The Deep Fake

Before she could respond, I hurried on, "I can show you the video if it would help. It runs about ten minutes and..."

She waved me off. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Graves." She gave a sigh and leaned back in her chair. "Let me share some facts with you. First, despite what you may have read or seen on TV, most law firms do not have an investigative capacity. If you want someone to undertake an investigation, you'll need to hire a detective agency. I'll warn you that a good one won't be much less expensive than a good law firm. There are several agencies we work with, and I'll be happy to provide their names if you wish.

"However, my strong advice to you is not to bother. The truth is, your wife doesn't need a reason to divorce you, if that's her wish. This is a no-fault state, and either you or she can end your marriage at any time for any reason. So even if you were to uncover incontestable proof that you did not commit adultery, it likely wouldn't matter at this point."

I started to object, but she held up her hand to stop me.

"Think about your former employer: would they take you back if you somehow proved you were innocent six months from now? It's unlikely -- the damage has been done. It's the same with your wife. All your efforts to prove your innocence are only going to remind her about the details of the lie."

"But that's not fair!" I burst out.

"No, it's not, but the real world often isn't." She shook her head. "I can give you a long list of celebrities who were charged with heinous acts only to later be exonerated. But the list of those who regained their former level of stardom is a far shorter one."

I slumped in my chair. "So you're saying I should do nothing, just accept this injustice without putting up a fight?"

She gave me a pitying look. "I'm not saying that's what you should do, but I am saying undertaking a quixotic quest to prove your innocence is likely to be expensive, time-consuming and ultimately futile. You'll be much better off if you focus on moving forward with your life."

She picked up the summons. "As for the divorce, I'll make sure the terms are fair and the cost is minimal. With no children to consider, you and your wife will simply split all your assets evenly and be done."

I sighed. "Alright, let's do it your way. But I don't have to like it."

She smiled sympathetically. "Resentment is an acceptable response."

I was pretty upset when I got back to the motel. Like it or not, it looked like I was getting a divorce. Like it or not, the house we'd bought only three years ago was going to be sold, and the proceeds, along with our other assets, were all going to be divided. And like it or not, I was stuck with a reputation as an adulterer who was so stupid he posted evidence of his cheating on the Internet. Damn!

I needed a friend to talk to, so I called Dave, one of the guys I used to play tennis with. He couldn't have dinner with me, but he agreed to meet me at a little bar we liked not far from the university for drinks afterward. I knew he wouldn't have any miraculous solutions, but a friendly ear to unload on seemed awfully attractive just now.

When I got to the bar, Dave wasn't there yet. I spotted a few people at the other end watching some ball game on the tv, and passed a table with four girls, three African-American and one white, all laughing and gossiping. I figured they were students at the university. I went over to the bar to wait for Dave.

Not long after I got a beer, my phone went off, and I saw it was Dave calling. With a sinking feeling, I answered. "Hey, Dave, where are you?"

"Sorry, Peter, I'm not going to be able to make it. Janis heard about our plans and let me know in no uncertain terms that you're on the pole list."

"The 'pole list'?" What the hell's that?"

He sighed. "It means I can't get within a 10-foot pole of you, buddy, or she'll have my balls. Apparently, the wives have ruled you off limits. Sorry, man."

I started to make a sharp comeback, then thought better of it. "That's OK, Dave, I understand. We'll do it again when things cool down a little."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Sorry, Peter."

I put my phone back in my pocket and took a long sip of my Blue Moon, more depressed than ever.

"Are you the guy in that video on PornHub?" a feminine voice to my right asked. Startled, I looked around to see one of the black coeds who'd been drinking at the table. I glanced over and saw the other three watching and giggling among themselves.

I started to explain the deception to my new companion but stopped when I realized that it wasn't worth trying. I shrugged my shoulders. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Oh, wow, so you really must be into black chicks."

"Uh, no, I mean yes, uh, I mean, I guess skin tone doesn't mean that much to me, one way or the other."

As she digested that deep insight, I took the opportunity to look her over. She had rich brown skin, a pretty face with prominent cheekbones, a nice figure and a modified Afro to top everything off. All in all, very cute.

