My Voice, Stolen By My Ex

My ex-boyfriend turned my voice into an AI persona and used it to bag a ten-million-dollar investment.

When I confronted him, he just smirked and told me that AI-generated voices aren't protected by copyright. He even dared me to produce evidence.

I didn't have any. At least, not until an anonymous listener known as Mr. Coordinate tracked me down. He managed to recover every single server log that my ex, Vance, had used to steal my voice.

Forty-seven raw audio files, each with a timestamp accurate to the second.

The day he handed me the flash drive, I asked him, Why are you helping me?

He looked me in the eye and said, Because three years ago, you read my letter on the air.

Thats when I realizedDI had been reading his letters for three years. And for three years, he had been the one truly listening to my voice.

###1.

The story of that letter began on a rainy Friday night.

Helen, my producer, blocked me at the door of the recording studio and shoved her phone screen in my face.

Nia, you need to hear this, she whispered.

A bedtime story started playing. The female voice was gentle and low, with the perfect rhythmic rise and fall of breath. It felt as soothing as a cool autumn breeze.

It was me.

Every upward lilt at the end of a sentence, every pause for breath, every casual chuckleDit was unmistakably mine.

The screen read: SoulEcho FM ? AI Host Little Nia D Your Exclusive Bedtime Companion.

I stared at the CEOs name listed on the app info. Vance Ford.

Last year, he was just a technician sitting in the server room next to mine. When we broke up, he said he was leaving to start his own business. I didn't stop him.

I guess this was his version of innovation.

I turned off the audio. Helen, how long has this been live?

Since last month. They already have over thirty thousand paid subscribers. People are calling it the most human-like AI on the marketD

Its not AI, I interrupted.

Helen froze.

Thats my stolen voice, I said, my blood turning cold.

The red light in the studio was already blinkingDI was due on air in three minutes. I sat down, adjusted the mic, and cleared my throat. But that synthesized voice kept looping in my head.

Good evening, everyone. This is Midnight Echoes. Im your host, Nia Reed.

After the intro, I stared at the screen. Tonight, I had seventeen listener letters waiting for me. Tales of insomnia, heartbreak, unemployment, and griefDI had read thousands of these over the last three years.

But there was one person whose letters I remembered vividly.

He never signed his name. He only drew a horizontal line at the end and wrote Coordinate: XX Road. In three years, Id received one hundred and thirteen letters from him. I knew his handwriting by heart.

Last weeks letter was only one line: You dont have to read this tonight. I just want you to know someone is listening.

By the third letter of the night, my voice caught in my throat. All I could think about was that AI host. My voice was out there, telling bedtime stories to thirty thousand strangers, minting money for Vance every single minute.

After the show, Helen poured me a glass of warm water.

Whats the plan, Nia?

I dont know. He claims AI voices have no copyright protection.

So youre just going to let it go?

I watched the steam rise from my cup. When I started this show three years ago, my salary was half of what it is now. Nobody wanted the late-night slotDthey thought it was only for the elderly or the lonely.

I built this audience brick by brick with nothing but my voice. Now, Vance had snatched it and tucked it into an app called SoulEcho.

The name felt like a slap in the face.

I looked up Vances company online. They had a five-million-dollar seed round and a ten-million-dollar Series A. The lead investor was a VC firm called Ridgeview Capital. The deal closed last December, the same month Vance quit.

When he left the station, he didn't even have two thousand dollars in his bank account.

HelenDdoes Vance still have his server room access logs?

Helens expression shifted.

Nia, what are you planning?

Im going to go digging.

2.

Saturday morning, I snuck into the station building at 8:00 AM.

The server room was empty. Vances old cubicle was still thereDthe potted plant had long since shriveled, and the keyboard was covered in a thin layer of dust. I powered up his old workstation.

The password hadn't been changed. It was still his birthday.

I logged into the audio management system and searched the access logs for my shows recordings. Between last September and DecemberDthe three months before he quitDsomeone had repeatedly pulled my raw audio files. Always after midnight.

