My Murderer Bought My Fake

At the company holiday gala, my name was pulled for the grand prize: a Herms Kelly bag with a market value of around forty-five thousand dollars.

Thrilled, I had rushed out to get it authenticated so I could sell it and finally have some breathing room. Instead, the appraiser looked at me with pity and told me it was a cheap knockoff.

After the holidays, I went straight to the office to report it to our CEO. But I was intercepted by our Head of Operations.

"Don't bother Valerie with trivial things," she had said, her voice smooth and dismissive. "Bring the bag to me. I'll handle the feedback process."

That same afternoon, I was handed a termination notice and a lawsuit.

The Operations Manager's face twisted into a victorious sneer. "The seal on the box was broken. You expect us to believe your ridiculous story? You obviously sold the real bag, bought a counterfeit, and now you're trying to extort the company!"

I was buried under a mountain of legal fees and debt. Crushed by the suffocating weight of it all, I stepped off the roof of my apartment building.

Then, I blinked.

The heavy bass of the holiday gala's DJ filled my ears. I was back.

Gemma, the Operations Manager, was standing right in front of me, handing me a pristine, shrink-wrapped orange box with a strange, calculating glint in her eyes.

I took a breath, letting the phantom feeling of the wind whipping past my falling body fade away. I turned on my heel, walked straight up to our CEO in front of a dozen colleagues, and held the box out to her.

"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Valerie," I said, pitching my voice bright and loud. "A gift this exquisite really belongs to you."

Valeries eyes lit up.

"Oh, Harper, that's I couldn't possibly," she murmured.

But her hand was already lifting, reaching for the iconic orange packaging.

This was exactly why I chose her. Valerie was a woman obsessed with status symbols. In my past life, Id heard rumors that she had been aggressively hunting for a Kelly bag to complete her collection.

If she was the one who received the fake bag, what would happen? Would a wealthy, fierce executive with zero tolerance for embarrassment be more capable of unearthing the rot in this company than a powerless junior employee like me?

"Wait!"

Gemma practically sprinted over, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. Panic flared in her eyes.

"Harper, company policy strictly states that gala prizes are registered to the winner. They are non-transferable." She positioned herself between the box and Valerie. "Operations is about to log all the winning serial numbers. If you just give it away, it throws the entire inventory process into chaos."

Valeries hand froze mid-air. The warm smile on her face iced over.

I sneered internally, but kept my face a mask of wide-eyed confusion.

"But it hasn't been logged yet, right?" I asked innocently. "Gemma, couldn't you just write Valerie's name down instead of mine? The raffle ticket was blank anyway. Its just whoever holds the prize."

Gemma flinched. She clearly hadn't expected me to push back so directly. She darted a nervous glance at Valerie and realized the CEO was staring at her, eyes narrowed in sharp displeasure.

Desperation made Gemmas voice sharp. "Corporate benefits are meant for the employees, Harper. Using a company prize to kiss up to your boss? How does that look? What will the rest of the team think?"

The room went dead silent. That crossed a line.

Heads turned. People at the nearby tables were blatantly eavesdropping now.

The implication was ugly enough to make Valerie flush. Her pride couldn't take the public hit. She withdrew her hand, her tone turning clipped and distant. "Its a sweet thought, Harper, but we do need to follow policy. Gemma is right. Keep your prize."

She didn't look at the orange box again.

My heart sank. I awkwardly pulled the box back to my chest, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry, Valerie. I wasn't thinking."

Gemma let out an audible breath of relief and patted my shoulder, her grip a little too tight. "Just remember to come over to the registration desk before you leave, Harper. Don't hold up the line."

My mind was a chaotic blur. I set the box down at my assigned table and headed straight for the restroom.

I knew one thing for sure: the ballroom was heavily surveilled. As long as I didn't leave the building with the bag, no one could accuse me of swapping it.

I had just locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed toilet lid when I heard the click-clack of Gemma's heels storming into the bathroom.

"I know! I told you I'll have the money soon! It's forty-five grand, right? Let them threaten me! So what if they call my family? Stop harassing me!"

A pause. Then a harsh, breathless laugh.

"Find out? How could they possibly find out? As long as that idiot takes the bag out of the building tonight, she can scream until she's blue in the face. Everyone will just assume she pocketed the forty-five grand herself. Whos going to believe a junior copywriter over the Operations Manager?"

I stopped breathing. The cold porcelain chilled the back of my legs.

