Chapter 9: After the Sirens
The case advanced without needing us to live inside every filing.
Nathan’s bail requests failed on flight risk and on the strength of the camera, the call data, the storage unit, and the champagne. Morgan Technologies issued a restrained public note about personnel matters and cooperation with authorities. The forged policy was entered into the record as a false instrument. The disposable phone on the other end of Nathan’s call remained a dead end that suggested at least one other person had listened to the plan; that thread stayed with the investigators and did not, for now, land on our doorstep.
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Alex returned to work in stages, shadowed by a security detail he hated and a board that watched him for cracks. I returned to the small consulting projects I had paused for wedding planning, grateful for problems that could be solved with spreadsheets rather than testimony. In the evenings we cooked ordinary food and practiced the new habits the night had taught us: glasses checked without apology, doors locked from the inside by us alone, the under-bed space left empty and undiscussed unless one of us needed to say the words aloud to keep them from rotting.
Friends reached out with careful messages. Some had been at the wedding and were rewriting their memories of Nathan’s toast. We answered what we could and let the rest remain unanswered. Not every curiosity deserved a seat at our table. Lena, who had been my maid of honor, came over once with takeout and no questions about dust. She sat on the floor and talked about her own week until the room felt less like a continuation of a crime scene. That visit did more for my nervous system than any official update.
