Life Beyond the Login

Clara called just as Mia was about to eat lunch.

"Sis, I'm losing my mind."

"Why? What happened?"

"I sent you a video. Watch the whole thing."

A video appeared beneath the call window.

A flower-covered arch. Clara smiling brightly. It was the garden where Clara had held her ARCA fan meetup a few days earlier. Upbeat music played as the camera moved from one guest to another, then settled on a woman.

She was crying.

You helped me get through it.

The footage slowed as Clara pulled the woman into a hug. An advertising slogan appeared over them.

Technology that understands your heart.

Mia paused the video.

"Wait… isn't that the fan you told me about? The one who saw the butterfly?"

"Yeah."

"Did she agree to be in an ad?"

"She said it was fine to take pictures at the event. She never agreed to have her voice and her story used to sell something."

Clara sent another message.

When you told me we'd get through this together, was that just for the cameras, too?

Mia stared at the words. For days after celebrating the first anniversary of meeting Logan, she'd smiled every time she looked at the picture of the cake he'd sent her. But a memory from that same day had come back to Clara in an entirely different form.

"Have you talked to her?"

"We're meeting now. Will you come with me?"

"I'll be there."

Mia put her untouched salad in the refrigerator and logged into ARCA.

The flower arrangements were still up in the fan-meet garden. Clara was pacing beneath the arch when Mia arrived, and she came straight over.

"I told them to take it down, but nobody's answering. The ad's still running."

"Let's talk to her first."

A little while later, a notification appeared at the garden entrance.

The woman from the video walked in. Clara started toward her, then stopped. Unlike the last time they'd met, the woman wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

The three of them sat at a nearby table.

"I thought they were just going to post pictures," the woman began. "My friends keep sending me the video and asking if that's me. Now strangers are talking about what I went through."

"I'm sorry," Clara said. "Nobody told me they were going to use it in an ad, either. I've asked them to take it down."

The woman clasped her hands tightly.

"That day, you told me we'd keep hanging in there together. Did you mean it?"

"Of course I did."

Clara answered immediately, then pressed her lips together.

"…I guess it's hard to believe anything I say right now."

"That day meant so much to me."

Clara looked at her for a long moment before speaking softly.

"It meant a lot to me, too. I was grateful you came up to me and told me your story. None of that had anything to do with filming."

Tears filled the woman's eyes.

"Please don't make an apology video. I don't want people talking about me all over again. I just want the ad taken down."

"Okay. I won't share anything you don't want me to."

Clara didn't reach for her. When the woman stood and opened her arms, Clara got up and hugged her.

Mia watched from a short distance away.

Clara had told her that a glowing blue butterfly had flown past while she was hugging this fan. She'd tried to take a picture but missed it, and she'd been disappointed.

Now the butterfly and the warmth of that hug were no longer what the woman remembered most. All she could think about was the fear of strangers watching her story.

As soon as the fan left, Clara called her attorney.

Meanwhile, Mia gathered copies of the published ad, the event's filming notice, and the promotional materials Clara had approved. Those materials covered photos and short videos introducing the event. There was nothing about using a fan's deeply personal story—or her voice—in a product advertisement.

"How far has it spread?" Mia asked.

Clara turned her ad management screen toward her.

"I thought it was just on the official account. It's running on other accounts, too."

The attorney said they would preserve the relevant materials and demand that the ads be taken down. After hearing what the fan wanted, the attorney also suggested keeping her updated privately rather than posting a public apology video.

"They can meet with us right now," Clara said, ending the call.

"I'll come with you."

"Sis, what about your work today?"

"It can wait a little."

"I'm sorry."

Mia shook her head.

"Buy me dinner sometime."

"I'll take you somewhere expensive."

"I'm holding you to that."

Clara managed a brief smile. But when the meeting invitation arrived, her expression hardened again.

Two brand representatives and an outside business associate were already waiting in the virtual conference room. Clara's attorney joined by video.

The last man to enter recognized Mia.

"Mia?"

She remembered him, too.

