Bobbi Kottman couldn’t remember the moment she decided to hire a private detective, but she felt the calendar notification vibrate in her purse. Her white heels gliding over dirty concrete, she straightened her wide-brim hat and powder-blue scarf. She didn’t want to be recognized, but if anyone saw her, she wanted to look the part—a classic femme-fatale, ready to sprawl across a fainting couch in a hard-boiled mansion. This was her old neighborhood, after all. The one she and Paul lived in before they got married. Before he ruined everything.
Deepfakes
Deepfakes
Deepfakes
Bobbi Kottman couldn’t remember the moment she decided to hire a private detective, but she felt the calendar notification vibrate in her purse. Her white heels gliding over dirty concrete, she straightened her wide-brim hat and powder-blue scarf. She didn’t want to be recognized, but if anyone saw her, she wanted to look the part—a classic femme-fatale, ready to sprawl across a fainting couch in a hard-boiled mansion. This was her old neighborhood, after all. The one she and Paul lived in before they got married. Before he ruined everything.