Is 'Gwen Need Help With Ben For Internet' A Scam Alert?

To afford train tickets home for New Year's Eve, I searched for a part-time job and stumbled into a livestream that was practically throwing money at the chat. A young woman in a silk robe rested her chin on her hand. Behind her, a villa glowed under expensive lighting that reflected off polished marble floors. "Being kept in here is suffocating," she said in a voice that mixed boredom with sweetness. "My sponsor gives me more money than I can spend. Help me out. Take some off my hands." Cash drops flashed across the screen one after another. I tapped as fast as I could, my heart hammering. A few large ones landed in my account. I was close. One more would cover both my ticket and my boyfriend's. The streamer leaned closer to the camera. "He keeps saying my tear mole looks like his girlfriend's," she said, her mouth twisting with disgust. "So unlucky. Of all things, I had to match with some broke girl." My finger slipped. I had a tear mole under my eye in the same spot. The live chat flooded with questions. [How is the sponsor's girlfriend broke?] The streamer gave a short snort and reapplied her lipstick, as if correcting a minor flaw. "He's just messing around. He tricked her into 200,000 dollars in debt. She's so stupid she works multiple jobs to help him pay it off." A chill settled in my chest. My boyfriend also owed 200,000 dollars. She continued, her tone light, "The funniest part? He slept with me for three days. When he left, I asked if he was giving her a taste of honey." She smiled cruelly. "He said all he has to do is claim he's going to work a construction site hauling rebar. The idiot will feel guilty and deliver food all night. So he won't need to please her." Another large cash drop flashed across the screen. The total reached the exact amount I needed. My phone rang. Benjamin's name lit up the display. When I answered, his voice sounded worn down, as if it had scraped against concrete. "Via, we still don't have enough for the tickets," he said. "I hauled rebar and made a little over 40 dollars. I'm heading home now."

I've just finished collecting rent from a building when Mom calls me on the phone. She tells me that the Jensens' estranged real heiress, Sienna Jensen, has finally reunited with them. I pack up my account ledgers immediately before heading over to attend Sienna's welcome home party. But as soon as I reach the gate, my car is stopped right outside. Apparently, I'm not allowed entry into the Jensen residence. Hatred crosses Sienna's eyes when she spots my car. "You're nothing but a thieving impostor! How dare you make a flashy appearance while driving a car that belongs to my family!" I take a deep breath and explain coolly, "This is my car. I don't know what you're talking about." The next thing I know, Sienna grabs a ledger and hurls it at my face. She screams at me, "You used my family's money to buy this car, and yet you have the gall to claim that it's yours? "I'm my mother's actual child, and yet you've leeched all the good things from my family, you filthy bitch! I'll have you know that the hardships that Mom went through for nine months of pregnancy will be converted into a maternity fee of a million dollars! Now hurry up and transfer the payment to Mom's bank account!" I merely sneer at Sienna before pulling out my phone and calling her mother, Molly Dawson, "Your daughter demands that I give you a million dollars' worth of maternity fees. Do you even have the guts to accept the payment?"

My boyfriend's childhood friend declared herself the ultimate 'socialite fraud buster' the very first time we met. She would not stop lecturing me at the dinner table. "Women really shouldn't overdress. If Sean hadn't told me himself that you were his girlfriend, I would've written you off as just another one of those fake socialites I've exposed." My boyfriend nodded along eagerly. "You really do dress too flashy. Just listen to Gina and tone it down a little." I could not be bothered to engage, so I excused myself to the restroom, but I ended up overhearing Georgina Lawson's little 'fraud assessment' from right outside the door. "Sean, this woman's walk, the way she talks… All of it screams training. She's a classic case of a fake socialite. She's only with you for your money! That watch, the limited-edition bag, that sports car worth tens of millions... What doctor could possibly afford all that?" Fury burned through me, and I finally reached my limit. I turned around and called my father, the richest man in the city. "Dad, wire me 50 million dollars. I'm buying out a little fraud-busting studio that targets 'fake socialities' to teach her that rich people have children too!"

My mother was a control freak of the highest order. To keep a tighter grip on me, she created a burner account, posed as a sympathetic older-sister type, and became the person I confided in online. She even started a thread about it, practically glowing with pride. [He sends me his bank passwords and private photos of his crush all on his own! Once he gets into a top school, I'm applying as his dorm supervisor. When he gets married, I'm hiding under their bed!] I scrolled through the comments. Tons of people were ripping her to shreds. I laughed. She thought she had total control. She had no idea I was feeding her exactly what I wanted her to see. The bank password I sent two days ago was fake. The 'private photos of my crush' were stock images I pulled off the internet. I took my time typing out a message: [Hey, my dad brought a woman home last night. They were making out on the couch. I secretly recorded it. Want to see?] A scream ripped through the wall from the next room. I put my headphones on and leaned back. The show was just getting started.

On the day of my college graduation, I had just signed a contract with a prestigious company when my dad burst into my room, grabbed the paper, and ripped it to shreds. "Why waste your time with a crappy $8,000-a-month job? You've already been hired by the world's top financial conglomerate! A base salary of $100,000 a month, plus a luxury penthouse the moment you start! What other young woman fresh out of college gets that kind of treatment?" I stared at the flimsy piece of paper in his hand. It was stamped with a cheap-looking plastic seal that read "Global Stellar Consortium". I shook with rage. "Dad, that’s just a fake image generated with AI. This company doesn't even exist!" My dad merely snorted and shoved his phone directly into my face. On his screen was a screenshot of a prompt he had fed into an AI chatbot. Prompt: [Issue an offer letter for my daughter from the world's number one corporation. Make sure it's the highest position possible.] AI: [Operation complete. Your daughter has been officially hired as the South American President of the Global Stellar Consortium.] My throat went dry as panic set in. I tried to reason with him. "Dad, the AI is just playing along with your prompt to write a fictional story! It's a chatbot; it doesn't actually recruit people!" He simply whipped out a $200,000 transfer receipt and waved it triumphantly in front of my eyes. "What do you know?" he sneered. "The AI is real! It even gave me the payment code to cover your mandatory Employment Security Deposit!"

I had my meal and was about to leave my sister's restaurant, but the manager stopped me. "Sorry, sir, but you haven't paid your tab." I never saw this guy before. He probably had no idea who I was. Kindly, I explained, "Put it on your boss' tab. She knows what to do." The manager instead gave me a look of derision. "Sir, we're a 3-star Michelin restaurant. We do not put anyone's bill on another person's tab." He handed me an itemized bill. The guy had it ready and printed. I went through the list. The meal alone cost 75 grand. The 'dining utensil gleam maintenance fee' ran up to 45 hundred. There was also an exclusive air purifier fee, which would cost 75 hundred. And there was a 'VIP calm headspace service fee' that ran up to 15 grand. Those were the ones that stood out, but they were far from the last. I had no idea my sister was running an extortion gig. Mirthlessly, I laughed. "I'm your boss' brother. Tell her she's talking to me when she comes home." The manager did not let me go. "Just say you can't afford it. You're not the first one to try and claim you know Ms. Grayheim. I know leeches like you well enough." I texted my secretary. 'Tell my sister she either fires this guy, or I pull my funds out.'