Updated Feb 25, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Gabi
My phone won’t stop buzzing.
Texts. Calls. Emails.
Everyone wants to talk about Brandon.
My mom: Mija, I saw the news. Are you okay?
College friend: OMG I can’t believe this happened to you!
Former client: Is this really you in the article?
Random number: Did you know he was cheating?
I turn off my phone.
When I turn it back on an hour later: 47 missed calls.
I call Marissa.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s viral. Like, VIRAL viral.”
“What does that mean?”
“TikTok. Twitter. Instagram. Everyone’s talking about it.”
My stomach drops.
“Show me.”
She sends links.
I open TikTok.
BrandonValeScam is trending.
Video after video.
People dissecting the case.
Women sharing their own catfishing stories.
True crime creators analyzing the scheme.
And my face.
Everywhere.
“He used his WIFE’S photos to scam women!”
“This is next-level sociopath behavior.”
“Imagine finding out your husband has been pretending to be YOU online.”
Comments in the thousands.
“I feel so bad for her.”
“She’s beautiful! Why would he need to cheat?”
“This is why I have trust issues.”
“Men are trash.”
I close the app.
“Gabi? You still there?”
“I’m a meme, Marissa. I’m a MEME.”
“Not a meme. A story. People are sympathetic.”
“They’re talking about my marriage. My life. My face is everywhere.”
“I know. But look at the bright side—”
“There’s a bright side to this?”
“People believe you. They know you’re the victim. Nobody’s blaming you.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“Really?”
“Really. Read the comments. Everyone’s on your team.”
I scroll through.
“She handled this like a BOSS. Catfished her own husband!”
“The way she confronted him in that restaurant? ICONIC.”
“I hope she takes him for everything in the divorce.”
Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought.
KENNEDY
I’m watching the news coverage with the other victims.
All seven of us in my living room.
We started a group chat after Gabi contacted us.
Support system.
Now we’re watching Brandon’s story go national.
“Good,” says Maya, one of the women he scammed. “He deserves this.”
“I hope they throw away the key,” adds Simone.
I’m quieter.
Because I slept with him.
Because I thought we were dating.
Because I was stupid.
“You okay, Ken?” Gabi’s sister texts into the group chat.
She’s not here but she’s monitoring.
Kennedy: Just processing. This is surreal.
Gabi: I know. But we’re getting justice.
Kennedy: Are we though? Money’s still gone.
That’s the part nobody talks about.
The money.
$15,000 that I’ll never get back.
Savings I spent ten years building.
Gone in a month.
“The FBI said we might recover some of it,” Maya offers.
“IF they find assets. Which they won’t. He gambled it all away.”
Silence.
“At least he’s in jail,” Simone says.
“For now. What if he gets bail?”
“He won’t. They said he’s a flight risk.”
But what if they’re wrong?
What if he gets out?
What if he comes after us?
My phone buzzes.
News alert.
BRANDON VALE DENIED BAIL
Judge cites flight risk and danger to victims
Relief.
“He’s staying locked up,” I announce.
Everyone exhales.
“Good.”
“Finally.”
“Thank god.”
We watch the coverage for another hour.
Then we order pizza.
Talk about normal things.
Try to move on.
But it’s hard.
When your face is associated with the biggest scam in Seattle.
When strangers know your name.
When your trauma is entertainment.
GABI
A client calls.
Wedding I’m supposed to shoot next month.
“Hi Gabi, this is Rebecca Tran. About the wedding—”
Here it comes.
“I saw the news. Are you okay?”
Not what I expected.
“I’m… managing. Thank you for asking.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Having your identity stolen like that.”
“It’s been difficult.”
“I bet. Listen, if you need to cancel the wedding, I completely understand—”
“No! No, I can still shoot it. Unless you want to find someone else—”
“Are you kidding? You’re the best photographer in Seattle. Plus, after what you went through? You’re a badass. I want you there.”
Tears spring to my eyes.
“Thank you. That means more than you know.”
“Of course. And Gabi? If you need anything, let me know. Us women have to stick together.”
After we hang up, I cry.
Happy tears.
Not everyone thinks I’m damaged goods.
Not everyone is canceling.
My phone rings again.
Another client.
I brace myself.
“Gabi! Oh my god, I just saw the news!”
“Hi Sarah—”
“Are you okay? Do you need anything? I’m so sorry this happened to you!”
Another supporter.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“You’re still shooting my engagement photos next week, right?”
“If you still want me—”
“Of course I do! You’re amazing!”
More tears.
By the end of the day: 8 client calls.
7 keep their bookings.
1 even increases her package.
“I want the premium album now. You deserve the business after what that asshole did.”
Maybe I can survive this.
Maybe my business won’t tank.
Maybe I’ll be okay.
NIX
The media wants to interview me.
“The PI who cracked the case.”
I decline all of them.
This isn’t my story.
It’s Gabi’s.
But one reporter won’t take no for an answer.
Shows up at my office.
“Mr. Carter, just five minutes—”
“Not interested.”
“The public wants to know how you solved it—”
“The public can read the FBI report when it’s released.”
“Did you know Mrs. Moreno before she hired you?”
“No.”
“Are you two romantically involved?”
I stop.
Turn back.
“That’s none of your business.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“That’s a ‘get out of my office before I call security.'”
She leaves.
But the question lingers.
Are we romantically involved?
No.
Not yet.
But I want to be.
And that’s a problem.
Because she’s vulnerable.
Freshly separated.
In the middle of a public scandal.
Getting involved now would be taking advantage.
But damn, it’s hard to resist.
My phone buzzes.
Gabi: Media at your office too?
Me: Just left. You?
Gabi: Camped outside my building. I can’t leave.
Me: Want me to come run interference?
Gabi: Would you?
Me: Be there in 20.
GABI
Nix shows up with coffee and a plan.
“Back exit. I’ll pull my car around. You slip out. We lose them.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
We execute perfectly.
Within minutes, we’re driving away.
Reporters still camped at the front.
“Where to?” Nix asks.
“Anywhere but here.”
He drives to Discovery Park.
We walk the trails.
Away from people.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not treating me like a circus act.”
“You’re not a circus act. You’re a person who got screwed over.”
“The internet doesn’t see it that way.”
“The internet is a cesspool. Don’t read the comments.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Then I’ll take your phone.”
He’s teasing.
But also serious.
“How do you deal with it? When cases go public?”
“I remind myself that the truth matters more than the narrative. And the truth is: you did nothing wrong.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“It will. Give it time.”
We sit on a bench overlooking Puget Sound.
“Nix?”
“Yeah?”
“When this is over—the trial, the divorce, all of it—will you still want to take me on that date?”
He looks at me.
Really looks at me.
“Gabi, I’m going to want to take you on that date whether this is over or not. But you deserve time to heal. To figure out who you are without him.”
“What if I already know?”
“Do you?”
I think about it.
“I’m a photographer. A sister. A daughter. A survivor. And maybe—hopefully—someone worth dating when I’m ready.”
He smiles.
“Definitely worth dating.”
END OF CHAPTER 12
Reader Reactions