Not Everything is as it Seems
by Srivardhan (10A)

I was sitting in the director's office of the company building, waiting, knowing that something big was soon going to occur. I was the director. The view did nothing to calm my nerves. The hustle-bustle of cars ranging from Smart ForTwos to Bentleys, the skyline of the city, with all its innovative architecture, the gray tinted mountains peeking from gaps between buildings, none of it helped. I sighed and turned around, knowing staring off into space wouldn't do anything. That's when I saw him.

I observed him carefully as he walked towards the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." The door opened.

I watched him like a hawk, silently registering every movement of his, all the while still counting down. My hand hovered over the keyboard, waiting to hear myself say zero to press the Enter key. He pulled out his phone, typed a few things and entered the doorway. "Why are you doing it?" I found myself asking him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said so confidently I almost believed him. However, the look in his dark, brown eyes betrayed him, and it only confirmed my suspicions. I heard the ping from my laptop, and said, "You're driving the price up."

"Price up? What?" he managed to squeak out. I didn't understand why he tried to cover it up. I knew he was and he knew I knew. I knew he knew I knew, so what was the point? Irritably, I demanded, "Show me your phone." It seemed the longer I interrogated him, the more his defenses went down. By now he was struggling to find words and managed to stutter out, "Wh.. why do you wa.. want it? It is just a ph.. phone. You've seen it before."

Anger surging through my veins, I spit out, "You lowly piece of pond scum! That vase is a family artifact, and I finally have the chance to bring it back to my family. You know that very well, but still push the price up? Why?"

He scoffed, "Ryan, you think I'm pushing the price up because I want you to pay more for it? I hate you, but I wouldn't risk driving the price up and have you not beat it. No, I'm bidding high prices because I want it." It was my turn to be at a loss for words as I stared at him with wide eyes and an open jaw.

"But, but why? Why do you want it, Thomas?" I asked.

He smiled. He smiled THAT smile which I loathed with all my being. The one that says, I know something you don't. He wasn't going to reveal anything. "Everyone has a part of them that no one else knows about." With that, he left.

I hate Thomas Anderson. No, I don't hate him, I despise him. I look at my laptop, now in sleep and wonder at what happened. Hands shaking, I type out my password and pray, pray that I won. As I look at the screen, joy fills my veins as I stare at the laptop, jaw hanging in disbelief. The family vase was finally coming home.

The following days are torture for me. My mind is possessed, unable to wait for the arrival of the vase. I want to hold it in my hands, to polish it and make it spotless. I want to keep it in a transparent box and show it off to all my friends. Most importantly, I want my family to take pride in the exquisite piece of work that its creator, my ancestor, turned it into. The restlessness is killing me.

Somehow, I managed to sleep at night, but my dreams were of nothing other than the vase. I was obsessed, and the only cure was the delivery of the vase.

Finally, it was here. I had to resist the urge to tear everything apart and get to the vase as I was unboxing it. Looking at it for the first time, I knew something was wrong. Completely identical to the picture, the average onlooker wouldn't have noticed anything. However, the bad feeling in me was growing by the second. I hoped, desperately, that by touching and picking it up, that my worry would dissipate, but it only seemed to catalyse whatever was causing my despair. I knew I had to get it checked out by someone, and knew just the person.

"Come in," a hoarse female voice said as I knocked on the door. As I entered, I was, as usual, amazed at what she was reduced to. At one point in her lifetime, she was the matriarch of the family, but plagued by disease and old age, she could no longer handle the pressures of being the head of our very large family.

"Ryan," she said, voice trembling, "why were you so urgent in our meeting. What is it that needed my attention immediately?" Despite myself, I laughed. She was always one for business, while sentiment wasn't her cup of tea. I leaned so I could be level with her face and said, "Aunt Martha, I have something I need you to check out. This is something that you've held years ago, and you should see it."

I held up the vase for her to see, and I could see her eyes fill with emotion. She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. "No, I don't know if it's real or not. That's what I need you to check."

She nodded and held her hands out. Taking it from me, she started scrutinizing it and after many anxious moments, she declared, "It's a fake." Then, looking at me, she asked, "How'd you get it?"

I studied her, debating on whether I should tell her or not. On one hand, I didn't know how she would take the information that the family artifact was sold off on the internet, as the very sight of it made her start to tear up. On the other hand, if there was anyone who deserved to know, it was her.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "It was being sold on the internet. I bought it after bidding the highest," I said. I immediately regretted it, and knew I made the wrong decision after seeing the pain on her face and in her eyes.
"I'm going to find the real one, and you're going to be the first one see it," I said, "I have to go now. I will be back, Aunt Martha. I will be back successful."

She said in a whisper so soft, I had to struggle to hear, "Good luck, my child. Go and make the people who did this pay for messing with our family." I looked at her and saw the fire burning in her eyes. I realized then that if she could, she would have personally found the person who did this, and made them suffer. I nodded, and left, ready for revenge.

The first thing I did was check the account that sold the vase. Well, I would have, except for the fact that the account was deleted. Whoever did this knew it was a fake. Undaunted, I tried calling the website.

"Hello, how may I help you?" greeted the person on the other end of the call.

