Chapter 9 - What Nathan Had Been Hiding
Hannah stood in front of forty angry parents and refused to cry.
I watched from the back of Bridge House.
Some parents believed her.
Some didn't.
A reporter waited outside.
Another had called her a “mafia girlfriend” on television that morning.
The phrase had spread online.
Pictures from our first café date appeared everywhere.
My fault.
Every part of it.
When the meeting ended, Hannah disappeared into her office.
I followed.
She closed the door.
“Don't.”
“Hannah.”
“I said don't.”
She stood with both hands on her desk.
“Not right now.”
“I can fix the article.”
“How?”
“My attorneys—”
She laughed bitterly.
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“Attorneys. Money. Pressure. Phone calls.”
“What would you prefer?”
“The truth.”
“I gave the truth to prosecutors.”
“The public doesn't know that.”
“They will.”
“When?”
I didn't answer.
Federal investigators had asked us to remain quiet.
Hannah looked at me.
“I'm losing families every hour.”
“I know.”
“No, Nathan, you don't.”
Her voice rose.
“You've spent twenty years being feared. People believing terrible things about you doesn't change your life.”
She touched her chest.
“My entire life depends on people trusting me.”
That stopped me.
“I didn't launder money.”
“I know.”
“But you did.”
Silence.
She had never asked exactly how my criminal operations worked.
Now she did.
“How much?”
“Hannah—”
“How much illegal money have your companies moved?”
I looked at her.
“Millions.”
Her eyes closed.
“How many businesses did you force into deals?”
“I don't know.”
“How many people got hurt because of you?”
I couldn't answer honestly with a number.
That was answer enough.
She sat.
“I thought…”
“What?”
“I thought the stories were exaggerated.”
“Some were.”
“And some weren't.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Tell you what? On the first date? Hello, I'm Nathan, here's a list of every terrible thing I've ever done?”
“Don't make it ridiculous.”
“I'm not.”
“Yes, you are, because then you don't have to admit you let me care about you while I only knew the version of you that you wanted me to see.”
That landed.
“I never lied about what I was.”
“You didn't tell the truth either.”
I had no defense.
Hannah stood.
“I need space.”
“I can protect you better if—”
She laughed without humor.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Protection.”
She picked up her bag.
“You keep using that word when you mean control.”
She left.
For three days, she didn't answer my calls.
I kept my promise.
I didn't send anyone after her.
Didn't place visible security outside her apartment.
Didn't pressure Rachel to intervene.
Instead, I sat in my office and watched pieces of my life begin to fall apart.
Federal agents seized records.
Two board members resigned.
Three business partners disappeared.
Banks froze accounts tied to older companies.
The media camped outside my headquarters.
Then prosecutors asked for a second interview.
This time, about a man named Anthony Serrano.
Serrano had disappeared nine years earlier.
He'd stolen from one of my companies.
I'd ordered Marcus to find him.
Marcus had.
Serrano had been beaten.
Badly.
He survived, but left Illinois.
I had never touched him.
That didn't matter.
The order had been mine.
I admitted it.
That evening, Rachel came to my office.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
She sat across from me.
“She'll come around.”
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
Rachel looked at the stacks of files.
“Do you love her?”
I didn't answer.
“You do.”
“Yes.”
It was the first time I'd said it aloud.
Rachel smiled sadly.
“Then maybe love her enough to let her decide.”
“I am.”
“No.”
She leaned forward.
“You're waiting for her to decide whether she can accept who you were.”
“What else is there?”
“Who you're becoming.”
I looked at her.
“You keep acting like losing everything is punishment.”
“It may be.”
“Maybe it's freedom.”
My sister had always been irritatingly perceptive.
The following morning, I called a press conference.
My attorneys objected.
Federal prosecutors strongly discouraged it.
Marcus called it reckless.
I did it anyway.
Cameras packed the room.
I stood alone.
No security behind me.
No company logos.
“I am Nathan Mercer,” I began.
Silence.
“Recent reporting has linked Hannah Cole and Bridge House Community Center to financial crimes associated with my businesses.”
I looked directly into the central camera.
“That allegation is false.”
Reporters started shouting.
I continued.
“Hannah Cole had no knowledge of illegal funds routed through Mercer Logistics. Bridge House had no knowledge. I am responsible for the systems that allowed criminal activity to operate inside companies under my control.”
My lawyer looked physically ill.
“I have provided investigators with evidence of wrongdoing involving my family, my companies, and myself.”
The room erupted.
I raised my voice.
“If charges are appropriate, I will answer them.”
A reporter shouted, “Are you admitting you're a criminal?”
“Yes.”
The room became silent again.
It was strange how easy the word felt once spoken.
Another reporter yelled, “What about Ms. Cole?”
“She is innocent.”
“What's your relationship?”
That question caught me.
I could lie.
Instead:
“I care about her.”
“How much?”
The reporter probably expected evasion.
I thought about the first café.
The repaired shoes.
The cheapest coffee.
The question nobody had ever asked me.
“If losing every business I own is necessary to clear her name, I'll lose them.”
That quote was everywhere within an hour.
Hannah called that night.
I stared at her name on my phone before answering.
“Hello.”
“You weren't supposed to say that.”
Her voice was quiet.
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“It was true.”
“You may have destroyed your legal defense.”
“My lawyers mentioned that.”
She almost laughed.
Then silence.
Finally:
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I should have done it sooner.”
Another pause.
“Nathan.”
“Yes?”
“I still need time.”
“I know.”
“But I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“You finally stopped protecting yourself.”
The call ended shortly afterward.
It wasn't forgiveness.
But it was something.
Two hours later, federal agents arrested Calvin Ross at a motel outside Milwaukee.
On his laptop, they found payment records.
Payments from Jonathan Pierce.
Payments to Adrian Vale.
And one scheduled payment that hadn't yet been completed.
Recipient:
E. COLE.
Eli stared at the record in disbelief.
“I never received this.”
“Maybe there's another E. Cole,” Marcus said.
But Hannah, standing in the doorway after coming to see the evidence, looked terrified.
Because beneath the recipient's name was a note.
FINAL PAYMENT UPON DELIVERY OF ORIGINAL LEDGER.
Somebody using Eli Cole's identity had promised Pierce the one thing we thought had already been stolen.
Which meant either Eli was lying…
or there was another copy.
May you like
And whoever had it was close enough to us to know everything.
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