. "He's an old friend," she'd claimed. "I wouldn't mind getting back in touch."

The older woman shook her head. "He moved to California nine months ago, pilots and renewals. Damned if I know when he'll be back."

At that dismissive declaration, Y/N had to shove her hands under her thighs to hide her excitement. Fox had sent in an affidavit, stating he'd witnessed no harassment during the period in question. Now she could testify that was meaningless. Mistreatment is easy to miss from three thousand miles away.

Turning to sift through manila folders, Mrs. Cunningham tapped ash into a pink ashtray, florals printed in the glass. "What did you say your name was? Treble? Your paperwork isn't here." She'd offered a pained expression. "You look more fun than Brenda. God, I hope you are. She had bitch stitched in her seams."

Y/N wished circumstances would have allowed her to get to know this woman better. As a thank you for her trouble, she'd sprung for two vending machine coffees, shaken her hand, and slipped through the nearest emergency exit.

"I'm not even that good looking," Mr. Williams said, fingers trembling again. He flexed his knuckles, left knee bouncing like a snare drum. Mannerisms that held a touch of Arthur. "I don't know why she picked me."

Placing her sandwich on a napkin, she took a coffee carafe from the center of the table to refill his cup. "Her actions have nothing to do with you and everything to do with a lack of consequences. But we're going to change that, aren't we?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I guess so."

"Good. Now let's review court etiquette and your testimony again."

She covered the basics. Stand when the judge enters and leaves, always address him as Your Honor, don't chew gum during the proceeding. When on the stand, pause before answering. Make sure you understand the question being asked. Be clear and concise.

"Don't guess, either," she continued. "It's fine not to recall everything, even expected. Remember you're under oath. An 'I don't know' is better than speculation." She'd seen too many people twist themselves into Slinkys trying to say the right thing, to justify themselves. "And don't volunteer information. If you get nervous, focus on our team. We're here for you." She popped the last bit of crust between her lips, wiped her fingers, and grabbed her binder.

The lines between her brows deepened. Fingers paged through the documents faster and faster. She regarded Mr. Williams over the top of the binder. "Let's take five minutes." Then she rose and jogged to her office. The file had to be there...

Just as she strode in, her phone rang. One hand sorting already sorted stacks, she set it to speaker. "Dube, Ellis, & Flat, this is Y/N."

"Hey, it's Arthur." Her heart leapt. She grabbed the receiver to listen closer. "I was wondering if we could meet for lunch? I'm kinda in the mood for a Reuben. They're on special today." Patricia had gotten him hooked on the combo of sauerkraut and corned beef.

Y/N's heart sank back to her ribs, a pang starting below her left breast. A glance through half-glass walls. Her colleagues were gathering materials for this afternoon's meeting with expert witnesses. She'd be expected post-haste.

"I'd love to but we're so busy here," she said. Then added, a tad defensively, "You've seen the news coverage."

"Oh." The solitary syllable came out low and slow.

She closed her eyes. She hated disappointing him. As of late, she'd found herself doing so too often. "I promise to be home on time tonight. I'll make it up to you-"

"There's nothing to make up."

"-when all this bullshit is over. Tell you what. I'll save you my coleslaw."

"No, you need to eat."

"Y/N!" Her name bellowed across the room like an air horn. Not scolding but sure to get her attention.

A pause. "You better go," Arthur said.

She raised her hand in a One Minute gesture. She wasn't about to cut this goodbye short. "Thank you for understanding. I don't take it for granted."

"Yeah. See you tonight."

