My cousin, Kelly, was addicted to conspiracy theories. Not the “moon landing was faked” kind, although she probably believed that too, but the kind that dismantled the happiness of everyone around her. She saw hidden agendas in a bouquet of flowers and malice in a “Good morning” text.
When my older cousin, Sarah, finally found a boyfriend who loved to cook for her, Kelly scoffed over Thanksgiving dinner.
“He’s making you risotto?” she sneered, poking at her turkey. “Classic feeder behavior. He’s fattening you up so no one else will want you. It’s a control tactic, Sarah. Look it up. It’s practically a Dateline episode waiting to happen.”
Sarah, who had been glowing about her boyfriend’s culinary skills, wilted like day-old lettuce.
When I sent my dad money to help with his rent after he got laid off from the construction site, Kelly cornered me at a family barbecue.
“You really think Uncle Mike is broke?” she whispered, her eyes wide with faux concern. “He’s playing you, Jen. He’s stashing that cash to buy a condo for your brother. It’s the patriarchal long con. You’re just the ATM.”
Kelly’s origin story began in the fifth grade. Our teacher, Mr. Henderson, told the class the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree—a lesson in honesty. While the other kids were drawing pictures of hatchets, Kelly stood up.
“Actually,” she announced, “that story was invented by a biographer named Parson Weems to sell books. It’s propaganda to make us trust authority figures blindly. Washington probably burned the whole orchard.”
The class stared. Mr. Henderson sighed. But a few kids looked at Kelly with awe. She had peeled back the curtain. She had made them feel smart.
From that moment on, Kelly was hooked on the drug of cynicism. She realized that if you paint the world as a dark, twisted place, people think you’re the only one with a flashlight.
Fast forward to our twenties. I had just landed a job at a mid-sized marketing firm in Chicago. I was dating a guy named Mark, a junior executive I met at a mixer. He was kind, ambitious, and surprisingly normal.
One Friday, I brought him to a family gathering. Mark, trying to be charming, brought a bottle of expensive wine for my aunt.
Kelly watched him from the corner of the room like a sniper.
“Nice watch,” she commented later, cornering me in the kitchen. “Rolex Submariner. You know what that means?”
“It means he likes watches?” I offered.
“It means he’s overcompensating,” Kelly said, pouring herself a LaCroix. “Or he’s in debt. Guys like that date girls like you—stable, hardworking—because they need a co-signer. Check his credit score, Jen. Before you wake up with a maxed-out Amex in your name.”
I ignored her. I knew Mark. I knew he was solid.
But Kelly didn’t stop there. She befriended a girl named Brittany, who just happened to be the daughter of the CEO of my company. Kelly, with her “I tell it like it is” attitude, managed to worm her way into Brittany’s circle.
And then the whispers started at work.
I’d walk into the breakroom, and conversation would die. People looked at me with a mix of pity and judgment.
Finally, Mark pulled me aside after a meeting.
“Jen,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “We need to talk.”
My stomach dropped. “What is it?”
“There’s a rumor going around,” he said. “People are saying… they’re saying you’re only dating me to get a promotion. That you’re funneling your salary to your ‘secret gambling addict father’ and you need my money to cover it.”
I stared at him. “Who told you that?”
“Brittany told me,” he said. “And she heard it from your cousin.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Mark, that’s insane. My dad isn’t a gambler. He got laid off. I helped him with rent once.”
Mark looked at me, his eyes searching mine. He was a logical guy. He dealt in data. But doubt is a powerful virus.
“I believe you,” he said slowly. “But the optics… Jen, the partners are talking. They think you’re a liability.”
He broke up with me two days later. He said it was “bad timing,” but I knew the truth. He didn’t want the drama. He didn’t want to be part of the conspiracy.
I was devastated. I went home and cried for three days.
Kelly came over on the fourth day. She let herself in, sat on my couch, and looked at my tear-streaked face with that same smug satisfaction she had in the fifth grade.
“I told you,” she said. “He was looking for an out. If he really loved you, a little rumor wouldn’t have stopped him. I did you a favor, Jen. I exposed him.”
I looked at her. I saw the gleam in her eye. It wasn’t concern. It was triumph. She had destroyed my happiness to prove her own twisted worldview correct.
“Get out,” I said.
“What?”
“Get out of my apartment, Kelly. And don’t come back.”
She left, huffing about how I was “ungrateful” and “blind.”
A month later, my company hired a new batch of interns. And there, smiling at the reception desk, was Kelly.
She had used her connection with Brittany to get a foot in the door.
Now, we were in the same office.
She walked past my cubicle, smirking. “Hey, roomie. Brittany said they needed someone with ‘critical thinking skills.’ Looks like we’re coworkers.”
It was a nightmare. Kelly began her campaign immediately. She planted seeds of doubt everywhere.
