Nathan returned from his parents' apartment to the beach house, under the midday sun, with a triumphant smile that practically screamed "mission accomplished." As he stepped inside, his voice took on a villainous tone, relishing his recent success.“My father’s letter made quite the impression on the sergeant,” he murmured to himself. “Now it’s just a matter of time before he digs into the case and realizes Lawrence Vieira doesn’t exist... nothing but a fabrication by Karl Sterling.”Making his way into the kitchen, Nathan opened the refrigerator, rummaging through leftovers and pulling out a few pans. He set them on the stove, beginning to reheat his lunch while continuing his monologue with the flair of someone who thought ten moves ahead.“And even if they dig into the past or someone brings up the car crash, no one can prove anything. It'll be the word of a man who used a fake identity... versus a famous pianist whose life was nearly cut short.”The soft hiss of reheating food fil