Chapter 9 - AFTER THE MASKS CAME OFF
Six months later, Natalie Parker signed her divorce papers.
She cried afterward.
That surprised her.
She had expected relief.
Instead she sat inside her attorney's office staring at Ethan's signature and mourning something more complicated than a bad marriage.
There had been love.
Real love.
That was what made betrayal difficult.
If Ethan had always been cruel, leaving would have been simple.
But he had made pancakes on Sundays.
He remembered how she liked hotel pillows.
He called her mother every week during chemotherapy.
He once drove three hours because Natalie mentioned missing a bakery near her childhood home.
The loving man and the lying man had always been the same person.
Natalie had learned healing did not require pretending otherwise.
Charles Parker pleaded not guilty to more than twenty federal charges.
Then Elias's recordings, Ethan's testimony, and Nathaniel's server archives made denial increasingly useless.
Three former executives cooperated.
Two public officials resigned.
Parker Security collapsed.
News networks called it one of the largest private-security corruption scandals in a generation.
Natalie stopped watching television after the first week.
Ethan pleaded guilty to obstruction-related charges.
Because he had voluntarily surrendered records and cooperated extensively, prosecutors recommended a reduced sentence.
Eleven months.
Natalie visited him once before he reported to federal custody.
They met in Central Park.
Neutral ground.
Ethan looked thinner.
Older.
He carried no expensive watch.
No tailored suit.
Just jeans and a dark coat.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
They walked.
For several minutes neither mentioned lawyers, prison, Nathaniel, or divorce.
Finally Ethan said, “I signed everything.”
“I saw.”
“I didn't contest the apartment.”
“I know.”
“You should keep it.”
Natalie looked at him.
“I sold it.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Last month.”
That apartment had once represented success.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Designer furniture.
A skyline view people photographed when they visited.
After everything, Natalie couldn't sleep there.
“Where are you living?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“Good.”
They reached a bench.
Ethan sat.
Natalie remained standing.
“I owe you an apology that doesn't ask for forgiveness,” he said.
She looked at him.
“I've written it about thirty times.”
“Please don't give me thirty versions.”
He almost laughed.
Then his eyes filled.
“I loved you.”
Natalie swallowed.
“I know.”
“I used that love as an excuse to control what you were allowed to know.”
“Yes.”
“I thought protecting you meant carrying the ugly things alone.”
“You weren't carrying them alone. You were putting them on me without telling me.”
Ethan nodded.
“I understand that now.”
Natalie sat beside him.
“You should have trusted me with the truth.”
“I should have.”
“I might have left.”
“I know.”
“You were afraid of that.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward children playing near the path.
“That was the choice you stole from me.”
Ethan wiped his eyes.
“I know.”
This time she allowed him to say it.
They sat together for another minute.
Then Natalie stood.
“I hope prison isn't awful.”
“That might be the nicest thing you've said to me in six months.”
“Don't get sentimental.”
He smiled.
“Natalie?”
She turned.
“I am sorry.”
She nodded.
“I believe you.”
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But it was true.
She walked away.
Nathaniel's future was stranger.
The bullet had missed major arteries.
After surgery, he survived.
He still faced charges for unlawful entry, identity fraud, surveillance, assault, and multiple other crimes.
However, Elias's recording supported his claim that he had spent months gathering evidence against Charles.
Morgan believed Nathaniel had originally returned to expose his father.
His obsession with Ethan—and Natalie—had corrupted that mission.
A court psychiatrist described him as deeply traumatized but competent.
Natalie visited him once.
The meeting occurred through reinforced glass.
Nathaniel picked up the phone.
“So.”
“So.”
“You look different.”
“I cut my hair.”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“You look like someone who sleeps.”
Natalie ignored that.
“I came to ask about Elias.”
His smile vanished.
Nathaniel looked down.
“He shouldn't have died.”
“What happened?”
“He came to stop Victor Hale.”
“The assassin.”
“Yes.”
“Hale killed him?”
Nathaniel swallowed.
“I arrived after the fight.”
“Why hide Elias?”
“His last request.”
“Why?”
“Because if Charles knew Elias was dead, Charles would know nobody was left watching him.”
Natalie slowly nodded.
“And the man in the SUV?”
“Victor Hale.”
The burned body had finally been identified through dental reconstruction.
Hale had stolen Ethan's belongings after attacking Elias.
Nathaniel found him preparing to kill Ethan.
They fought inside the parking garage.
Hale fled in Ethan's SUV.
Nathaniel remotely disabled its steering assistance.
Hale crashed.
Natalie stared through the glass.
“You caused the accident.”
“Yes.”
“You could have called police.”
“I didn't trust them.”
“You could have told Ethan.”
Nathaniel laughed bitterly.
“Ethan and I weren't exactly brothers who exchanged Christmas cards.”
Natalie leaned closer.
“What about the nights you entered my apartment?”
His face changed.
Shame.
Good.
She wanted him to feel it.
“I won't excuse it,” he said.
“Did you pretend to be Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
Nathaniel looked away.
“Four.”
Natalie felt nauseated despite already knowing.
“Did you ever touch me?”
He looked directly at her.
“No.”
She watched his face.
“I slept on the couch or left before morning.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn't.”
The answer echoed Ethan's earlier words.
Natalie sat quietly.
Nathaniel continued.
“I wanted to know whether I could take his life.”
“And?”
“I could imitate him.”
His eyes lowered.
“But I couldn't become him.”
Natalie stood.
“That's because identities aren't possessions.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“I know.”
She began leaving.
“Natalie.”
She stopped.
Nathaniel pressed a hand against the glass.
“I am sorry.”
She did not touch the glass.
“I hope someday you're sorry because you understand what you did, not because you lost.”
Then she walked away.
Outside the courthouse, Detective Morgan waited with coffee.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Reasonable.”
She accepted the cup.
They had become friends through the case.
Nothing more.
Morgan had never pushed.
Natalie appreciated that more than she expected.
“You know,” he said, “normal people spend Saturdays at brunch.”
“I'll put it on my calendar.”
“There's a place near your new apartment.”
She glanced at him.
“Detective Morgan, are you asking me to brunch?”
“Technically, I'm no longer your detective.”
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“It was.”
Natalie smiled.
For the first time in months, the feeling arrived without guilt.
“Next Saturday.”
Morgan blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
His smile was quiet.
No fireworks.
No dramatic music.
No promises.
May you like
Exactly what Natalie needed.
As they walked toward the subway, she noticed she wasn't looking over her shoulder anymore.
