Was I famous? 

“Well, if you have to ask…”

The cleaner was silent, staring at me, ignoring the feeble attempt at wit. 

I cleared my throat. “My brother - identical twin brother - did some things that have made his - our - face more publicised than most. That’s why I’m here. This company, Wilson Group, sold people’s likenesses to companies. My brother was one of those people who sold his likeness, and it got licensed for marketing campaigns and… maybe other things. You probably saw an ad with our face on.” 

The cleaner took this in quietly. “Thought they were accountants or something,” he said, then giving out a low whistle. 

“When did they clear out?”

“Not long ago. Few days, maybe a week past.“

He leaned slightly, picked up some stray cellophane, leaving some others nearby for no reason, kept moving. 

I took out my phone and redialled the number I had called for Wilson Group the day before. A phone lying by a wall nearby trilled until I ended the call. Digital marketers or accountants, I had the right place anyway. 

I turned back to the cleaner to find that he had kept on walking, pushing his cart, and was at the far end of the open-plan office, turning a corner. I thought about catching up with him but didn’t see any point as he’d probably told me all he knew and I’d just be bothering him with his half-assed attempt at work. I was also relieved as I thought it was time to leave and I didn’t know how to end the conversation. 

I wandered back to the elevators, unsure of what my next move was. The office was a shell - the whole building seemed like a shell - with nothing to do inside and nobody who seemed to know much. 

I pushed the button for the lift and wandered over to the window. I could see where I had sat earlier that day and helped the kid with his Tetris game - both he and his dad were gone. Maybe I should just go back, see about talking to a lawyer about this, find out what I could do. 

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The elevator doors pinged open and there they were: the boy still playing his game, the dad with his phone pressed to the side of his head. They got out, the dad glancing at me as they walked past. I hesitated before the empty lift, then decided not to get in and followed the two as they entered the shell suite. Maybe he worked here and could tell me some things? 

The man strode ahead confidently while his son dawdled, moving in the general direction of his father. I had thought the open-plan office was just that but along one wall was a door I hadn’t noticed. The man paused before it, a key card came out, and the door unlocked. He pushed it open and then glanced back when his son didn’t immediately walk in. That was when he saw me a few yards behind. He put his phone arm down and said “Help you?” - the boy looked up, saw his dad wasn’t addressing him, then went back to his game. 

I tried to appear non-threatening, smiling awkwardly. “I, I was… do you work here?” 

The father strode forward to his son, pulling him protectively behind him. “If you had an appointment, you can see that the company is no longer here.” 

I rushed through the same spiel I had given to the cleaner, trying not to sound like a madman and ended with a plea for information that sounded reasonable, and maybe a bit desperate, to me. I felt like this was the only time I was likely to get any answers. 

The father turned to his son, pointing towards the door he had just opened. “Richie, take a seat in there. I’m gonna close the door but I’m right here ok?” His son nodded and ambled in - the father firmly closed the door and turned back to me. 

“I don’t know the specifics of your brother’s contract but it sounds like something we might have done. It’s a legitimate business, by the way - we paid a significant sum to your brother for his likeness. We haven’t done anything with it that wasn’t specified in the contract.” 

I asked him why I saw myself in a news story about a shooting. He seemed momentarily taken aback. 

“You have another twin brother you don’t know about?” he asked. 

“Come on…” I said. 

He held up a hand, knowing the joke was inappropriate. “I think I recall another use of likenesses in the contract. We didn’t just licence to marketing firms selling products but also news organisations and entertainment companies. That means likenesses could be added to actors in shows or movies. News organisations was something I heard about but never saw. The idea was to protect the identities of innocent bystanders in news stories by imposing the likeness of someone completely unrelated - that might have been what you saw.” 

I shook my head. “But why not just blur or pixelate the face instead? I’ve seen that used before.” 

The man shrugged. “Maybe it draws attention to the fact that you have something you want to hide and some nutjobs make it their mission to uncover the footage? If you have unblurred footage, you don’t notice anything. I’m just guessing - it didn’t make sense to me either. Movies and shows, fine - it’s like removing the need for extras, putting a likeness on a mannequin. News stories?” 

He made a face like “who knows?” and walked off. 

“Hold on,” I said, catching him up. “I’ve got internet weirdos thinking I’m some kind of crisis actor in league with the government or something! I need to stop my face from being used like this. How will I find out for sure that’s what happened - how can I stop it from happening again?” 

His face was momentarily sympathetic but it hardened as he said “You can’t,” and went into the office.