An interrogation

The Sheriff Department arrest had seemed to be more about humiliation than actual investigation. In contrast, the FBI arrest seemed to want both to humiliate and to find anything resembling evidence that would give the FBI a positive media spin.

He was half-thrown not into a prison cell but into a fancy office in the L.A. County Federal building.

An attractive woman of about forty, wearing a black suit with a white blouse tied at the neck with a black floppy bowtie sat behind a big wooden desk. Matt noticed the lack of computer on the desk... it was equipment to impress, not to actually be worked at. She probably hid her laptop in a drawer for use when nobody was watching.

Which made him wonder why he was important enough for her to bother trying to impress him.

"I am SAIC Deborah Smelt," she declared.

"How... nice for you."

She seemed non-plussed by his response. "I understand you have been performing sex streaming shows with high school students."

He said nothing.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry. Was that a question?"

"Have you or have you not brought a number of teenage girls into various studios with the objective of performing sexual acts which are subsequently transmitted across state lines on the Internet?"

He wondered whether denying involvement was worth his while and decided that lying to an FBI agent, especially about something this obvious, was not wise. Then he remembered what the lawyer had said about not answering any questions.

"I would really like my attorney to be present for any questions."

"This is just an investigation," SAIC Smelt said. "No reason to bring in lawyers unless you're guilty of breaking some law."

"You know," Matt said, "my mother is a huge fan of those true crime podcasts. You know, the ones where the police track down the evil killers. And I don't know how many times the cops say something just like that to people... many of whom seem to end up being tricked into false confessions or railroaded for crimes they didn't commit because it made the cops look good."

"We are the FBI. We don't do that kind of thing."

"As I said, I'd like my attorney to be present for any questions."

SAIC Smelt sighed. "I was really hoping we could get you home in time for dinner but if you're going to be difficult, that won't be possible."

That didn't sound like a question, so Matt didn't answer.

"Fine. Let me tell you what we know. We know that you have been organizing sex streaming. We know that you have recruited high school teenage girls for your activities. We know that these streaming sex shows have been transmitted across state lines making this a federal offense."

SAIC Smelt was getting into this. Her cheeks had reddened and her not insignificant tits pressed against the fabric of that 1980s power-dress female blouse every time she inhaled. Matt still didn't consider himself an expert on females... or anything for that matter, but it seemed to him that Smelt was getting a sexual charge out of being outraged.

"To conclude," she said, "it appears to me that you're looking at a minimum of twenty years in prison. Now we know that there are other people involved. Perhaps Mr. Adams, the movie producer. Perhaps Ms. Chadra, supposedly a math teacher but in reality a known pornographer. The way it works is this, Matt. Someone is going to turn. Someone is going to decide that they'll give up the others to save themselves. Whoever turns first gets a deal. After that, your confession doesn't help you because we have you. So, I'm giving you the opportunity to go first. You seem like a smart young man. It would be a shame to waste all of that potential out of some misplaced loyalty to your business partners."