The Deep Fake

"Okay, then we need to start by checking him out and your other old work associates as well. We also ought to talk to your old friends and neighbors, just in case they know anything that might help."

The detective leaned back in his chair and interlaced his hands behind his head. "When Reyna called to tell me you'd be coming, she mentioned that you're not exactly rolling in the dough these days. If you want to save a little money, how about doing some of the legwork on this investigation. That OK with you?"

"Sure, I can do that." I thought a moment. "How about if I check out my contacts at my old job and you check out my friends and neighbors?" I gave him a wry smile. "The last I heard, my name was mud in my old neighborhood, so I probably wouldn't have much luck there."

"That sounds reasonable. If you'll give me some names and numbers, I'll get started." He reached down and pulled the flash drive out of his computer. "The other thing we need to do is to get an expert to look at this video. Maybe there's something we've overlooked, or some clue in how the fake was done that will point us to your enemy. Are you flexible, time-wise?"

I shrugged. "I can be."

""Okay, I've worked with a couple of firms who do this sort of thing. Let me see if I can set up something for you tomorrow with one of them. I'll text you the details."

It was still early enough when I got back to my apartment, so I decided to get started checking out my old company. I knew just who to call: Mary, our old department secretary. If anyone would help me, I felt certain she would.

When I reached her, she wasn't as hostile as she'd been the day I got fired; in fact she seemed genuinely glad to hear from me. We chatted a bit. She told me how her kids were doing and "tsk, tsked" sympathetically when I told her Estelle and I were divorced. Finally, I told her I was still trying to prove my innocence, and, when she agreed to help, I asked what I really wanted to know.

"So who wound up getting my job? Was it Jonathan Swayze?"

"Swayze? I guess you didn't hear: Jon turned in his resignation a week after you left. He went to work for one of our competitors."

"Well I'll be damned! So who got my office?"

She made no attempt to disguise the anger in her voice. "No one! They wound up dividing your responsibilities among half-a-dozen different people. Now, not only is everyone scrambling like mad to get the extra work done, but nobody even got an increase in pay! I don't mind telling you, morale here is in the dumper."

"Damn, I'm sorry, Mary. That sounds like a raw deal." We chatted a little more and then I made my excuses to ring off. Afterwards, I thought about what I'd learned. Whoever did this to me, it sure wasn't Swayze -- he had nothing to gain. And frankly, I don't know anyone else at the company who'd have the brains or the balls to pull off a deepfake. Unless Mitch comes up with someone else, this looks like a dead end.

Just then my phone beeped. It was a text from Mitch telling me I had an appointment the next day after lunch with Digital Signals Analysis. I marked my online calendar to let my colleagues at work know I'd be unavailable at that time. Then I checked Google Maps to tell me how to find the place. It was located in an office park about five miles away.

When I got there the next day, I found the company was located on the third floor of a nondescript office building. The door was plain wood with a neat, metal sign. I wasn't sure what to do, so I knocked.

"Come in," came a feminine voice, and when I pushed open the door I stopped in surprise. "Zahira!" I exclaimed, and hurried over to give my old college friend a big hug. "You're Digital Signals Analysis?"

She returned my hug warmly. "So it is you, Peter. When I saw the name Mitchell gave me, I hoped it might be."

We pulled up chairs and began to catch up with each other. Zahira and I had met in the engineering school at college as freshmen and immediately became friends. She was of Indian descent, but her parents had grown up in the States and she had no discernable accent. I found her quietly intelligent, warm and thoughtful, even if she was a bit on the shy side. If I hadn't been dating Estelle, I would have been interested in her that way too. But as it was, we became good friends instead. When she pursued Electrical Engineering and I focused on Computer Sciences, our paths diverged.

Now, as I looked at her, I remembered why I'd found her attractive. She had lustrous black hair, a pretty face and a trim figure. Yet, just like back then, she seemed to go out of her way to hide her looks. Her hair was tied up on the back of her head in an unflattering bun. She wasn't wearing make-up and, worst of all, she had on a knee-length white lab coat that disguised her waistline and made her look heavy. Only the high cheekbones and dark shining eyes hinted at her real appearance.