"Valerie was practically drooling over it today Next week, Ill pitch a 'policy update' to her. Ill suggest that for any physical prize valued over ten thousand dollars, the company reserves the right to recall it and issue a cash bonus instead. When we do that, I'll force Harper to pay back the market difference! I get my debt cleared, buy a real bag to kiss up to Valerie, and I'm totally in the clear."

Another pause as the person on the other end spoke.

"And if she can't pay it back?" Gemma hissed viciously. "Then the company sues her for embezzlement of corporate assets!"

The voice on the phone muttered something else.

"Shut up!" Gemma barked, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. "Why do you think I took such a massive risk? You think I like having those loan sharks breathing down my neck? Just get through tonight, and were fine."

The call ended.

The heels clicked rapidly away, stopping briefly near the door.

"Where the hell is that stupid girl? Why hasn't she come to register yet"

The bathroom door swung shut.

Inside the stall, I was trembling. A profound, bone-deep ice spread through my veins.

So that was it.

It wasn't a simple mistake. Gemma had drowned herself in predatory online debt. She had swapped the real prize for a fake, sold the genuine Kelly bag for forty-five thousand dollars to cover her loans, and needed a fall guy.

I was the chosen sacrifice.

The moment I walked out of this hotel with that box, the stain on my name would become permanent. Even if I didn't try to sell it tomorrow, she already had a plan to legally corner me into coughing up money I didn't have.

I could not leave this party with that bag.

There were two hours left before the gala ended. Before then, I had to get this counterfeit out of my hands.

The second I sat back down in the ballroom, my phone started vibrating furiously.

Gemma was blowing up the company Slack channel.

@here Attention everyone. All physical prizes MUST be registered at the Operations desk before you leave the venue.

Employees with unregistered prizes are not permitted to exit. Please cooperate.

We are currently waiting on exactly ONE employee to register. Please come to the desk immediately so we can wrap up.

People at the tables around me were already packing up their coats. They turned to look at me, irritation plain on their faces.

"Harper, are you the holdup?"

"Just go sign the paper, come on. We want to go home."

Before I could deflect, a couple of coworkers practically herded me over to the Operations desk.

Gemma sat behind it, the registration ledger spread out in front of her. She looked up at me, her chin tilted in smug triumph.

I stood there, motionless.

Next to the desk stood Kelsey, a loudmouth from the marketing team who was tight with Gemma. She had a habit of making my life difficult.

"Look at her," Kelsey projected her voice so everyone could hear. "Wins the grand prize and suddenly she thinks she's royalty."

Kelsey had been glaring daggers at me all night; she was deeply, toxically jealous of the bag. "Some people get the luckiest break of their lives and just want to play hard to get. If you don't want it, Harper, I'll take it! God knows I wouldn't act like a snob about it."

A few people chuckled, eager for the drama.

I let my face flush, pretending her words had pushed me over the edge. I shoved the heavy orange box right into Kelsey's chest.

"Fine! Take it! You act like Im begging to keep it!"

Kelsey let out a startled gasp, instinctively wrapping her arms around the box. Her shock instantly melted into wild ecstasy. She hugged it tight, as if terrified I would snatch it back.

She whipped around to Gemma. "Gemma! Quick, put it under my name! Harper voluntarily surrendered it to me! Ha! Some people just can't handle nice things."

But Gemmas face had drained of color. Her voice cracked, shrill and panicked. "No!"

Kelsey froze, her triumphant smile faltering. "What do you mean, no?"

I mirrored Kelseys confusion. "Yeah, Gemma. Im willingly giving it to her. Aren't you two close anyway? Just make an exception for her."

Gemma shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. She choked on her words for a second before snapping, "No means no! I am following protocol! The prize must be registered under the original winners name. It has to be Harper!"

Kelsey looked like a kid who just watched her balloon float away.

Her face turned violently red, and she pointed a manicured finger right in Gemmas face.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Gemma?! Protocol? Since when do you care about protocol unless it's to kiss executive ass? Don't pull this bureaucratic bullshit with me! I'm keeping this bag!"

Kelseys voice was piercing. It immediately drew the attention of the stragglers who hadn't left the ballroom yet.

Gemma, sweating and desperate to contain the scene, grabbed Kelseys arm and hissed, "Come here! Let me explain it to you!"

She practically dragged Kelsey into a quiet corner. I watched them whisper furiously. Kelseys expression morphed from outrage to deep suspicion, her eyes darting over to me every few seconds.

