Chapter 7
Five years later.
A crisp autumn wind swept red and gold leaves across Yale’s campus.
I sat in my favorite coffee shop, typing the final conclusion of my master’s thesis in economics.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Derek.
Opened my second garage. You owe me dinner next weekend when you visit. Try not to use too many big words on me.
I smiled and typed back:
You’re buying, grease monkey.
Then I took a sip of my latte and scrolled absently through social media.
The algorithm threw up a suggested article from my old hometown.
A familiar face stopped me cold.
It took a second to recognize him.
The headline read:
LOCAL MAN ARRESTED IN CONVENIENCE STORE ROBBERY
The mugshot showed a man in his early twenties who looked twice that age. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes were sunken. His hairline had already started receding. A fresh scar slashed across one cheek.
It was Ethan Lane.
The article said he had dropped out of community college after his first semester, spiraled into substance abuse, and ended up living out of his car. He had tried to rob a gas station with a fake gun and been tackled by the cashier.
He was facing five to ten years.
Likely the same penal system his mother would die in.
I stared at the photo for a long time.
In my past life, this same man had gone to MIT. He had become a wealthy engineer, married a beautiful woman, and lived in comfort, all on top of the ashes of my murdered family and my ruined reputation.
In this life, without me as his shield, he had collapsed into dust.
I felt no pity.
I felt no guilt.
The universe had corrected itself.
The scales were finally balanced.
I closed the article, shut my laptop, and stepped outside into the bright afternoon.
The autumn air was clean and cold against my face.
There was no smoke.
Only the sweet, sharp scent of freedom.