That was his shift.

Forty-seven segments. Everything from a simple Good evening to full-length readings of listener letters.

A wave of nausea hit me. This wasn't a sudden whim. Every night after my show, he went back to the server room and systematically copied my voice, piece by piece.

But the logs showed the actual files had been deleted. Vance had scrubbed his tracks before leaving. I could see the history, but the evidence was gone.

I needed someone who could recover deleted data.

That night, I did my show as usual. When I reached the thirteenth letter, I paused.

Lastly, I want to share something a bit personal.

I stayed silent in front of the mic for a few seconds.

If anyone out there knows about data recoveryDspecifically recovering deleted audio files from a serverDplease write to me. You know the address. I would be incredibly grateful.

The next morning, a hand-written letter was waiting in my mailbox.

No signature. But the handwriting was familiarDneat, strong, and precise. Inside the envelope was a small object: a matte black flash drive.

The letter contained only one line:

The data is inside. Lets talk in person.

Below the horizontal line at the bottom, there were two words.

CoordinateDCentral Plaza. Saturday at 3:00 PM.

I flipped the flash drive over. A logo was printed on the plastic casingDZenith Security. I looked them up; they were the biggest cybersecurity firm in the city.

I plugged the drive into my laptop.

Forty-seven audio files appeared, perfectly organized. Each filename started with a timestampD20231215_0137_Nia_MidnightEchoes.wav.

It was accurate to the second.

I clicked the first one. My own voice flowed through my headphones: Good evening, everyone. This is Midnight Echoes.

It matched the SoulEcho AI intro word for word.

I listened to all of them. Three hours and twenty minutes of recordings covering the entire previous autumn and winter. Vance hadn't just taken a few samplesDhe had systematically emptied my entire vocal archive.

I closed my laptop and looked in the mirror.

Saturday afternoon. Central Plaza. I threw on a grey wool coat and headed out.

3.

I arrived at the second-floor coffee shop in Central Plaza twenty minutes early.

When the door opened, the bell chimed. A guy walked inDtall, lean, wearing a black puffer jacket with a pair of professional headphones draped around his neck.

He scanned the room and walked straight toward my table.

Nia Reed?

Thats me.

He sat down and draped his jacket over the back of the chair. His hoodie underneath looked a bit faded from too many washes. His gaze was calm. He didn't look away, but he wasn't overly friendly either.

Luke Ryan, he introduced himself.

From Zenith Security?

Yeah. Im a lead security engineer. He rotated his coffee cup slowly. I recovered the data on that drive. I also saved a copy of the original access logs. They trace back to a month before Vance Ford resigned.

I placed the flash drive on the table. How did you do it?

The stations server logs have a six-month retention cycle. He deleted the index, but not the data itself. Its like tearing the house number off a doorDthe house is still there.

Did you hack in?

He gave me a look.

Im a security engineer. I just audited a public vulnerability.

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. He cracked a tiny smile too, though he hid it quickly.

Vance used a very amateur method. He copied files to a local drive and then deleted them. But he forgot one thingDthe station has an automated backup system that runs every week on a separate physical server.

So he didn't scrub it clean enough.

Exactly. Recovering the data was easy. The hard part was that you had no reason to go looking for it.

I blinked, confused. How did you know I needed a reason?

He didn't answer immediately. He took a sip of his coffee. I noticed the tips of his ears were turning a slight shade of red.

You said it on your show. You said you wanted to investigate something but lacked the evidence.

You were listening?

He looked up at me. His coffee cup hovered in mid-air.

Ive been listening for three years.

The lighting in the cafe was dim. The redness on his ears hadn't faded, but his eyes were steady.

Why? I asked.

Because you read my letters.

I stared at him for five long seconds. The letters. One hundred and thirteen of them. Mr. Coordinate.

Its you.

He didn't deny it.

A man who had written over a hundred letters to me over three years was sitting right across from me, his headphones around his neck and his coffee going cold.