They'd met a year earlier at Clara's farewell party in Bali. He'd approached her claiming to invest in AI projects and virtual real estate, and he'd asked if she wanted to meet up in Tokyo. Mia hadn't even given him her contact information.

"Long time no see."

He smiled as he took a seat.

Clara had no intention of exchanging pleasantries.

"Take the ad down."

The man smiled and crossed his legs.

"Clara, people were moved because you hugged that woman. You didn't do anything wrong."

"She doesn't want it out there."

"Once someone puts their story on the internet, they can't control how other people respond to it."

Mia looked at him.

"Does that mean you can use it in an ad without her permission?"

This time, the man smiled at Mia.

"You're still as difficult as ever, Mia. You were the same way when we met in Bali."

"Please answer the question."

His smile faded a little.

"You can't stop an entire business every time somebody feels uncomfortable."

"Taking someone's story without permission isn't business."

After a brief silence, the man said, "That's a shame. I thought you and I could do something pretty big together."

Clara gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Hold on. Are you seriously offering my friend a job right now?"

"Finding talented people is part of what I do."

"Wow. Unbelievable."

The attorney cut in.

"A business proposal is not on the agenda for this meeting. Please respond to the request to remove the advertisement."

The man gave one of the representatives a look.

The video on the official account was immediately made private. But they were told that separate takedown requests would have to be sent to each outside advertising account where it had been distributed.

"Send every one of those requests today," Clara said. "And send us confirmation that you've done it."

The representative nodded.

The man smiled again.

"I still think you're making an awfully big deal out of this, but if that's what you want."

Clara refused to look at him again.

As the meeting ended, the man called out to Mia.

"Mia, one moment."

Clara turned around.

"What?"

"I'd like to discuss a separate proposal with her."

"Right now?"

"It won't take long."

Mia told Clara to go ahead and continue talking with the attorney. She wasn't staying because she was interested in the offer. She wanted to hear what he was trying to say to her in connection with Clara's situation, then put an end to it.

Once Clara was gone, the man pulled up a contract in front of Mia.

"Things got a little tense back there. But business is business, and an opportunity is an opportunity."

Mia didn't even open the contract.

"Take down every copy of Clara's fan's video first."

"Our team is handling that."

"Then we have nothing to discuss."

Mia was about to stand when he spoke again.

"You're quite good at what you do, Mia."

She stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"You work on projects for companies in Seoul, among other things. All those last-minute revision requests before a launch must get exhausting."

"Stay out of my work."

"There's no need to be so guarded."

The man smiled, leaving the contract open.

"If I were you, I'd build a more generous revision budget into the contract from the start. That way, you wouldn't have to bill an extra two thousand dollars like you did last time."

Mia stared at him.

"…Two thousand dollars?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that amount?"

He shrugged.

"Bali's a small place."

"I never told you about that."

"Maybe you mentioned it at the party."

Mia thought back to that night. He'd asked her to meet him in Tokyo, and she hadn't even given him her contact information. They'd barely talked about her work at all.

"Tell me where you heard about my work."

"When you're interested in someone, you pick things up."

"Then stop taking an interest in my work."

Mia rejected the contract.

"There won't be a next time."

He made no attempt to stop her.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Mia left the conference room.

"What did he want?" Clara asked.

"To work with me."

"With that guy?"

"Obviously, I said no."

"God, seriously…"

Before Clara could get worked up again, Mia asked, "Did you tell him anything about my work at your farewell party?"

"No. Why?"

"He knew how much I got paid for a job."

Clara blinked.

"You didn't tell him?"

"No."

"The exact amount?"

"Down to the dollar."

Clara thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"I barely even know which clients you're working with."

Mia remembered having her laptop open at the party. She'd been busy finishing work until late and had checked another work notification after she arrived.

"Sis, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Mia didn't want to make Clara even more anxious over something she couldn't explain.

"Let's finish dealing with your ad first."

Together, they updated the attorney on the meeting. The official video was down, but the ad was still running on outside accounts.

Clara sent the fan a short message explaining where things stood.

Beside her, Mia found herself replaying the man's words.