When the team leader, David, ordered pizza for the staff, Kelly whispered to the interns, “He’s trying to buy our silence before the layoffs. Carbs make you docile.”
When the CEO announced a charity drive for a local shelter, Kelly blogged anonymously (but everyone knew it was her) that it was a tax evasion scheme.
And then, she set her sights on Brittany.
Brittany was sweet, a little naive, and rich. She had started dating a guy named Alex, a graphic designer who was arguably the nicest person in the building.
Kelly pulled Brittany into the breakroom one afternoon. I was in the next stall over in the bathroom, and I could hear everything.
“Brittany, you really think Alex likes you for you?” Kelly’s voice was low, conspiratorial. “Look at his shoes. Thrift store. Look at your bag. Prada. He’s a gold digger, Britt. He’s playing the long game. He’s probably tracking your cycle to trap you with a baby.”
Brittany sounded close to tears. “But… he bought me flowers yesterday.”
“Love bombing,” Kelly shot back. “Classic manipulation. Wake up.”
I walked out of the stall and washed my hands. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was done being the victim. It was time to use Kelly’s weapon against her.
The company’s annual gala was coming up. It was a black-tie event at the Palmer House Hilton. Everyone who was anyone would be there.
I knew Kelly was planning something. She thrived on chaos.
I also knew that the CEO, Brittany’s dad, was extremely protective of his family.
Two days before the gala, I “accidentally” left my laptop open in the conference room while Brittany was there. On the screen was a fake email chain I had drafted.
It looked like a conversation between me and a private investigator.
Subject: Background Check – K. Miller
Body: Jen, you were right. The rumors about the corporate espionage are true. She’s been leaking internal memos to ‘The Chicago Business Journal’ to tank the stock price so she can short it. Also, she’s been recording Brittany’s conversations to write a tell-all book.
It was absurd. It was exactly the kind of 4D-chess conspiracy Kelly would invent.
Brittany saw it. I saw her eyes widen from the hallway.
The seed was planted.
At the gala, Kelly was in her element. She was wearing a red dress, holding a martini, and holding court with a group of junior associates.
“The open bar?” she was saying. “It’s cheap vodka in Grey Goose bottles. They think we can’t taste the difference. It’s an insult.”
Brittany walked up to her. Her father, the CEO, was right behind her, looking thunderous.
“Kelly,” Brittany said, her voice shaking. “Is it true?”
Kelly blinked. “Is what true?”
“That you’re writing a book about me? That you’re spying on my dad?”
Kelly laughed. “What? Who told you that? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Brittany asked. “You’re the one who told me that everyone has an angle. That no one is truly a friend. You told me my boyfriend was a gold digger. You told Jen her dad was a con artist. Why should I trust you?”
Kelly looked around. The circle of people had quieted.
“I… I was just trying to help you see the truth,” Kelly stammered.
The CEO stepped forward. “Miss Miller, my daughter tells me you’ve been spreading malicious rumors about our employees and our family. We have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment.”
“I’m not harassing anyone!” Kelly shrieked, her composure cracking. “I’m the only one who sees what’s really going on! You’re all sheep! Jen set me up! This is a conspiracy!”
She pointed a shaking finger at me across the room.
“She’s doing this to get back at me because I exposed her boyfriend!”
I took a sip of my drink—actual Grey Goose, thank you very much—and looked at her with mild confusion.
“Kelly,” I said calmly, my voice carrying over the crowd. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. Maybe you should go home.”
“I’m not drunk!” Kelly yelled. “I’m woke! I see the strings!”
Security arrived a moment later. As they escorted her out, she was still ranting about gaslighting and the military-industrial complex.
Kelly was fired the next morning.
But the real kicker came a month later.
Kelly was arrested.
It turned out, in her quest to prove everyone was corrupt, she had actually broken the law. She had hacked into the HR database to find “dirt” on her coworkers—Social Security numbers, salary info, medical records. She wanted to prove pay disparities, but she ended up committing a federal cybercrime.
I visited my cousin Sarah that weekend. She and her boyfriend were hosting a housewarming party. They were married now. He was making paella.
“Did you hear about Kelly?” Sarah asked, handing me a plate.
“Yeah,” I said. “She called me from the holding cell. Asked for bail money.”
“What did you say?”
I smiled, taking a bite of the delicious, saffron-infused rice.
“I told her I couldn’t. I said, ‘Kelly, don’t you see? The police, the lawyers, the bail bondsman… it’s all a racket. If I pay them, I’m just feeding the system. I’m doing this for your own good.'”
Sarah laughed. It was a genuine, happy sound.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
I looked around the room. My dad was there, laughing with my brother. My aunt was holding a glass of wine. People were happy. Not because they were ignorant, but because they chose to trust each other.
The world wasn’t a conspiracy. It was just a messy, beautiful, chaotic potluck. And for the first time in a long time, I was full.