Just like before, she was too shy to talk about herself very much; instead she wanted to hear all about me. In short order I was recounting my trials and tribulations as a result of "my" porno career.

"That's just terrible, Peter," she sympathized. "I'm so sorry you've had to go through all that. Let me have a look at the video so I can determine how I can help you."

Somewhat uncomfortably, I handed over the flash drive and she led me to a large monitor connected to a computer system I didn't recognize. As it began to play, I winced at the sex playing out on the screen and the passion-filled cries from the young woman on the bed. "I'm sorry you have to watch this, Zahira," I apologized. "I swear to you that's not me."

"Don't apologize, Peter. Of course it's not you. You would never... oh!" She stopped abruptly as the male turned toward the camera, grinned and flashed a thumbs-up. A grave expression came over her face. "Now I see the problem."

We watched the video several more times, with Zahira furiously scribbling notes to herself. After the third run-through, she stopped the computer and turned to me. "Alright, Peter, let's start with the obvious. Do you have any tattoos, scars or visible defects?"

I understood immediately. "No, nothing other than that scar on my eyebrow that shows up in the video."

She nodded and made a note. "Height and weight?"

"I'm six feet one and weigh 175 pounds the last time I checked."

"Excellent: ideal body mass index. OK, what kind of underwear do you have on?"

"Uh... what?!"

Her caramel-colored complexion turned red. "I suppose I didn't ask that properly. I need to shoot some video of you to compare your body to the male in the video. I wouldn't ask you to strip completely, of course, so briefs or boxer-briefs would work best, you see?"

It was my turn to blush. "Um, OK, I guess I can do that."

"You can use the restroom to change," she told me, pointing to a door.

When I returned, stripped to my boxer briefs, I felt very uncomfortable, but she only glanced at me. Pointing toward a conference table on one side of the room, she said, "We'll use that in lieu of a bed. I'll set up the camera in the same position as the one in the video."

While I sat in a chair, she took a high-quality video camera off a shelf. Next she placed a small side table near the conference table, using a tape measure to ensure the correct distance between the two. Then, after using marking tape to make an X on the table, she motioned me over and handed me the video camera. "Remember at the beginning how the man in the video set up the camera? I want you to do the same thing, being careful not to show your face. Next, please go over and climb up on the conference table and rest on your knees. Finally I'll have you turn and face the camera, just like the video."

The first time I felt extremely self-conscious about parading around in my underwear in front of Zahira. But after we repeated the whole sequence several times, I began to feel like an actor walking through a scene with a perfectionist for a director.

Finally she was satisfied. "OK, you can put your clothes on while I do some measurements."

When I was dressed, I walked to her big monitor to look over her shoulder. She had the original video on one side, and the new footage she'd just shot on the other. She looked up at me with satisfaction. "I can say with a fair degree of confidence that the man, um, entertaining the young lady is not you. He is approximately an inch shorter and five pounds heavier than you."

"That's fantastic, Zahira!"

She wasn't smiling. "I'm only 78% certain my calculations are correct, Peter. I don't think that will prove sufficient for a skeptical audience."

"Maybe not, but still..."

"That's not all, Peter. I'm 97% certain that the head and face turned toward the camera at the end of the video belong to you."

My mouth fell open. "That's not possible -- I wasn't there. I never, er, 'entertained' that girl."

Zahira patted my arm. "I believe you, Peter, honestly. I think what's been done is that two separate video sequences have been married very artfully to make it look like you were the male in the resulting video. You're the victim of a deepfake."

I sat down, shaking my head in disbelief. "Can they actually do something like that?"

She nodded. "Actually, it's possible to do much more. The portion of the video where you turned to face the camera was very brief, so it wouldn't take that much work. I'm guessing that whoever did this got hold of some cellphone video of you smiling for the camera and spliced it in, then manipulated it so that the lighting, skin tones and other differences all matched up. It's not simple to do, but for an expert it's entirely possible."

"Is there any way to prove that's what was done? For that matter, is there any way to tell who might have done it?"

