Holiday Ever After
I can't deny that technology has done miraculous things for human beings in every aspect of our lives.
Living in the twenty-first century has given me an unimaginable advantage over my ancestors—with the small exception of buying a home without parental assistance—and I accept that I live a life my relatives, with their humble beginnings, would hardly believe.
But even as I start my day in my beautiful West Village apartment, I can't escape the bone-deep jealousy I feel for those family members who never had to wake up to twelve different people texting them *Have you seen this?!* and four missed calls from their father.
It's a shock to the system no cold plunge could replicate, and the twisted sense of terror coiling in my gut when I saw links from three different social media platforms in my inbox lingers as I head into the boardroom at Davenport Innovation Creative headquarters.
Monday is the worst day for a work crisis, but a Monday crisis in only my second week back in my role? The stuff of nightmares.
I drop into a chair in the back corner of the room, facing the window, and place one of two coffee cups on the table in front of me. I set the second one to my left.
The overhead lights glare off the glass stretching from one side of the room to the other. My reflection hovers to the right of the Empire State Building, the rest of the city lit up beneath a gloomy November sky.
At 7:58, all my colleagues—undoubtedly having had their morning schedules ruined by this impromptu meeting—pile into the room, taking their seats and muttering among themselves.
A heavy thud shakes the floor as an overstuffed Birkin lands in the empty space beside my pumps. I smile at Sahara as she sits in the chair next to me and practically lunges at the coffee I bought her on my way into the office. She takes a sip and sighs contentedly.
"I love you, Clara Davenport."
"You love coffee," I respond, dodging her hand as she tries to playfully ruffle my hair.
My dad finally enters with Roger, the VP of publicity, and takes his usual spot at the head of the table. Thankfully, it keeps me out of his direct eyeline.
After the world's fastest debrief, Roger clears his throat, drawing attention to the screen behind him. "Good morning, everyone," he says, his deep voice bellowing around the room with ease.
The face of an older woman appears on the screen, a large play button covering her nose and lips. It's a face I've seen a dozen times this morning already.
Her blond hair is so icy it's practically silver; a wide, voluminous lock frames her face and tucks behind her ear, the rest tied up in a French twist. I can't assign her an age accurately. Sixties, maybe? Her skin is white but lightly tanned, glowing with the kind of radiance that speaks to a vacation somewhere a hell of a lot hotter than here.
Her eyes are bright behind thick brown cat-eye glasses. The telltale lines of time gather at the edges, contrasting with her suspiciously smooth, wrinkle-free forehead. The play button hides the rest of her features, but I know from the amount of times I've watched this morning that she is both radiant and mildly intimidating. She's a total natural in front of the camera.
Ultimately, I want to be her when I'm older.
"Most of you are already aware of this video that went viral over the weekend, but for the sake of everyone being on the same page, I'm going to play it now," Roger says. "We know that this has impacted the social teams already, and we anticipate that will continue."
Sahara's frantic voice note this morning said that where they'd usually expect a problem to hit its peak and then calm down, this was still climbing.
She's the director of social media, and her department has just survived an outpour of anger after an AI-generated video of a Davenport toy exploding went viral. Everyone is still recovering from the extra work and really doesn't need this. Hence the borderline screaming.
The boardroom lights dim, and the video begins to play.
*Hello. My name is Florence Girard, and I'm asking you to support my small town this holiday season after Davenport Innovation Creative stole from us.*
It's an incredible hook, I have to give her that. Her American accent is diluted with something European, better suited to an Old Hollywood movie than my For You page.
*Three weeks ago, Davenport announced they were releasing the Evie doll in time for the holidays. Their doll is a direct copy of a product made here in Fraser Falls, the Holly doll.*
*Last year, our doll gained popularity after a famous visitor to our prestigious Small Business Saturday event posted about her, and we were inundated with orders and visitors. Including Davenport themselves.*
*Holly is a community project and supports multiple independent businesses in our town. Every part of her is made right here in the United States from recyclable, nontoxic materials. Everyone involved is paid a living wage, and every doll comes with her own unique certificate of authenticity.*
*I love Holly and everything she's done for our town. I love our community that comes together to make her a possibility. Most important, I love our customers, who choose us over the dozens of other options on the market.*
The softness of Florence's expression morphs into something harder. More jaded. The smile lines at the corners of her mouth disappear as her lips straighten.
*Davenport doesn't love you.*
Several people in the room wince at the harshness of her tone.
*And they don't love Holly, like they claimed to when they showed up here in January trying to get us to sign up for a predatory scheme purporting to help small businesses expand. They told us that they'd help us protect our design, and when we didn't sign up, they copied us.*
*Their copy, the Evie doll, is the antithesis of everything we're trying to achieve here in Fraser Falls.*
*Holly comes with six adventure stories, brought to life by the Green Light bookstore and the Fraser Falls Art School. Evie's stories are credited to AI. Holly has wooden toys, each one made by hand at the longstanding town staple, Harry's. The amount of work meant that during the summer, apprentices could be employed, with money going into the pockets of the young people in our community.*
*Evie's toys are plastic, made by a machine.*
Florence Girard continues listing all the ways in which the Holly doll is far superior to Davenport's Evie doll. I listen, quietly seething that this is happening at all. She's reaching the end of her dragging, and the worst part of the whole video.
*Since Davenport's announcement, including their doll being half the price of ours, half our orders have been canceled, and we have seen a significant reduction in new orders over the past three weeks.*
*Companies like Davenport think they can do anything. Think they can get away with everything.*
*I'm asking you to help me show them that they can't.*
*Fraser Falls has so much to give, and we would love to welcome you this holiday season, whether you buy a Holly doll or not. This time of year is when our community is at its absolute best, and we'd really love to show you. We have a number of holiday events planned, which will be listed at the end of the video.*
*So support local, hardworking businesses this year. Even if it isn't our town, there's a town near you being bullied by a large corporation, too, and they need your support.*
The word *bullied* hangs in the air like an unwelcome smell. It's still heavy in the room when the lights come back on.
"'Cancel Davenport' is trending on every platform," Roger announces. "While Ms. Girard didn't call for a boycott in so many words, online activists—we'll call them—are running with it, trying to generate engagement where they can. They're unfortunately doing a great job. Sahara, can you expand?"
Sahara nods and puts her coffee cup back on the table. "It's generally the same handles we see over and over. Internally, we call them the drama vultures. They'll feast on anything so long as it's negative. They're offended by everything, which is amplified by bot activity. But they do move on as soon as complaints lose momentum, which allows incidents to peak and decline quickly. Unfortunately, this has spread outside of the normal online echo chamber and is reaching consumers who typically wouldn't engage with this type of content."
"Why do you think that is?" Dad asks, leaning forward to look down the table toward us.
"If we compare the situation to our last major social incident, which was the AI video, a large number of viewers were able to quickly identify that the video wasn't real without us saying anything," Sahara explains calmly. "We mobilized online messaging rapidly, which not only highlighted that the video wasn't real but gave advice on how to fact-check in the future. Our customers engaged with shares to point out it was fake, which reduced our workload and helped the message spread quicker."
"So why can't we do that here?" Dad asks.
Sahara doesn't answer immediately, most likely doing mental gymnastics to work out how to phrase the truth.
I lean forward so he can see me. "Because we can deny a video is real when it's AI-generated. We can't say we didn't copy their design or impact their town when we did."
There's surprisingly little benefit to being the boss's daughter, but it does make it a little easier to say what needs to be said in these kinds of situations.
"The small business program is your initiative, Clara. How do you propose we resolve this?" Dad asks.