"I'm Peter," I said, offering my hand. She shook it. "I'm Tamika. I'm a senior at the university."

She'd brought her cocktail with her, and we drank together as I got her to tell me about college and her plans a little. It was just casual conversation, but I appreciated it. At least she wasn't treating me like an outcast. I bought her another round to encourage her to continue.

Finally she put her empty down on the bar. "I really should be getting back to the dorm." She gave me a sideways glance. "Would you mind giving me a lift?"

I looked over toward the table and saw that her companions had gone. "Sure, no problem."

As Tamika sat next to me in my car, giving me directions through the university, I couldn't help noticing how high her skirt had slipped up her thighs. If she saw me looking, she gave no indication, and she made no effort to adjust it.

I found a parking spot outside her residence hall and turned off the engine. "Would you mind walking me back to my room?" she asked in a low voice. "There've been a couple of assaults on campus, and a girl can't be too careful."

"Of course," I told her, and went around to open the car door. The skirt slid even higher as she got out, and I tried not to be too obvious as I looked.

She took my arm as we walked down the sidewalk to her dorm. When we reached her room, she unlocked the door and led me inside, not bothering to switch on the light. "You know," she said coyly, "it really got to me when you went down on that girl. My boyfriend always wants me to blow him, but once I'm done, he just wants to fuck." She looked up at me, her eyes wide and lust-filled. "I'd really like to know what that's like, just once."

"I think I can help with that," I said huskily, and pulled her to me. She sought out my mouth hungrily, thrusting her tongue in search of mine. She tasted of alcohol and desire.

When she pulled back she was panting, and she quickly managed to strip off most of her clothing. Then she flopped back on the bed and lay there, her legs hanging over the edge, her breast heaving.

I dropped to my knees in front of her and began running my fingertips up her inner thighs. She gave a little moan. I bent forward, spreading her legs apart, and gazed at her closely trimmed pussy. Her outer lips were already gaping open and I could see the pink inner lips in the light from the window. Her clitoris was swollen with desire, and I could clearly smell the scent of highly aroused female. When I blew on her pussy, she moaned, "Please, oh please."

Suddenly I wanted to be that sexual master she believed me to be. I leaned down and kissed the lips of her pussy, then gently ran my tongue from bottom to top. "Oh god, oh god," she whimpered, arching her back. With that I began licking in earnest, first with vertical strokes, then circling her clit. With every lick I could hear her give a little cry.

Suddenly I heard a sound, and when I looked over my shoulder, her roommate was sitting up on the other bed. It was the white girl. "Go on -- don't mind me," she whispered. "I'll just watch."

I turned back to Tamika and began to flick her clit rapidly with the tip of my tongue. Immediately she began pumping her hips, desperate for more contact, more pressure. She began moaning continuously, and I could hear the tone of her voice rising in pitch. When I judged she was close to orgasm, I stopped. Her hips hung in the air for a moment, then sank to the bed in frustration.

I gave her a moment, then began to repeat my routine. She was still at a high level of arousal, so it didn't take much for me to bring her back to the brink. Then I stopped again.

She groaned desperately. "Please finish me, please. I'm so close."

I heard a snicker from the other bed, and when I glanced over, Tamika's roommate had stripped down to her panties. Her hand was buried in her crotch and I could see her fingers moving. "Don't leave her hanging like that," she whispered.

I gave her a nod and turned back to my new friend. Leaning forward, I began a third round of oral assault, starting slow but accelerating. Now Tamika was almost screaming, and I wondered how thick the dorm walls were. As she neared her peak, I focused all my attention on her clit. The desperate coed bridged her body up so only her shoulders and her heels were touching the bed. Instead of stopping this time, I took her clit between my lips and sucked hard on it.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, I'm cumming!" she screamed, and then spasmed violently, her thighs clutching me until I feared for my neck. Finally Tamika collapsed on the mattress, her legs flopping open, her arms falling limp.

