An FBI squad

“Oh, come on, love.”

“I said no, Elizabeth,” you reply, walking into the school parking lot to leave for the day.

It’s not uncommon for your girlfriends to buy you gifts; it actually happens a lot. Tiffany bought you a nice jacket, Demeter bought a lovely bouquet of flowers, Ms. Webb bought you tickets to a local art show, Alena bought you a necklace that will “purify your essence of the unworthy,” etc. Most of the time, you’re fine with it and accept it with kisses, but sometimes they try to buy you things that you, from the goodness of your heart, can’t accept. Such as now: Elizabeth Godiva wanting to buy you a very expensive sports car.

“You let me get you expensive stuff before. Why not now?” Elizabeth protests.

“Because you’re talking about a new car. A very expensive car. That’s too much. I won’t accept it.”

“Fine. Let’s put a pin in it. I’ll have you convinced soon enough.” She sighs before smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love. Though hopefully sooner.”

You kiss her goodbye, and she gets in her car and drives off. You then start walking to your used car.

“Mr. Sam.”

You stop and turn to see who called out to you. Approaching you are five very attractive, yet stern-looking young women dressed in business casual attire.

“Uh, who are you?”

“FBI Special Agent Granger,” says the raven-haired woman, flashing her credentials. She’s slightly taller than average, with a lean build, olive-toned skin, and dark hair cut neatly at the shoulders. Her posture is straight and deliberate, giving her a quietly authoritative presence.

“This is Special Agent Bowers,” she continues, gesturing toward the red-haired woman. Bowers has a sturdy, athletic frame, fair skin dusted with freckles, and broad shoulders beneath her jacket. She stands with her weight balanced forward, as though ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“Special Agent Fisher.” The blonde woman is noticeably tall and long-limbed, with pale skin and a calm, unreadable expression. There’s something measured about the way she watches the room.

“Special Agent Sims.” The woman in glasses has deep brown skin, a compact build, and neat curls pulled back. Her expression remains thoughtful and composed as she adjusts the frames on her nose.

“And our Interpol liaison, Officer Choi.” Choi carries herself with quiet confidence, slender in build, with warm beige-toned skin and dark hair pinned into a low knot. Her gaze moves carefully from person to person before settling.

“Uh… how can I help you, agents?” you ask, baffled. What the hell does the FBI want with you?

“We have a few questions for you regarding your multiple… girlfriends.”

“My girlfriends? You know about my relationships?” you ask, startled.

You and your girlfriends, while reckless at times, had always tried to be careful. The last thing any of you wanted was a public scandal.

“Yes, we do,” Agent Granger says. “Though we wouldn’t call it a relationship.”

“Uh… what would you call it?”

“A cult,” Agent Fisher replies.

“Wh-What?!” you blurt.

“A cult, Mr. Sam,” Agent Granger repeats. “One with you as the leader and the women at this school as your followers, manipulated into doing whatever you want.”

“That’s ridiculous. These are my girlfriends. I don’t exploit or manipulate them,” you say, anger beginning to replace your confusion.

“Oh really? Most men don’t have multiple girlfriends, each willing to buy them luxury cars and other expensive gifts,” Agent Bowers says.

“So they like me and buy me gifts. That’s not a crime.”

“Not by itself,” Agent Fisher agrees. “But combined with other concerning behavior, it paints a troubling picture.”

“Such as multiple incidents of indecent exposure and public lewdness,” Agent Bowers says, pulling out several photographs.

Your stomach drops.

The photos showed you and your girlfriends in various compromising situations. One showed you fucking several cheerleaders on the football field. Another showed Ms. Isabel straddling you while you fondle her naked body in a public park. A third showed Eris and Loki spray-painting a town statue naked while kissing you.

“How did you get those?” you ask quietly.

“Several expensive gifts imported from overseas raised concerns,” Officer Choi explains. “During our investigation, we discovered that many women connected to you have committed criminal offenses. Public lewdness. Vandalism. Assaults against women who openly criticized your relationships.”

“And that’s only part of it,” Agent Sims adds. “We’ve documented a pattern. Expensive gifts. Coordinated behavior. Multiple women making significant personal and financial sacrifices for one individual. Several incidents happened shortly after interactions with you.”

“We’ve also received reports of artifacts disappearing from museums shortly after visits made by members of your group,” Agent Fisher says. “At minimum, it suggests someone is attempting to impress you through criminal activity.”

“That’s insane,” you say.

“Is it?” Agent Bowers asks. “Because every time we look into one of these incidents, we find another woman willing to break rules, spend large sums of money, or risk arrest for your benefit.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

You’d seen documentaries about cult leaders, manipulators, and people who convinced others to commit crimes on their behalf. The idea that anyone could look at your relationships and see the same thing was absurd.

But if the authorities believed it, absurd might not matter.

“Would you care to explain, Mr. Sam?” Agent Granger asks.

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself and the women you love.

Then you stop.

That’s exactly what they want.

Whether they’re investigating you or simply fishing for information, every word you say could be twisted into evidence.

You **** yourself to remain calm.

“I won’t say anything without a lawyer.”

The five women exchange irritated glances.

“We’ll let you be for now, Mr. Sam,” Agent Granger says coldly. “But I have a feeling we’ll be speaking again very soon.”

The agents turn and walk back toward a black SUV.

You watch them leave before leaning heavily against your car.

For the first time in a long while, you have absolutely no idea what to do next.