A Fraud Among Giants
Communism was a what
A Fraud Among Giants by Tate Flicker
The phone had been ringing incessantly all morning, but Jenna couldn’t bring herself to care. Ms. Martin had been hysterical all week about the color of her new sofa. Apparently when the old woman had agreed to an off-white color scheme for her living room, she didn’t realize that the pieces would be, well, not white. This was the part of being a work-from-home interior designer that Jenna hated.
But there was one bright spot that was bound to make this dreary day more bearable: Jenna’s package had arrived.
Two weeks ago, during an auction held over the dark web, Jenna had dared herself to bid on a “mystery box.” She did it not because it was something that Jenna Branch would do, but because it was something that Tulpina Harris, international collector of curiosities, would do. Tulpina Harris was a regular at these auctions. A legitimate buyer, if you asked the shady figures at the other end of such deals.
None of them had to know that Tulpina Harris did not exist.
Jenna Branch set aside her work as Agnes Green, interior designer whose business was conducted entirely through photos, software, and phone calls, and turned her attention to the plain manila envelope sitting on her desk.
“Jenna, honey, you really shouldn’t open that,” her mother shouted from the galley kitchen. Mary Branch was the sensible one, but she was also an enabler. Though perfectly aware that Jenna liked to step into other identities as if they were different pairs of shoes, Mary had never tried to stop her daughter. And she had certainly never reported her to the police.
Jenna thought that her mother secretly admired her little escapades.
The manila envelope was easy to tear open and appeared empty at first glance, though after a few shakes it coughed up a small piece of expensive black cardstock. It was printed with silver lettering and bore a logo that Jenna had never seen before: A silver coffee bean enclosing a curly letter “O”.
Ten years ago, we introduced the world’s first synthetic coffee.
Today, our company is stronger than ever.
Join us to honor ten years of Onyx Coffee and witness the launch of our next game-changer. May 10th. 6 O’Clock. Gotham Hall.
Interesting. It had been far too long since Jenna had been to a party. “Mom, I’ll be going out tomorrow night,” she called, a grin on her face.
An updo, some red lipstick, a designer black gown “borrowed” from the specialty dry cleaners nearby, and a set of diamonds won in a sketchy online poker game were all Jenna needed to shed her current self and become Jacqueline DuBois.
Jenna Branch was a nobody.
Jacqueline DuBois, however, was a powerful real estate mogul. She was beautiful, elegant, wealthy, and ambitious. She had her own Wikipedia page, but was otherwise a ghost on social media. And like Tulpina Harris and Agnes Green, she was entirely fictitious.
Jenna grabbed a vintage clutch, a remnant of her mother’s days as an assistant to New York’s wealthiest businessmen, and slid the invitation inside. Her patent leather high heels were already digging into her feet as she left her apartment, but she knew the discomfort would be worth it. Nothing compared to the rush, the escapism, of becoming someone else for a night.
The room was dimly lit, carpeted, and chandeliered. The hum of small talk spread throughout, the partygoers reduced to a sea of gowns and tuxedos. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne drifted in and out of view, and Jenna helped herself to a glass as a waiter passed by with a tray.
She took a moment to scan the faces around her. Some guests were recognizable from features in magazines and newspapers. Others were unknown to Jenna but exuded wealth all the same. Her eyes eventually fell on the person she was looking for.
Phoebe Grant was the wife of Argus Grant, the man who had founded Onyx Coffee. Phoebe herself was entrenched in the world of fashion, famous for sitting in the front row of every runway show that mattered. Her blonde hair was always perfectly blown out and her skin was always glowing. Everyone in New York either wanted to be Phoebe Grant or meet her.
Jenna approached Phoebe, who was in the middle of a seemingly unbearable conversation, without hesitation.
“Phoebe Grant.” Jenna held out her hand, smiling. “Jacqueline DuBois. We met at the gala last month.” Fake it ‘til you make it.
“Jacqueline! It’s so good to see you.” Phoebe ignored the handshake and instead planted air-kisses on both of Jenna’s cheeks. “Thank you so much for coming.” Oh, Phoebe was a pro. She feigned recognition so convincingly that an onlooker might assume that she and “Jacqueline” were old friends.
Jenna laughed. “I wouldn’t miss it!”
Phoebe leaned in. “And thanks for rescuing me from Phil. He’s insufferable, as I’m sure you remember from that gala you mentioned.”
Phoebe was onto her, Jenna realized. But the other woman didn’t seem to care. In fact, she chatted with Jenna for far longer than she probably should have, turning away the other guests who were clearly trying to get closer to Argus.