"You will," she affirmed. "You will."

~~~~~

The cordless handset clicked in the cradle. A lean hip hutted against the counter, a cutting line against bone. Arthur pressed his head to the light blue cabinet door. He drew in one long breath.

He'd meant what he'd said. There was nothing to apologize for, there was nothing to forgive. He'd read the headlines, heard the lowlights on GCR, skimmed editorials in the paper. NCB was continuing its age-old tradition of shitting on the little guy.

And he knew what was at stake for Y/N. Challenging those who abused their advantage was important to her, had been since they'd met. Christ, it was how they'd met. He couldn't be prouder of her for believing in something, for having convictions strong enough to take it on. Yet, tendrils of dissatisfaction spread across his chest, a vise he couldn't loosen no matter how much he longed to. An annoyance as much as it was truth.

She'd helped him. Plenty. Taking messages from clients, ensuring his gigs were on the kitchen calendar so they could plan around them. On evenings he was home late, dinner was ready and on the table. She rubbed his lower back if it ached, massaged the stubborn knots that tended to swell by his misshapen shoulder. (He was over forty now; his body liked to remind him.) She listened when needed, left him alone when requested.

A couple Tuesdays ago, he'd dropped in his chair, palms flat on his desk. A sinking slowness had snuck into his schedule, leaving him bereft, feeling unwanted. As if he should do more but with no clear vision of what. He'd worried the seam of his legal pad, curled torn strips of yellow paper with his thumb. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Clad in mauve tunic and black leggings, Y/N had knelt beside him. Offered a tender look with love as its foundation, gentle debate twinkling her pupils. "Do it until it stops making you happy," she'd said, ruffling his oily hair. He'd leaned into that touch like she was water and his ruminations flames to be doused. "But even then," she'd continued. "Don't quit. Think of it as taking a break. That way you can make sure you want to live without it."

He'd taken her advice, kept his calendar clear. A choice rather than circumstance. So far, it'd been a good decision, one that allowed him to write more jokes, make more observations, work on his timing, work on himself. Already, the itch to return to Carnival had started in his inner wrist, traversed his lanky arm. Led to an impromptu dance in the living room, when he hadn't moved to a beat in days.

She was a resilient woman, wore an exterior as tough as bull hide. But he saw through all that. Deepened wrinkles framed her mouth, flattened cheeks, eyelids that drooped well before bedtime.

Y/N had restarted his pulse. There had to be a way for him to do the same.

Heaving a sigh, he tapped a Stutton into his palm. Grabbed his lighter from the counter and headed for the fire escape.

Just as he was about to light up (a few seconds too early, he'd crack the window, she'd never know), a folder on the coffee table forced a doubletake. Egg timer set, limiting herself to half an hour, she'd worked on a binder last night. He'd brought her a coffee, kissed the top of her head, skimmed the top notes in her loopy script.

Arthur's lips pinched. From the beginning of their courtship, she'd stressed that she'd tell him what she could, but privacy laws and her own code of ethics prevented her from sharing a whole hell of a lot. But this was their coffee table in their living room in their apartment. Obviously, the folder had been forgotten. If he were to steal a peek, who would know? Maybe it held the key to giving her a hand.

That convenient line of thought drove him to pluck it from the table and flip it open.

Green bar printer sheets, two columns of questions in dot matrix font. LIKELY and HYPOTHETICALS in all caps. Squinting, he held the pages a foot away. How many incidents were there? Did you report them to anyone? Can you describe your relationship with...

A sudden image came to him, a spark of awareness. A flight of fancy imparted in a hospital garden, sitting side by side on a concrete bench. Cool breeze on raw, goosepimpled skin. Whiffs of strawberries and musk.

Yes. Yes, that would work!

He raced to the bedroom closet, nearly stumbling in his haste. A suitable shirt, striped tie, brown trousers, freshly polished Oxfords. Only a couple more props were necessary. A bit of research at the video store, the jotting of his own questions.

From interviews on the highest rated shows to dating the prettiest girl in the world, fantasy was one of Arthur's longstanding habits. Although the weaves of his dreams had changed - less dire, more aspire - his mind still titled towards the land of make believe. He had no doubt he could pull this off.

Eager as a gumshoe, he patted his wallet, tossed on his jacket, and flew out the door.