Why didn't you ever tell me? I asked.

He was silent for a moment. He set his coffee down and pulled a folder from his bag.

Because I wasn't sure if you needed a friend or a witness.

The folder contained printed system logs. Every page had timestamps, operation records, and IP addresses. He had circled Vances activity in redDsixty-seven unauthorized entries in total.

Is this enough for a case?

Its a start. But its not everything.

He flipped to the last page. It was a screenshot of a wire transfer. On December 25thDjust three days after Vance quitDhe received his first payment from Ridgeview Capital: one million dollars.

The memo line read: Initial acquisition of AI vocal assets.

He used your voice to secure his funding, Lukes voice was quiet, but every word was sharp.

The investors think its his proprietary tech. In reality, its all stolen.

I stared at those numbers for a long time.

One million dollars. My voice was worth a million dollarsDVance just forgot to send me my cut.

Is there more?

One more thing.

Luke flipped to the final sheet. It was a screenshot of another host named Sarah Townsend. She had resigned from a station in another city last summer because she was replaced by AI. Her voice was a perfect match for another product on SoulEcho FM.

You aren't the only victim.

I looked up at him.

Outside the window, the crowds in Central Plaza were buzzing. The 3:00 PM sun hit the table, illuminating the red circles and the cold, hard numbers.

I snapped the folder shut.

Help me find Sarah.

He nodded. He didn't say okay or no problem. Just a single, firm nod. To him, the task I gave him was just another line of codeDno confirmation needed.

I suddenly realized something. For three years, this is probably how he had listened to my show.

He didn't talk much. He just got things done.

4.

Sarah lived in the suburbs of a neighboring city, on the fifth floor of a crumbling apartment block.

Luke drove me there. During the three-hour trip, he barely said a word. The CD player was spinning some old indie-folk tunesDhe claimed they weren't his, but were just left in the car.

I didn't believe him for a second.

When Sarah opened the door, she was wearing fuzzy coral pajamas. When she saw Luke standing behind me, she took a step back.

Who are you people?

My name is Nia Reed. Im a radio host. I want to talk to you about SoulEcho FM.

Her face fell instantly.

I have nothing to say about that.

She tried to slam the door, but I caught it.

I know Vance Ford stole your voice. He stole mine too.

Sarahs hand froze on the handle.

You too?

I nodded. She studied me for ten seconds before stepping aside to let us in. The apartment was tinyDjust a bed and a desk cluttered with law school prep books.

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, her head down.

Last June, my boss called me in. He said the station was bringing in AI hosts to cut costs and suggested I move to a behind-the-scenes role. I said fine. Then, two weeks later, he told me the AI needed training data and asked for my old recordings.

And you gave them to him?

I did. I thought it was a station project. She gave a bitter laugh. Two months later, my show was canceled. The AI host took my time slot. The station called it technological innovation in the press.

Do you know SoulEcho FM?

She shook her head.

I pulled out my phone and opened the app. I clicked on a product called Stella-Voice. Sarahs voice poured out of the speakersDsounding exactly like her old show.

Sarah went pale.

Thats me. But I never authorized thisDI neverD

Vance Ford. The CEO of SoulEcho. He used to be a tech guy at my station. I pushed Lukes folder toward her. He used the same tactics to steal my voice and raise ten million dollars. Your voice is part of his catalog too.

Sarah flipped through the pages, her hands trembling. When she saw the investment records at the end, she stood up abruptly.

Im going to sue the bastard.

One person might not be enough to take him down, I said.

She turned to look at me.

Will you stand with me?

Sarah bit her lip. Outside, the sky was a dull grey over the old buildings. Last year, she thought she had been discarded because she wasn't good enough. Now she knew the truth.

She nodded firmly.

I pulled out my phone and hit record.

Sarah, can you confirm that the Stella-Voice AI on SoulEcho FM uses audio material from your time as a host, recorded and used without your permission?

I confirm it.

And are you willing to provide this as evidence in a legal proceeding?