By that point I was highly aroused myself. But when I leaned over to ask her if I could have her, I realized that she had passed out. There was a little drool leaking from the corner of her mouth, and then she began to snore.

Frustrated, I slumped back on my knees. I was about to look for their bathroom so I could beat off, when her roommate spoke up. She was seated on the edge of the bed, leaning toward me. "My boyfriend won't eat me like that either," she said in a little girl's voice. I noticed that the panties had disappeared.

"If I take care of you, will you let me fuck you?"

"Oh, yes!"

Hastily I scooted over to her bedside, lifted her legs and attacked her pussy. She began moaning continuously the minute I touched her. Watching me work on Tamika had obviously aroused her to a fever pitch.

As I ate her pussy, I began stripping off my clothes. By the time I was bare, she was already nearing her peak. When I judged the time was right, I pulled my lips away. But instead of teasing her, I rose up and slid my cock all the way into her hot wetness. She gave a squeal and then threw her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into her. I began to pump full force, unable to wait any longer. Fortunately, she was right there with me, and in no time the two of us exploded almost simultaneously. Her orgasm must have lasted a full minute, and I gave her several more thrusts as I emptied myself.

Finally, I pulled out and stood up. Swinging her legs onto the bed, I pulled the covers over her as she stared up at me. After getting dressed, I went over to Tamika's bed and made sure she was covered as well. As I opened the door, I heard the roommate whisper, "Hey, Mister, you were way better in real life than in that video."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I gave her a thumbs-up and closed the door behind me.

When I woke the next morning, I felt disoriented. Did that really happen? I wondered as I drank my morning coffee at the fast-food joint where I went for breakfast. Memories of the previous night's adventure kept flashing through my mind. There had to be some moral to the story, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was.

Nevertheless, when I looked back on it later, that night seemed to mark a change in my fortunes. Living in a motel wasn't cheap, and I'd been nervously eyeing my dwindling savings account. But a week later, while driving through a neighborhood near the university, I spotted a "Room to Let" sign in front of a large older home. Curious, I parked out front and went to inquire.

What the couple who lived there were offering turned out to be a furnished apartment over their garage. They'd fixed up some years ago to attract university students and rented it out by the semester. This year, however, their renter had left unexpectedly to go home, and they needed a new tenant.

The apartment was larger than the motel room I had, and the furnishings were nicer. Best of all, the monthly rent they were asking was significantly lower than the daily rate I was paying the motel. I signed a month-to-month lease on the spot.

I'd just finished moving my meager possessions into my new apartment when I got a hit from one of the job search sites I'd registered for. The company asking about me was called StickTite, an odd name I'd never heard before. But given that I'd had exactly zero response from all my other inquiries, there was no question that I'd hear them out.

I was even more curious when I drove up to the address they gave me: a plain building in a group of one-story buildings that appeared to be warehouses. When I warily opened the glass door, a young man was there to greet me. I assumed he was the HR rep. He introduced himself as Bob Pickford and led me back to a small, unprepossessing office consisting of a metal desk and several plastic-covered chairs.

My skepticism must have been obvious. "Don't let this place put you off," he explained, "it's our data center. We don't have any offices -- everyone works remotely. Our team likes it, and we save a boatload of money not renting office space."

His company, he went on, was a start-up developing network security systems. "When we protect a corporate system, we tag every byte of code so it can't be modified. If a hacker gets through our outer ring and tries to steal the data, our tags 'follow' them back to their base of operations, just like a sticktight clings to your clothes when you're walking in the woods. That way we can identify exactly who the intruders are and enable an appropriate response. Think about it: no more systems disruptions, no more ransomware attacks, no more hiding in offshore locations."

Now I was interested. "Sounds promising," I told him. "So why do you need someone like me?"

He gave me a grin. "I think I'm pretty good at systems design, but I'm not an expert in security. The bad guys have lots of ways to attack systems, and I'm hoping your experience will help us block the ones we haven't thought of yet."

The more we chatted about the company, the more interested I became. Likewise, Bob responded enthusiastically to some of the examples I shared with him. Finally, he held up his hand. "I've heard enough, Peter. You're exactly what we're looking for. I'd like to offer you the job."