That way, you wouldn't have to bill an extra two thousand dollars like you did last time.

She had never told him that amount.

Back at her apartment, Mia opened her laptop and searched through her old transaction records.

Rush revisions — additional fee: $2,000.

She'd charged the fee when a cosmetics company in Seoul requested another round of changes to work it had already approved. The deadline had been tight enough that she'd worked through the weekend. She'd explained the additional charge to the client and received payment.

Mia checked the date of Clara's farewell party.

It was the same day.

She'd sent the client the revised quote that day. Then, while Clara kept messaging her to hurry up, the payment notification had come through.

Mia opened the party photos Clara had sent her afterward. There she was, holding a champagne glass. The man was standing behind her.

A single photograph proved nothing.

She was about to close it when a video call came in from her client in Seoul.

"Mia, do you have a moment?"

"Of course. What's going on?"

"Have you shared our prelaunch materials with another company?"

Mia frowned.

"No. Why?"

"We received a strange proposal."

The client sent her a file.

The cover promised a new virtual shopping district in ARCA.

A next-generation exclusive marketplace for global brands.

Mia turned to the next page and stopped.

There was the name of the new cosmetics product she'd been working on. Its unreleased launch date and campaign copy were there, too.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was sent to our international headquarters. They contacted us to ask whether we'd agreed to open a store there."

"A store?"

"We were only considering it, remember?"

That was right. Mia and the client had discussed launching the new product in ARCA, but they hadn't finalized a location or approved a budget.

Yet the proposal listed the client as a confirmed tenant brand.

Mia opened her own planning document and compared the two. Even the copy she'd cut from the final version was there, along with dates meant for internal review only.

"I created this proposal. I haven't shared it with anyone outside your company."

The client's expression tightened.

"Then why is our name in here?"

Mia had no answer.

"I'm not blaming you," the client said. "But until we know how much information has been exposed, I think we'll need to put the next phase of work on hold."

"Understood. I'll look into it right away. Please keep the original proposal."

The call ended.

Mia opened the last page of the proposal.

A small logo appeared beneath the operator's name.

It was the same logo she'd seen in the conference room.

A little while later, another message arrived from the client.

Mia, I'm sending over the contract documents our international headquarters received, too.

The attached files listed four brands scheduled to open stores in ARCA's virtual shopping district. Mia's client was one of them.

The man had promised all four companies exclusive operating rights to the same prime section of the district.

Mia read the wording again.

Exclusive use. Competing brands and businesses in the same category prohibited.

If one brand had exclusive rights, he couldn't sell those same rights to another.

Yet every contract identified the exact same location.

Mia turned to the page with the figures.

The advance payment was $1.5 million per brand.

Across all four contracts, the advance payments alone added up to $6 million.

Of course, she had no way of knowing whether any of that money had actually been paid. She didn't know whether the contracts were genuine, either, or whether ARCA had authorized the man to sell those rights in the first place.

But one thing was certain: Mia's client had never signed a deal.

And yet the man's business materials presented the client's brand name and launch plans as though a major agreement had already been secured.

Mia opened another page with trembling fingers.

Projected revenue for ARCA's new shopping district. Launch schedules for tenant brands. Advertising plans. Information that appeared to have come from several different companies had been pieced together into one business proposal.

Her own planning document was being used as proof that the operator had already landed a major brand.

Then a message arrived from the investor.

My offer still stands, Mia.

She didn't reply.

In the conference room, he'd acted as though he were offering her a job. But the work she had created was already being used in somebody else's contracts.

Mia saved the documents her client had sent and called Clara.

"Sis, that guy from the meeting…"

"Yeah? What about him?"

"Can you ask your attorney if I can talk to them, too?"

Clara's voice changed.

"What happened?"

Mia opened the four contracts again.

"He's selling my client's name."

"What?"

"He's listing them as a confirmed tenant in an ARCA shopping district they never agreed to join."

Mia stared at the page showing the payment amounts.

"The advance payments in these contracts add up to

Eight hundred thousand dollars!"