"I am calling to ask about a certain user," I answered.

"What would you like to know about the user, sir?" he responded.

"I would like the list of IP addresses that the user logged in with, and the times that they logged in as well."

"I am sorry sir, but that is personal information and it is strictly against company policy to give you such information."

If I didn't get any information, then I was stuck. "The user is deleted, and he or she sold me a fake item."

"In that case, let me see what I can do sir. Can you tell me the user ID?"

"Yes, it is antit01. A for apple, N for neck, T for toy, I for igloo, T for toy, 0, 1."

"Yes, I have it up in front of me. How would you like me to send you the information?"

"Send it as a text message to this phone number."

"You are very lucky, sir. All user information gets deleted after a week after deletion of account. If you had called tomorrow, the information would not have been accessible. I do hope you get your money back, sir. Is there anything else you need?"

Little did the man know, this was about more than just money,. "No that's it. Thank you."

I checked my phone, and sure enough there was a new message. The list of the last ten IP addresses that the account was accessed from. The top two were very different from the others, so I waved it off as a mobile connection. The bottom eight, however, were all the same, and I had a hunch that that address would lead me to the seller. At that moment, my phone rang for a second, then stopped. Useless ad calls.

The next day, I had an address. According to the internet, it was only an hour away, so not wanting to waste time, I got in the car and drove. When I got there, I quickly located the place, and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" the person inside asked.

"Are you user antit01?" I responded.

"What," he asked, confused, "How do you know my id?"

I smiled, he gave himself away. "I bought the vase," I stated simply.

"Oh, yes please come in. It's unlocked" he said.
I entered, and felt a fist on my face. Reeling from the surprise, I struggled to fathom what was going on. "What are you doing? What was that for?" I asked to someone I couldn't see.

"You ask what that was for, when you know what you did," answered the man in a cold voice as he came into view. His entire body screamed anger. The way his eyebrows furrowed, the coldness in his eyes, the way his fists were clenched.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"All right, I'll humor you. You deleted my account. Does that trigger your memory?"

"What?" I exclaimed, confused, "I never deleted anything. I'm here to figure out why you deleted your account."

His cold, blue eyes bore into me for what were the longest moments of my life, then they softened. "I didn't delete it,” he said, “but you would have figured that out by now. It was deleted a week ago, and I lodged a complaint with the company, but didn't get a positive response."

"Oh," I said, "so you didn't delete it because you stole me a fake vase?"

Shocked, the man exclaimed, "Fake vase? How dare you accuse me of selling fake items? I take pride in the fact that I only sell authentic goods. I even have a certificate to prove it." He got up, and returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper. I inspected it, and saw that it was, indeed, a certificate of authenticity. Ideas swirled in my head, and handing it back to him, I said, "Thank you for your time, I will be going now."

Later, I ran a trace on the latest IP address, and got a coffee shop. "Can I see your records of the people who use your internet?" I asked to the man at the counter, "I need to see the records for the past ten days."

The man studied me for a few seconds and said, "Right this way, sir." It was rather simple to find the log details in the thick book albeit the details made The Matrix references. Exasperated and desperate as I was, I chuckled to myself, "Must have been a Matrix fan." Something clicked in my head and everything seemed to fall in place. I knew it was a long shot, but everything made perfect sense. Whipping out my phone, I put a trace on the last remaining IP address, the second-latest one. If the result came back the way I expected it to, then my suspicions would be confirmed about who the culprit was.

I checked the resulting address with the list of addresses at my office. Not surprisingly, I was correct, and once again, my short temper got the better of me. When I got to the place, I charged in without thinking, and what I saw inside took my breath away, momentarily making me forget my rage. There lay, in front of me, arguably one of the greatest collections of art I've ever seen. Smack in the middle of it, was my vase. I took a step forward, and felt a blow on my head. My vision was suddenly blurry, and my senses out of whack. I fought to get control of myself, and my stumbling saved me. I felt a whoosh of air above my head and a chance look at the vase seemed to rejuvenate me. I turned and saw my assailant. It was none other than Thomas Anderson. Guffawing, I asked him, "Really, Thomas? You thought you could write yourself off as Neo Anderson and not be recognized? You L-O-V-E the Matrix, your name is the same as the chosen one's original name, and you were always called Neo. And, with the constant references, you were a fool to think you wouldn't be figured out."

I was met with silence. He didn't respond and just stared at me, daring me to continue. A dare I accepted. "I must admit, your plan was pretty good. It would have worked too, if you hadn't signed off as Neo Anderson, gods that's hilarious, and if you hadn't logged in from your home."

"You're right," he finally responded, "I'm the culprit and the vase there is evidence enough. If only I hadn't been so obvious, then maybe I would've gotten away with stealing your vase." Suddenly, he tried striking at me with his baseball bat. Thanks to my sharp reflexes from having been a goalkeeper in college, and a black belt martial artist, he wasn't able to put up a fight and it was soon over. He lay unconscious. "This is the part of you that no one knows, huh?" I said to his still body.

I picked up my vase, and called the police from Thomas's phone. I had no doubt that many of these were as illegally acquired as my vase. Needless to say, the look on Aunt Martha's face when she saw the real thing was priceless, just like the vase.