She took a deep breath.

I am.

I saved the recording and put my phone away. Sarahs eyes were rimmed with red. Luke was leaning against the doorframe, silent as everDbut he quietly closed her law books and moved them to the other side of the bed to give us more room to sit.

Sarah, what are you planning to specialize in? I asked.

Law, she said.

She looked at me, her eyes still watery but her lips curving into a small smile.

After I got fired, I decided to take the bar. I wanted to knowDwhen people are treated like this, is there actually a way to fight back?

Luke spoke up softly from the doorway.

There is.

Sarah looked at the two of us, and finally, she couldn't hold it back anymore. She leaned over the desk and started to sob.

5.

It was dark by the time we started the drive back.

Luke swapped the CD. This time it was solo piano music. His excuse was even lazier this time: This one was definitely already in the car too.

The car just happened to come with two different CDs?

He went silent.

I leaned back in my seat, watching the highway lights flash past like a strobe light. I could still feel the weight of Sarahs tears in my chest.

Luke.

Yeah?

How did you first figure out Vance was stealing my voice?

His grip on the steering wheel was steady. He stayed quiet for about ten seconds.

In February. I was doing a security audit for a clientDlooking for signs of system intrusions. An unusual API call caught my eye.

What kind of API?

SoulEcho FM. It was calling an external audio sourceDpointing directly to your stations servers. Normally, an AI voice product shouldn't be making direct calls to external real-time audio. It should be using its own trained model.

Wait, are you sayingD

SoulEcho FM isn't AI. He glanced at me briefly before focusing back on the road. Its just taking pre-recorded human voices, chopping them into fragments, and stitching them together on demand. No training. No model. Its just a glorified media player with a stitching engine.

I was stunned.

So the whole thing is a lie?

Total fraud. Vance doesn't have AI techDhe just planned to pass your voice off as code from the start.

The car slowed down. He hit the blinker and pulled onto the shoulder.

The streetlights cast a clinical glow through the windshield.

I wanted to tell you in February, he said, his voice dropping an octave. But I was afraid youd think I was a stalker. A cybersecurity guy who listens to your show every night, suddenly showing up with criminal evidence against your exDthat sounds less like a hero and more like a creep.

So I waited.

Until when?

Until you needed me. Last Friday, you said it on the showDthat someone was investigating something but lacked proof.

He turned to look at me.

That was the first time you ever asked for help on air. You never talk about yourselfDyou read other peoples letters, comfort them, give them advice. But you never mention your own life.

So you showed up.

So I finally had a reason to show up.

The cars heater hummed in the silence. Here was this guy in a washed-out hoodie, headphones around his neck, pulled over on the side of a highway just to tell me this.

Luke, I said.

Those one hundred and thirteen lettersDwhat did they say?

His ears turned a shade of red that could have stopped traffic.

Didn't you read them all?

I didn't know they were all from the same person.

He restarted the engine. The sound of the car drowned out his reply, but the light hit his face just rightDhe was smiling.

It was a tiny thing. Just a slight upward curve of his lips before he forced them back into a neutral line.

Listen to them again on your way home, he said.

You have recordings?

I have backups.

Backups of your own... love letters?

His ears got even redder. He hit the gas, and the car surged forward.

Thats your word. I never said it.

Vance got my message just two days after SoulEchos premium subscription went live.

I sent him a single photoDa screenshot of the server logs. Sixty-seven highlighted access entries. Underneath, I wrote: Tomorrow, 3:00 PM. The cafe under the station.

He replied almost instantly: What are you playing at?

I didn't answer.

The next afternoon, the cafe was nearly empty when Vance walked in. He was wearing a camel hair coat and a brand-new watch. The second he saw me, he smirkedDthat condescending look he always gave me, as if to say, Why are you even trying?

Nia, if youre short on cash, just say so. SoulEcho is blowing up. I can get you a spot asD

I slammed the folder onto the table.

He glanced at the red circles. The smirk slowly bled off his face.