Chapter 7 - Nathan’s Pattern
Stephanie Miller lived forty minutes away.
I never expected to meet her.
Detective Grant did.
Three days after Rebecca discovered Nathan’s computer, Stephanie sat in a conference room across from us.
She was forty-one.
Divorced.
Two teenage daughters.
And the moment I said Nathan’s name, her expression changed.
“That wasn’t the name he gave me.”
Detective Grant leaned forward.
“What name did he use?”
“Nick Wallace.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Stephanie looked between us.
“You’re his wife?”
Rebecca nodded.
“And you?”
I swallowed.
“He had an affair with my wife.”
Stephanie stared at the table.
“Of course he did.”
She told us her story.
Nathan—Nick—had met her at a gym.
He said he owned a construction company.
Said he was divorced.
Said he understood how lonely marriage could make someone feel.
My stomach twisted.
The script sounded familiar.
“He made me feel seen,” Stephanie whispered.
Claire had used those exact words when finally explaining the affair.
Stephanie continued.
Her marriage had already been failing.
Nathan encouraged her to leave.
Then came the business opportunity.
Then the loan.
Then the forged paperwork.
By the time Stephanie realized what had happened, forty-eight thousand dollars was gone.
Nathan disappeared.
She never knew his real name.
Rebecca looked physically ill.
“How long ago?”
“Two years.”
Rebecca stood and walked to the corner.
Two years.
Nathan had been doing this while married to her.
Before Claire.
Before my house.
Before the snowstorm.
Detective Grant asked Stephanie whether she could identify Nathan from a photograph.
She did immediately.
“That’s him.”
When I told Claire later, she didn’t speak for almost a full minute.
Then she whispered, “I’m an idiot.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You don’t have to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.”
I sat across from her in the coffee shop where we had agreed to discuss Eli’s schedule.
“You made terrible choices.”
She looked down.
“But calling yourself stupid lets you avoid examining why you made them.”
She looked surprised.
“So what am I?”
“I don’t know.”
I meant it.
“That’s something you have to figure out.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I started therapy.”
“Good.”
“Not to get you back.”
I said nothing.
“I know that’s over.”
The words hurt even though I knew they were true.
Claire twisted her coffee cup.
“I kept telling myself you didn’t care anymore because you worked.”
“I did care.”
“I know.”
“You could have asked me to change jobs.”
“I did.”
“You complained.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
I leaned forward.
“You never told me, ‘Daniel, I am so unhappy that our marriage might end.’”
She stared at me.
“You’re right.”
“If you had, I would have listened.”
“I know.”
I almost smiled sadly.
“There it is again.”
She nodded.
“I’m trying.”
I believed that.
I still didn’t trust her.
Those were different things.
The financial investigation moved quickly after Stephanie’s statement.
Aaron West turned over messages proving Nathan had orchestrated the false notarization.
The bank froze funds still traceable in one account.
Nearly thirty-eight thousand dollars was recovered.
Not everything.
But something.
Then Claire gave Detective Grant access to all her messages.
Every one.
Including messages that made her look terrible.
That mattered.
Not enough to erase what she had done.
But enough to show she had stopped hiding.
One Friday evening, Rebecca came to pick up a box of Nathan’s belongings the police had cleared for release.
Eli was with Claire.
Rebecca stood in my doorway.
For a moment, neither of us knew what to say.
Finally she looked at the driveway.
“No truck.”
I understood immediately.
“First peaceful thing I’ve seen there in weeks.”
She smiled faintly.
Then her eyes filled.
“I hate that street now.”
“Me too.”
She looked at me.
“Are you selling?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“I already listed ours.”
I nodded.
We stood in silence.
Two people who had lived four houses apart for years and barely knew each other.
Now we shared a disaster.
Rebecca picked up the box.
“Olivia asked about Eli.”
“They can still see each other.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Your daughter didn’t do anything.”
Neither did you, I almost added.
But that wasn’t true.
Rebecca had done something.
She had knocked on my door.
She had brought me the truth.
That night, Claire dropped Eli off after dinner.
He ran inside carrying a paper snowflake.
“Mommy made this with me.”
I smiled.
“That’s great.”
Claire stayed outside.
“Therapy went well.”
“Yours or Eli’s?”
“Mine.”
“Good.”
She hesitated.
“Daniel?”
“What?”
“I gave Detective Grant something else today.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“Nathan rented a storage unit.”
“How do you know?”
“He gave me the spare months ago.”
“Why?”
“He said we might store furniture there after we left.”
I stared at her.
“Did you ever go inside?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
She gave me the address.
“I told Detective Grant first.”
That was smart.
“Thank you.”
Claire nodded.
Then she walked to her car.
The next morning, Detective Grant called.
I answered on the first ring.
“Did you search it?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
“Documents.”
My stomach dropped.
“What documents?”
“Copies of identification. Bank statements. loan applications. Information belonging to multiple people.”
“How many?”
“At least seven potential victims.”
I sat down.
Then her tone changed.
“But that’s not why I called.”
“What else?”
“We found Nathan’s passport.”
I frowned.
“If his passport is there, maybe he didn’t leave the country.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“Thought?”
“There was also a receipt.”
“For what?”
“A bus ticket purchased yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Milwaukee.”
My heart started racing.
“That’s near Melissa’s cabin.”
“Yes.”
May you like
Then Detective Grant said:
“And according to Melissa, Nathan showed up there last night.”