“It’s silly of me,” Phoebe said, turning to Jenna with a second glass of champagne in hand, “But I don’t remember putting you on the guest list.”
Jenna reached into her clutch and produced the invitation. “It’s funny you say that. I didn’t expect to receive this either, but here we are!”
Phoebe gave her a long look before flipping her hair and downing the rest of her drink. “Here we are.”
Jenna noticed Argus Grant making his way across the room. Their eyes met for a moment, and Jenna watched his eyebrows crinkle as he drew a blank. He was probably wondering which friend of Phoebe’s she was.
He came up behind his wife and put a hand on her shoulder, his grin showing off shockingly white teeth. “Phoebe, you haven’t introduced me to your lovely friend.”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows at Jenna, her eyes betraying a spark of excitement. The mystery of Jacqueline DuBois was as much an adventure for her as it was for Jenna. “This is Jacqueline DuBois,” Phoebe told her husband. “We met at a fashion show last season. I believe she was there to...”
“To get a feel for the building, actually,” Jenna finished, holding her hand out for Argus to shake. “Real estate is one of my many passions.”
Argus looked her up and down, frowning before he took her hand. “Huh. Nice to meet you.” He knew Jenna was a fraud. Somehow, he knew.
“I’m excited to hear that big announcement of yours. Onyx has been doing so well.”
“It has, it has.” Argus let out a long breath, looking over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, I’m thinking we should make that big announcement now. Excuse me, ladies.”
Argus made a beeline for the front of the room, leaving Jenna and Phoebe standing alone among the increasingly restless partygoers.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t tell him,” Phoebe said, fiddling with her empty champagne flute. There was a smear of red lipstick on the rim. It looked like blood.
“Not really,” Jenna admitted. “I figured you were just having too much fun playing along.”
“Playing along,” Phoebe murmured, her eyes downcast. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She looked straight into Jenna’s eyes, her own grey gaze sharp despite the alcohol. “I don’t know
anything about you, Jacqueline DuBois, but I know that you can be whoever you want, whenever you want. You have more freedom than I will ever have.”
Jenna said nothing, becoming increasingly intrigued by this woman. This woman who seemed to have everything, who was a regular in the tabloids and had her interviews published in Vogue.
Phoebe smiled joylessly before gesturing toward Argus. “We should probably pay attention to my husband. He’s about to begin.”
Argus Grant had taken his place behind a sleek mahogany podium. Behind him was a curtain, presumably obscuring whatever big surprise he had planned. He spread his arms and the noise died down, as if by magic. “Ladies, gentlemen, coffee drinkers of all ages!”
A laugh rippled through the crowd, and Jenna had to resist rolling her eyes. These people would laugh at anything in order to suck up to Grant.
Argus smiled, basking in the glory of his wealth and influence. “Ten years ago, we introduced our synthetic coffee. No beans, no bitterness, but higher quality than any coffee on the market. Today, we change the world again.”
The curtain behind him dropped, revealing tables piled high with glass jars, the contents of which seemed to be a dark powder. A gasp echoed throughout the room, though no one yet knew what they were looking at.
Argus paused for effect before continuing. “Onyx Coffee is proud to introduce our new line of synthetic chocolate. The same high quality, without the hassle of harvesting cocoa beans. Beanless, beautiful, and more delicious than any chocolate you have ever tried before.”
Jenna could not help feeling a bit disappointed as applause broke out around her. Synthetic chocolate was all well and good, but it was predictable. She hated predictability almost as much as she hated using her real name.
She and Argus locked eyes for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. She watched him signal to his security team, point her out, whisper something into the ear of a burly man who was more than capable of removing her by force.
Time to go. Phoebe started to say something, but Jenna was already weaving through the crowd. She passed a waiter wheeling a golden cart filled with mini jars of synthetic chocolate toward the front of the room. Jenna bumped into the cart and apologized profusely to the man pushing it while her hand darted out and grabbed one of the jars. She deserved a party favor, she thought.
Feeling the security team at her back, she quickened her pace until she stepped out into moonlight. The night breeze smelled like success as Jenna walked along the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder to confirm that she wasn’t being followed.
She stopped only when she had made it around the corner, breathing in fresh air and clutching the jar of synthetic chocolate to her chest. She wondered how much a jar of Onyx chocolate, not yet released to the public, would go for on the dark web. But there was no need to look for the money in everything. The chocolate would make a nice treat for her mother, as well.
Jenna Branch, carrying an evening clutch containing a business card for Agnes Green, a driver’s license for Sophie Page, an invitation acquired as Tulpina Harris, a phone registered to Emily Goldstein, and a lipstick worn by Jacqueline DuBois, could not keep the grin off her face as she hailed a taxi.
