Page 52 of Tides of Discovery
“Cooper.” Her voice was tight, all traces of her earlier teasing gone. She stared at her phone, her face pale. “You need to see this.”
My stomach dropped. “What is it?”
She held out her phone, and I nearly dropped the mug I was holding. There on the screen was what looked like The Coffee Cove’s Instagram account—our logo, our photos, everything identical to our real profile. But the latest posts made my blood run cold.
“Please help us keep The Coffee Cove open!” one post read, complete with a photo of our storefront. “We’re struggling to pay our bills and need your support. Any donation helps! Link in bio.”
Another post showed a picture of our interior with the caption: “We hate to ask, but we’re in real financial trouble. The Coffee Cove has been a cornerstone of this community, but without your help, we might have to close our doors forever.”
The smell of coffee that had been comforting moments before now seemed cloying, making my stomach churn. My hands shook as I scrolled through post after post, each one more damaging than the last.
“This isn’t—” I started, then stopped. Of course, it wasn’t our account. But it looked so real, so convincing. “How many people have seen this?”
“It’s been up for hours, Cooper. There are already dozens of comments, people sharing it…” Jessica’s voice trailed off,but I could hear the unspoken implication. The damage was spreading.
Embarrassment and alarm warred in my chest, making it hard to breathe. This was about our reputation, our integrity. People would think we were in financial trouble, that we were begging for handouts. And it was a scam. How many of our customers had fallen for it? Had lost their money?
After the posting of the fake health code violation two days ago, business had taken a hit—a sharp, disorienting blow that had left me scrambling to breathe through the panic. Customers came in, glanced around suspiciously, and were hesitant about their coffee orders. Or, worse, they stayed away entirely. I’d worked through it with my head down and my chest tight, and pretended not to notice the cracks forming in the shop’s foundation—the place I’d built with my own hands suddenly tilting under me.
But then the tide had begun to turn.
Word had started to spread—whispered at the diner, over beers at Barnacle Brews—that the report had been fake, nothing more than a cruel attempt to stir up trouble. Some customers had drifted back in, cautiously at first, then with growing ease, as if the scent of fresh espresso and the weight of old loyalties had finally drowned out the gossip.
But now this. Another attack.
“I need to call Jack.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Jessica nodded, understanding immediately. “I’ll handle things here.”
My fingers fumbled with my phone as I stepped into the back, the familiar scents of paper to-go cups and coffee beans doing nothing to calm my racing heart. Jack answered on the second ring.
“Hey, I was just thinking about last night—” he said, his voice husky.
“Jack, I need you to come to the shop. Now.” I sounded strained even to my own ears. “Someone’s spoofed our Instagram account.”
The line went quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right there.”
He arrived in less than three minutes. The bell above the door chimed his entrance, and I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease just at the sight of him.
“Show me.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.
I handed him my phone.
His expression grew darker with each post he scrolled through. His jaw clenched, and when he looked up at me, I could see the storm brewing in his eyes. “This is sophisticated,” he said quietly. “They’ve replicated everything—your branding, your voice, your photos.”
“Can you fix it?” The question came out smaller than I’d intended.
Jack’s face crumpled, and that’s when I knew. “Cooper, I—” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar and so devastated that my heart cracked. “This isn’t something I can just hack your way out of. This is something you’re going to have to take up with Meta. I can’t do it for you.”
The defeat in his voice was worse than the spoofed account. Jack, who could fix anything with technology, who made the impossible seem simple, looked utterly helpless.
“I’m so sorry,” he continued, his voice thick. “I should be able to do something, should be able to protect you from this, but I?—”
“Hey.” I stepped closer. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But I can’t fix it for you.” The words came out broken, and I realized this was hitting him almost as hard as it was hitting me.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ll contact Meta.” I smoothed my hands up and down his arms. “You’re here for me. That’s all that matters.”