~~~~~

Though the temperature hovered around fifty, patches of sweat darkened the armpits of Y/N's bow tie blouse. The breakneck pace of the day had overheated her, ponderings of all tomorrow would bring. And where the hell that file could have disappeared to.

Due to electrical work, she had to exit the subway at Ditmas Avenue. Five stops early. She skipped the offered buses to walk the rest of the way to 4A. That always helped her sort her thoughts, decompress. Put her mind in Pay Attention to Home mode rather than lingering on a missed comma in an affidavit.

Besides, she adored her adopted hometown, the aura of the city, the souls of its people. The street musician blasting a trumpet on the corner, the homeless woman wrapped in a blanket who asked for the time, the guy in a beanie selling bootleg VHS tapes, laid out on a ragged blanket. Y/N loved them all. And, if she was lucky, walks led to unexpected joys. Like the stroll from Burnley that'd led to a certain greasy donut shop in Otisburg.

A sort of silliness accompanied her, the kind only fatigue can bring. Silly as best experienced with Arthur. She'd stopped at Ed's Grocery for a surprise dinner of breaded pollack fillets with white rice and ketchup - a take on a fish stick dish he'd often made as a teenager - and a lone flower, the apology he'd said wasn't needed.

Coat hung on its hook, kitten heels kicked off, court bag dropped to the floor, she moved to put the fish in the fridge. Brown Eyed Susan in hand, she aimed for the living room to find her husband, seize the kiss she'd craved since his call.

She stood stockstill in the entrance. Fingers curled about the stem. Her lips gaped.

Buttressed on the wall to her right, under the windows, sat the television and coffee table. To her left, the cream couch was now six inches in front of their console stereo in a parallel line. A yard from the bedroom door stood a lone dining chair, the remaining three had been arranged in random spots about the room. A sort of imitation of an audience. Or a gallery...

Was this what she thought it was?

Pulling at his belt loops, Arthur entered from the bathroom. With the sheer will of a gallon of hair gel, deep mocha locks had been forced into a side part. He wore a violet and gold striped tie, fixed neatly at his neck in a half Windsor knot. The pale yellow button-up was a shirt he donned far too rarely, his medium brown trousers the perfect fit for his narrow waist. Black suspenders gave him a look more 1940s than modern. A classic, classy man. It was a style that worked, one she loved on him and only him.

He nodded at her, mischief curving his lips. "I'd like to call Y/N Fleck to the stand?"

"Arthur..." Chuckling, she shook her head, crossing the carpet. She reached to embrace him, petals brushing his bicep. "What in the world?"

He caught her hands. His were warm and firm on her skin. "I wanna help. I rented 'Adam's Rib.'"

"Isn't that about a murder trial?"

"Yeah, the husband and wife are lawyers. Anyway, I think I got the hang of it. I know you sometimes get nervous when you testify. I thought it'd be good to practice, like what I do for my shows."

Wetness stung the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away in haste. That he'd recall the fantasy she'd shared at Arkham, a goofy trifle she'd disclosed during his toughest of times, moved her deeply. He was a wave upon the sand of her soul.

Clearing her throat, she slipped the flower in his breast pocket and patted it twice. He angled his head to admire it, gave her hand another squeeze. "I better hurry before the court holds me in contempt," she said, and passed him to sit on the setoff dining chair, the presumed witness stand.

A piece of paper emerged from his sleeve, a magician's move. He unfurled it with a flick of the wrist. Her brows shot up and held. "Where did you find that?" she asked, incredulous. She'd recognize that dusty printer paper anywhere, the list she'd spent a better part of the afternoon scouring for.

"The coffee table." He plucked a pair of reading glasses from his trouser pocket. Espresso browline, rounded wire bottoms, a pair that looked as if it'd been selected from the display stand at Groves. When he put them on, the temple tip momentarily caught in his hair. 

She felt her insides melt. It was a glimpse of the future she longed for.

His gaze rose from the paper. "Raise your hand."

"Which one?" As innocent as an intern on her first day.

