Chapter 178: Dr. Nathan Vale

Nathan Vale's public career looked respectable.

That made Freya more cautious, not less.

He had published papers on identity modeling, synthetic agents, and behavioral continuity across simulated environments. Nothing publicly available mentioned Mirror, Crosswind, or mysterious endpoints.

His institute received funding from universities, technology companies, and private donors.

One old donor connected indirectly to Greyline.

Again.

Freya was becoming tired of shell companies.

Investigators could not simply accuse Vale because an old account might have belonged to him.

They needed evidence.

Claire reviewed her memories of him.

Vale had joined Crosswind for less than six months.

He was charismatic, persuasive, and constantly frustrated by the company's commercial focus.

"He thought stories were data laboratories," Claire said.

Mercer added, "He believed characters and readers could be modeled using the same identity structures."

Freya disliked being discussed in the same sentence as characters.

Vale had left after Claire rejected a proposal to run experiments without clear user consent.

That sounded familiar.

Freya asked whether Adrian knew him.

Thomas confirmed they had met at least twice through investment circles.

No evidence showed a close relationship.

Vale's institute responded politely when investigators requested historical records.

Too politely, Derek thought.

They provided contracts, emails, and archived research notes.

Most appeared legitimate.

One document referenced Observer_0 as a "system maintenance account."

Vale denied creating or controlling it.

His lawyer stated that many people had administrator access.

Technically true.

Eliza did not believe him.

"He always lies by making the narrowest sentence true."

Freya recognized the type.

Still, Eliza's opinion was not evidence.

Then the forensic team discovered that one of Vale's submitted archived emails had different metadata from Claire's independently preserved copy.

A paragraph had been removed.

Claire's version read:

Nathan, stop testing the unknown endpoint. We do not know what is on the other side, and you do not have consent from whoever is generating that data.

Vale's submitted version ended after the first sentence.

That alteration changed everything.

Investigators requested the original devices and backups.

Vale's institute stopped being cooperative.

Lawyers arrived.

Freya continued working.

She refused to spend every hour refreshing updates.

Sunroom had a new project.

The Open Page had an author event.

Her bookstore novel had reached fifty thousand words.

Louis noticed that she was calmer than during earlier investigations.

"Practice," she said.

"That's a terrible thing to become practiced at."

True.

That night, an unknown number called Freya's attorney.

The caller asked to speak with Freya.

It was Nathan Vale.

He did not threaten her.

He said only one thing before the lawyer ended the call.

"Tell Freya Stone that Eliza Warren doesn't understand what she opened."

Freya heard the recording.

Then she added another name to the whiteboard.

Nathan Vale.

Underneath, she wrote:

Still not fate.

Vale's institute also removed his access to active research systems while the historical records were examined. Freya appreciated that the institution did not publicly declare him guilty before the evidence was complete, but it also did not pretend the altered email was a harmless discrepancy.

Freya recorded the facts separately from her assumptions and continued with the next practical step. That habit had become one of the strongest protections she possessed. A dramatic explanation could wait; evidence could not. Louis understood the difference, and together they refused to let uncertainty turn ordinary decisions into reactions to a story neither of them had chosen.

Freya recorded the facts separately from her assumptions and continued with the next practical step. That habit had become one of the strongest protections she possessed. A dramatic explanation could wait; evidence could not. Louis understood the difference, and together they refused to let uncertainty turn ordinary decisions into reactions to a story neither of them had chosen.