She shook her head doubtfully. "I can't say for sure, but it's unlikely." Then, seeing my dismay, she offered, "Let me look at this more closely and I should be able to tell you something definitive tomorrow. Could we get together to talk about it over lunch?"

"I'd like that," I told her, and she brightened.

I had a lot to think about that evening. I'd known all along that the video was faked, I just didn't know how it had been done. Now the question was whether I could convince Estelle and our old friends. And what about my old company? How would I even go about doing that? Zahira hadn't exactly handed me a smoking gun.

Later, lying in bed, I had another thought: Do I even want to try? Oh, I definitely wanted the truth known and my reputation restored. But did I still want to try to get back with Estelle? I resented how little faith she'd shown in me, but I knew I would have reacted the same way if our roles had been reversed. Even if I could convince her about what really happened, our lives had been separated and a lot of water had gone under the bridge. The same was true about our old friends.

And what about trying to get my old job back? Did I even want that? There were a lot of risks to my new company, but the work was a lot more exciting than my old responsibilities.

I fell asleep without any answers.

I got an early start on my work the next morning so I'd have more time to spend with Zahira. It was good to reconnect with her, and I was eager to hear if she'd uncovered anything else.

When I got to the restaurant we'd agreed on, I was surprised to see another woman sitting at the table with Zahira. "This is my sister Priya," Zahira introduced us. "She's here on vacation. I forgot she was arriving today -- I hope you don't mind if she joins us."

"Not at all," I said and shook Priya's hand. It was obvious that she and Zahira were sisters, but where Zahira looked like she'd just come from the lab, Priya looked like she'd just stepped down from the runway of a fashion show. Her clothing was stylish and sexy without being inappropriate, her long black hair was stylishly coiffed, and her make-up looked professionally done.

"So," she said in a warm voice, "you're the Peter Graves Zahira is always talking about. It's nice to finally meet you."

I couldn't help noticing the blush that came over Zahira's face before she looked hastily away.

"So where have you come from and what do you do, Priya?" I asked after we were all seated.

"I'm currently living in London," she explained casually. "I've been doing a little acting in a production in the West End that just wound up. It's been a bit demanding, so I decided to take a break and come spend a little time catching up with my big sister."

To be honest, I was a bit intimidated by Priya's glamorous appearance and credentials, but she proved to be unaffected and quick to put me at ease. It was also soon clear that she was very close to her sister, despite the different paths the two women had followed.

After a few minutes of pleasant conversation about her life, she turned the conversation towards me. "Zahira has been telling me a little about the calamity that has befallen you. How did it all come about?"

And with that I found myself recounting my tale of woe one more time. It helped that both sisters seemed so supportive, and both expressed anger at what I'd had to go through.

By the time I finished recapping my situation we'd all finished lunch, and Zahira suggested we return to her office to continue the discussion. I hesitated at the idea of watching porn with not one but two attractive ladies, but I quickly learned that Zahira's investigation had been done at the pixel level, which wasn't sexy at all.

Seated in front of Zahira's big computer monitor, we watched as she pointed out evidence of the tampering that had been done to graft one video onto another. She also had charts comparing color scales and lighting levels. My heart sank as I watched: it was all way too technical to convince a lay person. The bottom line was there was no smoking gun to prove it wasn't me in the video.

Just as Zahira was finishing, my phone rang, and when I saw it was Mitch Fredericks, the detective, calling, I put it on speaker so the others could hear as well.

"How's the investigation going over there, Zahira?" he asked when I told him where I was.

"It's pretty clear to me that we're dealing with a deepfake here, Mitch," she explained. "There are a number of telltale signs that point that way. Having said that, I haven't found anything that would indicate the source of the deception."

"I've struck out on my end as well," I added, describing what I'd found out from my former secretary. "I guess it's possible that Jonathan Swayze, my old rival, might have done all this for revenge, but if so, he didn't gain much from all that effort. I really think that's a dead end. What about you -- have you found out anything?"

"Actually, I may have something of interest for you. Were you aware that your ex-wife has a boyfriend?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. She's free to go out with anyone she wants now."

"Would it surprise you to learn that she's been seen with her boyfriend from the time you first moved out of the house? And a couple of her neighbors hinted that she might have been seeing him a lot earlier than that?"