Just then, a small group of senior management strolled over, clearly lured by Kelseys screaming match.

Leading the pack was Monica, the VP of Marketing. She was famously at war with Valerie over department budgets.

Monicas sharp eyes landed on the bright orange box resting on my chair. She let out a low, amused laugh.

"Well, well. Is that the infamous Herms everyones whispering about?"

She looked over her shoulder at Valerie, who was trailing slightly behind. "Valerie, isn't this the exact Kelly bag you've been obsessing over? I swear I saw on your Instagram that you were begging your personal shopper in Paris for this exact model."

Valeries face tightened. She didn't say a word.

Monica, sensing blood in the water, wasn't about to let it go. She looked Valerie up and down, feigning sudden realization. "Oh, that explains why youve been glaring at this table all night. You want it. It must be agonizing, watching an entry-level employee walk away with your dream bag while you just have to sit there."

"Watch your mouth, Monica," Valerie snapped, her voice like cracking ice.

Monica just smirked and turned to me. "Harper, honey. Didn't you try to give this to Valerie earlier? Whatever happened to that?"

Suddenly, every eye in the vicinity was pinned on me.

I ducked my head, hunching my shoulders into a posture of perfect, trembling anxiety. "I I did want to give it to her. But Gemma told me company policy explicitly forbids it. She said I wasn't allowed to transfer it to an executive."

"Oh!"

Monica drew out the syllable, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"So its a policy issue. How fascinating." She pivoted fully to face Valerie, her tone dripping with condescension. "Since when does Operations dictate what our CEO can and cannot accept? Valerie, youre telling me you let an admin manager police your gifts? Youre really that toothless? Taking orders from the party planner?"

Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger.

Monica was pretending to praise Valerie's ethics while publicly emasculating her. She was calling her weak.

Valeries chest heaved. She shot a venomous glare across the room at Gemma, who was still oblivious, whispering frantically into Kelsey's ear.

Valerie snapped. She lunged forward and slammed her hand on my table.

"Harper! Im buying the bag. Right now. Market value is forty-five thousand. I am transferring it to you this second."

The entire room seemed to stop breathing.

Playing the terrified, overwhelmed subordinate, I fumbled with the lid, hastily pulling the bright orange leather bag out of its dust bag.

Valerie snatched it from my hands. She didn't even bother to look at the stitching. She just whipped out her phone.

"Zelle. Now."

I gave her the email tied to my account.

Three seconds later, my phone buzzed. Transfer Received: $45,000.00.

Valerie gripped the handle of the fake bag, shot Monica a look that could kill, and marched out of the ballroom, her heels echoing like gunshots.

Monica chuckled softly, adjusted her blazer, and led her team away.

I immediately turned back to the registration desk.

The last line on the ledger was completely blank.

I picked up the pen and, under 'Prize Description', I wrote in neat, block letters: Herms Kelly Bag (Est. Value $45,000). I signed my name. Then, in the large 'Notes/Exceptions' column, I wrote:

Liquidated on site. Sold directly to CEO Valerie Mercer for cash. Transaction finalized and cleared.

I capped the pen, closed the empty box, and stepped back. Just in time.

Gemma and Kelsey had finally finished their little huddle and were walking back over. Kelseys face had softened, though she still looked at me with a heavy dose of schadenfreude.

"So, Harper," Kelsey drawled. "Are you giving me the bag or not? Because I already texted my friend at the consignment shop. I'm banking on that cash for my trip to Tulum next month."

Gemma stepped behind the desk, her mask of professional authority firmly back in place. "If you're going to transfer it, do it now. Im only making this exception once, and its irreversible."

They had clearly struck a deal in that corner.

I looked down, rubbing my arms, projecting deep regret. "Um I changed my mind."

"What?" Kelsey barked.

I lifted my chin, playing the part of a defensive, greedy girl perfectly. "I said I changed my mind! I already signed the registry. Im keeping it for myself!"

Kelsey looked furious, turning her glare onto Gemma. "Are you kidding me? If I hadn't listened to your stupid gossiping, I would have had it!"

Gemma looked like she was struggling not to laugh, her face twitching as she maintained her stern facade. "Well, you should have decided earlier. Stop wasting my time."

I clutched the empty box to my chest like a paranoid thief and turned to leave.

"Not so fast, Harper," Gemma called out, stepping out from behind the desk. "Since you registered it, standard protocol requires a photograph of the physical prize for the inventory archive. Open the box."

