Brandon, our office intern, was the resident "Golden Boy." Everyone in the firm was convinced he was some billionaire’s heir playing at a career. This past April Fool's Day, he went all out, buying gifts for the entire department out of his own pocket. The team practically worshipped him for it. I didn't realize the truth until my front door was doused in thick, crimson spray paint and "SCAMMER" was keyed into my car. Brandon hadn't spent a dime. He had used my phone number to create accounts, exploited a "refund-only" loophole to keep the goods while getting the cash back, and effectively framed me for a massive retail fraud scheme. Overnight, I became the internet’s favorite villain—a "professional fraudster." When I confronted him, he just tucked himself behind my fiancée, looking like a kicked puppy. "Jordan, I know you’re jealous that everyone likes me more, but you can’t just invent lies to ruin me." My fiancée, Rachel, didn't even hesitate. She shielded Brandon and slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. "Jordan, your greed finally caught up to you. Don't you dare try to pin your filth on Brandon. You’re pathetic." My colleagues joined the chorus, filming me with their phones, calling me a moral stain. In the ensuing scuffle, as I tried to grab the evidence, Brandon shoved me. I tumbled backward, shattering the glass of the thirteenth-floor window. As I fell, the last thing I saw was the entire office standing at the ledge, watching. Later, I’d learn they all gave false statements, claiming I jumped because my "guilt" was too much to bear. They used the payout from my corporate life insurance to throw a celebratory dinner. Between bites of steak, they laughed about me. "A cheapskate like Jordan? Honestly, the world is better off without him." Then, I blinked. The smell of expensive cologne and office coffee hit me. I was back at my desk. It was the morning Brandon announced his grand gesture. … "Since April Fool’s is just around the corner, I wanted to do something special," Brandon announced, his voice booming with that practiced, easy charisma. "To thank you all for taking care of the 'new guy,' I’m footing the bill for a round of holiday gifts for everyone!" The office erupted. People literally stood up to cheer. "Oh my god, Brandon! You’re way too generous!" "A real-life Prince Charming! We’re so lucky to have you." A moment later, Brandon was at my elbow, looking slightly bashful. "Hey, Jordan? Could you do me a quick favor? Can I send a verification code to your phone?" My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. I looked up at him. He was smiling—that shy, dimpled look that hid the predatory gleam in his eyes. "My friend just opened a boutique shop," he continued, the words identical to my previous life. "She needs to hit a member-referral quota for her investors. If I sign you up, she’ll give me a forty-percent discount on the gifts for the team. Help a guy out?" I sat there, frozen. I remembered what came next. He would bind my number to his shopping accounts, go on a "refund-only" spree, and leave me with the debt and the criminal record. My number would be blacklisted by every major retailer; my personal info would be leaked by angry vendors. I thought of the red paint on my door. I thought of Rachel’s hand against my cheek. "Jordan, come on," Brandon prodded. "It’s just a text." I gritted my teeth, the phantom pain of the fall still echoing in my bones. I spoke coldly. "My phone is for personal use only. I don't participate in 'referral' schemes." Brandon’s face fell instantly. He looked like I’d slapped him. "Jordan... I already promised her. If I get thirty people to register, she’s sending over thirty premium ergonomic massage pillows for the whole department. Everyone gets one. You’re the last person I need. Just one code, please?" The colleagues nearby caught wind of this. Their eyes lit up at the mention of the $300 pillows. "Seriously, Jordan? It’s a text message, not a kidney," one of the senior analysts snapped. "Brandon is paying for everything. Don't be a buzzkill." "Yeah, don't be that guy," another chimed in. "We’ve all been working overtime. We need those pillows." I felt a cold smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. It’s easy to be "generous" with someone else's life. "I’m sorry. I’m not comfortable with it." Rachel marched over then, her brow furrowed in that specific way that meant she was embarrassed by me. "Jordan, what is wrong with you? Brandon is trying to do something nice for the whole team. Just cooperate. It’s not going to kill you." Actually, it did, I thought. Brandon sighed, looking down at his expensive loafers. "Jordan, look... if you think the pillows are too cheap, I’ll add in a little something extra for you. How about a solid gold commemorative coin? From Tiffany’s? Just as a thank you for the 'trouble' of receiving a text." Rachel’s eyes softened as she looked at Brandon. "You are way too good to him, Brandon. He’s being difficult, and you’re offering him gold?" She turned to me, her voice sharp with disdain. "Did you hear that? He’s offering you a luxury gift just to be a team player. I wish you had half of Brandon’s class. Give him the code. Now." I actually laughed. "No thanks. I’m not that desperate for a handout. Give your gold to someone else." Brandon bit his lip, his voice trembling slightly—a masterclass in manipulation. "Is the gold not enough? How much do you want, Jordan? My allowance for the month is mostly gone after buying these gifts, but I can get you the new Armani watch next month? Just... please don't let the team down." Rachel looked at me like I was something she’d stepped in on the sidewalk. "Unbelievable. You’re holding out to extort a kid? A watch and a gold coin... that’s thousands of dollars. More than your phone is even worth. Just give him the damn code and stop being a parasite." "Exactly," a coworker hissed. "Brandon is a literal heir, and he’s being so humble. You’re just jealous he’s more popular than you." "Typical Jordan. Cheap and petty. If he can't be the big shot, he tries to ruin it for everyone else." Cheap? For five years, I was the one who brought back luxury hampers from my travels for everyone. I spent thousands every Christmas making sure the support staff felt seen. They’d