My temperature started to rise. "No, I was most definitely not aware of that."

"Would it surprise you if I told you her boyfriend's name is Mario Ignacio?"

"Son of a bitch!" I exploded. "He was the guy who was supposedly giving Estelle art lessons!"

"Yeah, well there's reason to believe he was giving your wife lessons, but not in graphic arts. This Ignacio is quite a character. He fancies himself a great artist, but he can't make a living selling his art. The word is that he looks for gullible women to support him until they wise up to what's going on. Supposedly, he persuaded his last victim to divorce her husband and move in with him. Then, when she'd used up all her divorce settlement, he left her and moved here."

"I can't believe Estelle could be so stupid," I moaned.

"And there's something more, Peter. Ignacio's preferred medium is digital art. If we're looking for a suspect, I think we just found one."

Zahira gasped; then she began peppering Mitch with questions. Finally I cleared my throat and spoke up. "Let's slow down and see where we are. First, it sounds like we have a credible suspect, one who's capable of creating a 'deepfake.' But, do we have any way to prove he did it?" I asked, looking at Zahira.

"No," she conceded. "Short of getting hold of his computer and finding the altered files, there's no way to prove it conclusively. And, as I indicated earlier, there's no way to prove definitively that the video on the porn site is truly a deepfake."

"There's another thing that bothers me," I said. "My lawyer, told me that if Estelle wanted a divorce she could get one for any reason or no reason. If she wanted to dump me to be with her boyfriend, why bother getting him to create a deepfake? She gets half our joint assets without taking any risk."

Silence gripped the room until Priya's proper English accent spoke up. "I know exactly why your ex-wife would do such a thing. Don't you see," she went on, "if she walks out on Peter to be with her lover, she's the tart. Her friends, her family and everyone who knows her would look down on her for being unfaithful. But if she can make Peter out to be the cheater, she gets all their support and sympathy. And what could be more convincing than videographic proof that her husband was unfaithful?"

"You're right," Mitch's voice came through the phone. "Their female friends would be disgusted by Peter's infidelity, and their male friends would be shocked at his stupidity for posting the proof on the internet."

"Son of a bitch!" I cursed again. "It's all starting to make sense." I looked at Zahira and Priya. "It's bad enough that Estelle cheated. But what really gets to me is that she was willing to ruin my life just so she wouldn't be criticized."

I lifted my hands in a half-shrug. "So what do I do about it? And don't say 'let it go,' because there's no way I can to that."

"Please don't think about violence, Peter" Zahira said quickly. "I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I know, Zahira, but it sure is tempting after what they've put me through."

"What we ought to do is the same thing they did: create a deepfake video that would show the world what they're really like," Mitch suggested.

"Yeah, that would have a certain poetic justice to it," I agreed, "but I don't have a clue how to do that." I shook my head in discouragement. "To be honest, I don't have any ideas at all."

To our surprise, it was Priya who spoke up. "We don't need violence and we don't need digital trickery." She gave us a knowing smile. "All we need are humanity's oldest weaknesses: greed and lust."

When she told us what she had in mind, I immediately opposed the idea. "That's too bizarre -- they'd never buy a wild story like that."

Zahira was equally adamant. "It's too dangerous, Priya. You'd be putting yourself at risk. Who knows what Mario is capable of, or Estelle, for that matter?"

Before Priya could respond, Mitch jumped in. "I don't think the risk element is all that high. There's nothing in Mario's past to indicate a violent nature. Besides, we could set it up so I'd be around to provide protection to Priya. I could be her chauffeur, and she could have a panic button to use if she feels threatened."

Everyone began to toss out ideas and, much to my surprise, we soon found ourselves hashing out details that would make the fake more credible. Priya was already sketching out dialogue, and it was obvious she loved the idea of starring in her own drama. Maybe we can actually pull this off, I thought by the time we finished.

******************

Nine Months Prior

When she finished her sandwich, Estelle Graves sat the food wrapping down on the park bench and turned to her sister. "I want to tell you something in strictest confidence, Kayla. I think Peter and I are going to split up."