"Uh, the right," he said, indicating with his chin. He straightened his posture, feet squared with his shoulders. "Do you swear to tell the truth?"

"I swear to tell you anything."

A laugh caught behind his teeth, green eyes sparkling. "What's your name?"

"Y/N Fleck." She spelled it for good measure. A third of court transcribers left off the h.

"And what's your job? Have you had it for long?"

"I'm a senior paralegal at Dube, Ellis, & Flat. I've held that position for just under a year. I started there as a paralegal in 1982 - before the Flat. Prior to that, I worked in firms both in Gotham and Missouri."

"I see. Do you think you're a good boss, Ms. Fleck?"

"Misses, actually." At the correction, pleased pink stained his cheekbones. She crossed her legs at the knee. "And I'm no one's boss, but I am good at what I do."

"What did your client say happened?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to object to that question." She tapped her chin in mock suspicion. "It's dangerously close to hearsay."

"What does that mean?"

"That you'll have to ask the complainant directly, not me."

"Okay, well..." Eyes narrowing, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How did you prepare for trial?"

Flirty and fun was what she wanted to be, but reciting it all, even the compact version she offered, exhausted her all over again. "I reviewed the filings submitted by both parties. I assisted in preparing the complainant and expert witnesses to testify. I snuck into NCB Studios - an old habit I developed awhile back. And I put on many, many pots of coffee."

"That sounds like a lot. Gotham is lucky to have you." A tender look that said and so am I.

"It has been. A little too much." She let out a weary sigh, everything at risk an abrupt weight on her shoulders. All she'd wanted tonight was escape and laughter and him, but now... She folded her hands together in her lap to maintain her composure.

Lowering the list, he ventured a step closer. Earnestness softened the lines of his face. His head dipped down and towards her. "How are you feeling about next week?"

Suddenly, she was the case he'd decided to investigate. She shifted in her seat. "That depends. Are you retained by the plaintiff or the defendant?"

"I'm on your side," he said, kind as a pat on the back.

Fresh perspiration stained her blouse. Five seconds of pondering before she dropped the brave face. "A little scared, to be honest. I'm glad the judge decided to keep the proceedings private - we don't need a circus in there - but I'm still going to angle for the back door. NCB has so much money, and so much of the public is behind Lana Miller. I just want our client to get what he deserves. And for NCB to pay for protecting the wrong people.” She smoothed the pleats of her skirt, bottom lip planted firmly between teeth. “I've worked hard on this. We all have. I need it to be worth it."

"It will be." He knelt on one knee before her, his breath warm on her chin. He plucked the flower from his pocket, took her fidgeting fingers, and placed the bloom in her palm. "Is there anything else you wanna tell the court?"

A gulp cleared the breath locked in her throat. "Just two items. You're an ace lawyer, Attorney Fleck. If you're ever looking, you should apply to my firm."

"And what's the other?"

On a grin, Y/N cupped his cheeks. "You forgot to ask if you could approach the witness." Then she kissed him. "I love you."

He caught her by the collar. "Kiss me again."

She did. Sweet but sure, the testimony of her whole heart. Her forehead bumped his glasses, his nose collided with hers. When they broke apart for air, she stood and took his hand. "I'd like to submit a Motion to Dismiss. It's time for us."

Arthur's thumb traced hers, his feet already guiding them to the kitchen. "No objection, Mrs. Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[gilbertmartinez26]

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Loud About Hush Money

Taking is the Democratic form of profiting.  There’s no other way to run a business, at least that legalized grifters can imagines.  They’re not mean like your bosses, other than how they do the same by law.  The only important employment is their own, and let’s classify their workdays as unproductive.  Politicians must only endure a performance evaluation every couple years.  They expect you to keep them in office because it’s more fun than working.  Revelry will continue as long as bucks keep flowing.  The party’s finally nearing its conclusion.

The pushy party can afford to be so generous because of a generous benefactor.  If you want to maximize contributions, make them compulsory.  Thanks to withholding, most donors don’t even realize how generous they are.