swallowed my gifts for years and, the second a shiny new intern arrived, they called me a "cheapskate." They weren't colleagues. They were a pack of wolves. Brandon stepped closer, his hand reaching for my shoulder. "Jordan, man, stop the act. Give me the code, and I’ll personally bring your gift to your desk tomorrow." Rachel’s voice was a low warning. "Jordan. My patience is at an end. Do the right thing." I didn't feel like arguing with idiots anymore. I stood up to walk away to the breakroom. "Stop right there!" Rachel barked. She lunged, her manicured nails digging into my hand as she tried to snatch my phone off the desk. "You won't give it? Fine. I'll get it myself!" I was faster. I lunged for the device, but in the scramble, the phone was swiped off the edge of the desk. It hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. The screen shattered into a web of dark glass. The office went silent. Rachel froze. Brandon moved like a lightning bolt, dropping to his knees to "rescue" the phone. "Oh no! Jordan, I am so sorry! This is all my fault," Brandon cried, his hands fluttering over the broken screen. "I shouldn't have pressured you. I just wanted everyone to have a nice holiday. If you’re this upset, we’ll just forget it." The whispers started immediately. "Great. There go the pillows." "What a psycho. He’d rather break his own phone than let us have a gift." "I bet he did it on purpose. If he can't have the spotlight, he breaks the stage." "I don't know how Rachel stands him. She deserves so much better." Rachel’s face was flushed with fury. "You’re insane, Jordan. I didn't realize you were this malicious. You broke your phone just to spite us?" I didn't answer her. I was watching Brandon. He was still on the floor, his fingers moving suspiciously fast over the shattered, but still glowing, screen. He wasn't checking the damage. He was trying to see if he could bypass the lock. I stepped forward and ripped the phone out of his hand. A shard of glass sliced my palm, but I didn't care. "Stay away from my things." "Jordan!" Rachel screamed. "He was trying to help! Apologize to him right now!" "Apologize?" I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. "You tried to rob me, you broke my property for an intern you barely know, and you want me to apologize? Rachel, get your head checked." "I am your fiancée! I have every right to see your phone!" "Not anymore," I said, my voice eerily calm. "We’re done, Rachel. The engagement is off. Consider the ring my 'parting gift' to your delusions." I walked out of the office, ignoring her shriek of, "Jordan! If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back!" The cold air outside cleared my head. I looked at the broken screen. When Brandon had handed it back, it hadn't been on the lock screen. He’d managed to trigger a notification that kept the display active. A chill crawled up my spine. He was already trying to get in. I hailed a cab and went straight to the flagship mobile store. "Hi, how can I help you today?" the clerk asked. "I need to deactivate this SIM and cancel the number entirely. Right now." The clerk checked the records. "Sir, you’ve had this number for ten years. You’re on a legacy premier plan. If you cancel, you lose all those grandfathered benefits." "I know," I said, my voice steady. "But this number is a ticking time bomb. Kill it." I watched him snip the SIM card. I threw the pieces into the trash outside. Three days later, the delivery trucks arrived at the office. Stacks of boxes were wheeled in, clogging the hallways. The atmosphere was electric. "Look at all of this!" "Brandon, you’re a legend!" "See? Brandon keeps his word. Unlike some people who act like a text message is a life-or-death situation." Brandon was the man of the hour, directing the distribution like a young CEO. He picked up the largest, heaviest box and brought it over to my desk. "Jordan, I got this one specifically for you. No hard feelings about the other day, okay? Happy April Fool's." I didn't touch it. I pushed it back. "No thanks. I don't want it." Brandon’s "good guy" mask flickered. "Jordan, come on. Don't be like that. I really went out of my way for this." Rachel appeared behind him, looking triumphant. "Take the gift, Jordan. Stop acting like a martyr. Brandon is being the bigger person." The office watched, waiting for me to cave. I looked at the massage pillows, the "luxury" gadgets, the jewelry boxes. I knew exactly where they came from. "I’m going to give you all one piece of advice," I said, loud enough for the room to hear. "I wouldn't keep those if I were you. Those gifts are... tainted. They aren't as 'free' as you think." The room exploded. "God, you’re bitter! Just because you didn't get to play the hero!" "He’s actually trying to curse our gifts now? How pathetic can you get?" "He’s just jealous of Brandon’s wealth. It must hurt to be so middle-class and petty." Rachel looked disgusted. "You have no soul, Jordan. Brandon’s kindness is wasted on you." I sat back, folded my arms, and waited. I had done my part. I had warned them. Brandon wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Jordan... I bought these with my own money. Why would you say that? Why do you want everyone to hate me?" Rachel grabbed his arm comfortingly. "Ignore him, Brandon. He’s just a dark, lonely person. He can't stand seeing others happy." She turned to me, her eyes spitting fire. "Apologize to him. Now." "For what? For telling the truth?" A guy from sales threw a plastic water bottle at my head. "Shut up, Jordan! Nobody wants to hear your crap!" Others followed suit—pens, crumpled paper, small office supplies began flying toward my desk. I ducked, feeling a bruise forming on my temple. Suddenly, Dave from the tech department let out a sharp, strangled gasp. "Holy shit. Guys... you need to see this." "What now, Dave?" someone groaned. Dave held up his phone, his face pale. "This thread... it’s the number one trending topic on Twitter and Reddit right now." The headline, splashed in bold, angry red, read: [EXPOSED: The 'Friendly Fraud' Serial Scammer Ripping Off Hundreds of Small Businesses. Personal Info Attached.] Brandon’s face went white as a sheet. He shot a frantic look at me, then back at the screen.
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