She was careful. I'll give her that.

I let my face contort into defensive hesitation. I pulled out my phone, pretending to open my camera app. In reality, I hit Record on my voice memos.

"Pictures? Sure actually, Gemma, do you mind if I take a bunch of close-ups too? Like, of the hardware, the date stamps, the stitching I heard super-fakes are getting insanely good lately. If the company accidentally bought a counterfeit, I need to know so I can file a police report right now."

Gemmas face instantly drained of all color. She backpedaled so fast she nearly tripped.

"Never mind! Forget it!" she sputtered. "We don't need an unboxing. Do you really think corporate procurement would buy a fake? Just take a picture of the outside of the box! That's fine!"

I smiled, finally compliant. I snapped a useless picture of the cardboard.

Then, right in front of them, I casually tore off the carbon-copy receipt from the registry ledger.

"Ill just keep the yellow copy for my records. Have a good night, ladies."

I walked out of the ballroom, clutching the empty box.

Behind me, I could faintly hear Kelsey's mocking laughter. "God, look at her. She actually thinks she won the lottery"

On the first day of our holiday break, I posted a story to my Instagram.

No photo. Just text on a plain black background.

Took my new baby out to brunch with the girls today. Finally get to see how the other half lives! ?

I set the privacy settings so it was only visible to my 'Close Friends' listwhich, for this account, was strictly company coworkers.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Gemma posted a vague-booking status on her own feed. No names mentioned, but the venom was palpable.

Pro tip: if youre carrying a cheap knockoff, don't try to mingle with the big leagues. Real recognizes real. Don't wait until you embarrass yourself in public to realize you're a fraud.

She was trying to bait me. She wanted me to panic, realize the bag was fake, and come crying to the company, right into her trap.

Right after she posted that, I watched her 'Like' and comment on Valeries latest post.

Valerie had posted an immaculate flat-lay of an invitation to a high-society charity gala. The caption read: Decided the new Kelly is making her debut tomorrow night.

Gemma, assuming Valerie had gone to a boutique to buy a real one, had commented: Congratulations, Valerie! Gorgeous piece. It completely suits you!

I locked my phone screen and let out a long, slow breath in the quiet of my living room.

The bait was set. Now, we wait for the blood in the water.

First day back in the office after the holidays.

Gemma practically kicked the door to the bullpen open, clutching a stack of freshly printed memos.

"Listen up, everyone!" she shouted over the hum of the computers. "Per emergency executive orders, an audit revealed a compliance issue with all high-value physical prizes from the holiday party. We are recalling them immediately. Operations will appraise them and issue cash bonuses in their place!"

The office erupted into groans and complaints.

"Are you serious? I already opened my espresso machine!"

"Why wasn't this announced at the party?"

"Cash bonus? Based on retail or what you think it's worth?"

Gemma clapped her hands loudly, silencing the room. Her eyes cut through the crowd and locked onto me like a laser.

"This is mandatory policy. It is to protect the company from unauthorized reselling of corporate assets."

She marched straight to my cubicle and held her hand out.

"Harper. The bag. Hand it over."

I looked up at her, perfectly blank. "Bag? What bag?"

Gemma let out a theatrical scoff, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. "Oh, don't play stupid with me, Harper. You think you can just keep the Herms and play dumb? The entire company saw you win it."

"I did win it. But I didn't take it home."

Gemma looked at me like I was the most pathetic liar on earth. Her voice rose to a shrill pitch.

"You didn't take it home? You walked out holding the box! Its on the security footage! If you're trying to fence company property, Harper, legal will have you arrested by lunch!"

People were standing up from their desks now, openly staring.

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, the heavy glass doors to the department violently swung open.

Valerie stormed in.

She radiated a dark, suffocating fury. In her right hand, she was white-knuckling the bright orange Kelly bag.

Gemma saw her and instantly dropped her aggressive posture, slipping back into a sycophantic smile. "Valerie! Good morning! Oh, you brought the bag, it looks so stunning on you"

Before Gemma could finish her sentence, Valerie whipped her arm forward and hurled the bag directly into Gemmas face.

The heavy hardware smacked against Gemmas cheekbone with a sickening thud.

"Do I look like a woman who carries a fucking counterfeit?!" Valerie screamed, her voice tearing through the silent office.

"Gemma! You are going to explain this right now!"

"Why did you use company funds to purchase a forty-five-thousand-dollar piece of garbage?!"