Bribes for votes are shameless in blatancy, which is another sign market incentives work.  Coercion really helps those who need to keep others on their side without making a convincing case or being able to create anything worth trading.

Limp government goons inadvertently illustrate their foes are right while showing why they’re so wrong.  Every Democrat is a corrupt sheriff with a councilman in his pocket.  Entice voters with profits seized from those who back candidates calling for workers to keep what they earn.  The self-proclaimed selfless get away with it because they can, which also helpfully illustrates how they implement their very caring philosophy.

Hypocrisy is just the start.  Elected autocrats see themselves as fighters of corruption as they embody it, which is surely the only time they’re full of it.  Expanding power to the point where they can negate it with a nod is also coincidentally the reason they’re so eager to make crime legal, aside from serving as an indirect perk to their constituency.

Those who can’t create a solid image rely on projection.  Democrats habitually act in the same shameful way they accuse private entities of conducting themselves, with the difference being you can’t choose a different government without a decent amount of hassle.  Knowing you can’t shop elsewhere is part of the privilege of constructing a loving administration that has control over every life aspect.

It’s best to use bills yoinked from others, as your own is so expensive.  Buying support with cash seized from the successful is the primary way of leveling society.  The presumption that everyone should have the same works with ice cream, so why change kindergarten thinking?  The ideal amount is more than whatever you have now.

Wealth transfers are necessary if all funds have been assigned.  You unfairly claim salaries reflect value created, but that cruelly leads to some people having more than others.  True motivators have to convince voters that they’re useless.  Breaking down self-esteem is how Democrats inspire.  Someone stole from you so proficiently that you didn’t even notice.  No, they don’t mean the government.

Student loans are seen as anything but.  College is a time for learning that words don’t mean anything, which is one sort of lesson to retain.  The expectation of entitlement may not be the healthiest major.  There’s no point in arguing with people who think you’re selfish for not wanting to give what you’ve earned to those who haven’t.

Outrage at the expectation that they should pay for things defines liberalism.  Take the costliness of allegedly free tuition.  Panhandling graduates got amazing training, at least according to them.  It should be easy to pay off what’s borrowed with 120 credits of solid training.

Pretending not paying for something will help the economy is the ultimate case of not seeing both sides.  The practical implications of closed-mindedness lead to dismissing prosperity via, say, exchanging goods and services for dollars.  Alleged beneficiaries save so much by not paying for groceries, which can be spent to stimulate an economy where many things are unaffordable for mysterious reasons.  Shoplifting must be making life permanently prosperous.

Walking around money ensures getting out the vote.  Claim to help the poor to make winking less obvious.  Inflation is the only downside for the ripoff artists and upside for those outraged.  Currency has gone from worth less to worthless.  

Trying to befriend those who hate them is a sick habit of the psychologically gullible.  They simply must convince everyone they’re cool.  Iran took their lunch money and got them to beg to come over for dinner.  Enabling villainy is just one more reason to not pay ransoms.  The inability to see obvious consequences is inherent to their ideology.  Anyone who saw what comes next wouldn’t be a liberal.  

Trying to get global supervillains to behave with perks is a rather obvious test which the White House fails.  It took an invasion of Israel to show how Iran spends their allowance on terror rockets, which the executive branch naturally still doesn’t grasp.  Joe Biden’s flunkies are more than willing to accept excuses about how lunatic mullahs can’t spend what they have yet to receive.  Meanwhile, the world’s substitute teachers put America nearly $35 freaking trillion in debt.

A time-honored tradition features no honor.  Redistribution constitutes politics at its oldest and by no coincidence worst.  An entire outlook based on taking from one party and giving it to others is framed as the epitome of high-minded decency, which is true aside from how its theft that demotivates all involved.

Class warfare builds society.  Motivating their base coincidentally conforms with claiming they’re trying to help.  It’s an unfinished sentence, as they want to help stay in office.