I hesitated before I shook the hand he offered. "That's great, Bob, but are you authorized to do that?"

"I think so," he said calmly. "It's my company."

It took me a moment to digest that. "Oh, OK. Well then, can you tell me what the job pays?"

He blushed. "Oh, right." Then he quoted me an annual salary that was a pleasant surprise: slightly more than what I'd been making at my old job. But before I could agree, he went on. "However, only half of that is cash. The other half is in StickTite stock options."

I gulped. On the one hand, I'd be taking a big gamble on a start-up, and while I waited for the options to pay off, things would be pretty tight. On the other hand, I had no offers to date and no prospects. If worse comes to worse, I told myself,I'll be no worse off than I am now. "Count me in," I told him, sticking out my hand.

Working from home was an adjustment, but the dozen or so people who made up the StickTite team were bright and enthusiastic about the new company. Their welcoming attitude helped overcome any isolation I felt. My financial situation was still tight, but at least I wasn't draining my savings account any more.

The next good news I got was a call from my real estate broker. She'd found a buyer for our house. The offer didn't leave much for Estelle and me to split after closing costs, but since we'd taken out a loan to do some upgrades on the house when we'd bought it, I wasn't expecting a windfall. The profit would barely cover what I'd had to spend from my savings while I was unemployed, but it was better than nothing.

With the house now sold and the proceeds divided between Estelle and me, there was nothing left standing in the way of finalizing the divorce. I was still sad about the end of my marriage, but after my talk with Reyna Menudos, I'd decided to cooperate with the process. It still rankled that I hadn't done what Estelle thought I'd done, but if Estelle wanted a divorce, there was no way I could stop it.

Reyna did a good job for me, wangling an early hearing in court. So only four months after this whole nightmare started, I was a single man again. She offered to mail me the final decree, but I decided to go to her office to pick it up. In addition to wanting to get out of my home office for a bit, I had another motive.

"Back when I first met you," I told her after she gave me the papers, "you said you knew a good detective agency here in town. I'd like to get their name and number."

She cocked her head and gave me an inquiring look. "I don't understand, Peter. Your divorce is final; what's the point?"

"Because I want to know the truth," I replied. "My reputation got trashed and my life has been turned upside down. If I can, I want to find out what really happened."

She shook her head, reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a card. "Here. Tell Mitch I referred you and to give you a fair price." As she handed it over, she gave me a stern look. "Here's a little free advice, Peter. If you do find out who did this, don't go looking for revenge. I don't want to have to defend you in a criminal case."

Mitch was Mitchell Fredericks, head of the Fredericks Detective Agency. He welcomed me into his spartan, one-man office and invited me to tell my tale of woe. When I finished, I offered to show him the sex clip, which I'd copied on a flash drive. We sat down in front of his monitor and watched the whole ten minutes or so in silence.

Afterwards, he shook his head with a wry smile. "I've seen plenty of porn in my day, and this isn't very good." Then his face grew serious. "More importantly, I didn't see anything in there to help us prove that's not you."

I started to protest, but he waved me off. "Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying it is you, Peter. I doubt you'd be looking for my help if it was. But someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like you. So here's my question: who'd want to deepfake you?"

"To do what?"

"They call it 'deepfake.' It means someone with a lot of time and serious expertise in digital imagery has manipulated this video to look like you. That gives us a couple of avenues to investigate. The first is to try to figure out who had a motive to do this. Let's start with that one -- do you have any enemies? Is there someone who would benefit from doing this?"

I'd thought about that many times ever since it happened. "The person who would have the most to gain," I told him, "would be someone in my office who'd get my job if I were out of the way. My best guess is a guy named Jonathan Swayze. He was jealous of me, always trying to undermine me with our boss. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he was the one."

"Anyone else?"

"Not really. I thought about Estelle, my ex-wife, but that doesn't make any sense. Like Reyna told me, if Estelle wanted to divorce me, she could get one for any reason or no reason at all. No, Jonathan is the only one I can think of who'd really have something to gain."