Epilogue #3
I used to think my presence and work here were essential to the workings of this company, but it looks like they did well without us. Slower than they would have done had I been there to help and guide them, but still pretty well.
It’s such an odd feeling to be back at my old desk after everything that happened. I’m happy to be here, but it feels … small. Not the space, but the purpose. There’s been so much going on with our lives that a nine-to-five job feels inadequate.
At least I have Andrea with me, right on the other side of my desk, as she used to be when we worked in my office together.
She came with her laptop, surprising me.
I didn’t take it personally when she asked to work in the Lair for now.
She’s seen too much of me lately, and she missed her friends.
But I was glad to see her come in and settle in her old spot, even if it’s “just for an hour.”
Feeling a little restless and underwhelmed, I stand from my chair and go around the desk to lean on the edge near her.
“You can’t be away from me for more than five minutes, can you?” she teases, peering up at me through her lashes for a second before returning to her screen.
“You’re the one who came up here despite your desk being in the Lair.”
“The guys kept asking me questions I couldn’t answer. I needed a break.”
“Well, I have a question, too.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you, Alexander.”
“It’s not that. It’s … serious.”
Now, I have her intrigued enough to let go of what she’s doing and turn to me. “Speak, four eyes.”
I remove the glasses and take a moment to think of what I’m about to ask. “Hypothetically, if we flew under the radar and didn’t make a big egocentric thing out of it … would you be open to continuing using our expertise in … ethical hacking?”
Her face turns confused, then surprised, then confused again. “Oh, wow … Baby, it’s not even been a day, and you’re so bored you want to become Nammota again?”
“No, not Nammota. Something genuinely anonymous. No claiming of the heists, no alias, no front pages. Silent, discreet work that helps people.”
She considers it, frowning as she does, and I worry she might think it unreasonable. Fuck, it is unreasonable. Why would I even suggest that? We just got ourselves out of a deadly situation, and I’m already talking about returning there.
“I get where you’re coming from,” she carefully says, still frowning. “Like, you want to do more for people than we do with Kelex. You want to help them like Nammota did because it’s so personal and changes lives.”
“Yes,” I say, surprised she understood so well something I struggled to put into words.
“And I completely get that. I loved what I did to get you out, and I love that we stopped Becker … But for you, it’s a bit like the Bruce Wayne paradox, isn’t it?”
“The Bruce Wayne paradox?”
“Like, he puts on body armor and a cape, and then he beats up petty criminals while calling himself ‘Vengeance’ to help his city. And the whole time, he sits on enough money to rebuild the entire city and save it sustainably.”
It’s my turn to frown, processing her words. She continues her argument with, “You could become Nammota or something similar again, and do whatever you can to help whoever you can. Or you could be Alexander Coleman and change the world one check at a time.”
“Like what we’re doing for Becker’s victims?”
“Exactly. But for everyone. Or for as many people as possible.”
I’ve often given to charities, but I never thought of going much further than that.
Changing the world might be a bit much, but I could make a difference and change millions of lives if I invest my money wisely.
And no more being in the shadows and risking my freedom.
I could do it all in broad daylight, lawfully, legally.
Andrea’s hand comes to my thigh, dragging my attention from the wall and back to her.
“It’s not my place to tell you what to do with your money.
And I know you have a plan to buy out your grandfather’s company and get one over on your father.
But if I had nearly fifty billion dollars in assets and stocks …
I’d make sure not a single child in this country goes to bed hungry.
I’d build shelters so unhoused people don’t die of exposure.
I’d help women in abusive relationships get out.
I’d fund schools so zip codes no longer determine a child’s future.
I’d pay for people to lobby in Washington so the right laws are passed, not the ones that some fucking assholes want to protect themselves and their wealth. ”
She pauses, invigorated by her prospect, cheeks pink and eyes shiny. “Look at what my heist did, with one point four billion. So many of those charities are thriving. They’re able to help so many people. Can you imagine what you could do with thirty-five times that?” she asks.
I haven’t felt this way in a long time, this steady, humbling shame that I don’t deserve the woman sitting in front of me.
She’s simply … magnificent. Andrea looks at the world and sees responsibility where others see excuses, possibilities where others see limits.
Her goodness isn’t loud or performative, but instinctive, bottomless, and uncompromising.
The kind that makes you want to be better just by standing close to it.
She’s too good for anyone, really, not just for me.
But I’m not letting her go, so it’s up to me to rise to her level.
“I like all that,” I say, almost shaken by this new perception of things. “I like that a lot.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“You think it could be enough?”
“I think it could be much more than I can handle. But it’s a flawless, selfless, and perfect purpose.”
“I meant … won’t you miss the thrill of being Nammota?”
“It was never about that. It was about boredom, depression, and maybe some self-sabotaging tendencies. But I get the feeling our boring little life won’t bore me that much.”
She smiles at that, first genuinely, then impishly. “I’ll keep you entertained, baby. Keep you on your toes.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“And I’m happy to help if you ever need support with your new life purpose.”
“Oh, we’re doing this together. A side hustle.”
“Hustles are supposed to earn you money, not make you spend it,” she laughs.
“We’ll make money. We’ll make billions, so we can help even more people.”
“That’s the spirit, Coleman.”
Feeling like an entirely new person, I bend down to kiss her, unleashing on her all the excitement and trepidation she caused.
“Who knew Nammota 2.0 would be Alexander Coleman, the philanthropist?” I say against her lips.
“My God … Unhand me, I have to return to work,” Andrea giggles, pulling away.
“Right. I’ll get to work, too,” I decide, returning to my chair. “I’ll write our manifesto.”
She lets out a shocked breath. “You realize it’ll be very hard to do all that and Kelex, right?”
“Hmm … Right. Let’s not tell Kevin right away. He’ll be mad about the three offices.”
She giggles with a shake of her head. In the corner of my eye, I see her get up and come on my side of the desk to rest her perfect ass on the side of it.
When I look at her, she says, “Let’s take baby steps first, test the waters, see how it all works.
And little by little, you’ll become Alexander Coleman, the philanthropist.”
“I’ll be Alexander Walker by then. I can make that work. Walker, walk, walking … There’s a slogan somewhere in there.”
I only vaguely hear Andrea mumble, “I’ve created a monster.” Then she makes little sense about nobody wanting to see Marshall anymore and chopped liver or something. But I’m too focused to pay attention.
“Whoever drove the truck that killed Becker, maybe they should be on top of our philanthropic agenda,” I suggest.
Andrea laughs and lays a hand on my jaw, forcing me to look at her again. “The dark side constantly pulls you toward it, doesn’t it?”
I rest my hands on her hips. “Why do you think I want you in my life? You’re constantly pulling me toward the light, Andrea. You are my light. My purpose, my reason to live, my ultimate goal.”
“Me and philanthropy.” God, she’s so pretty when she smirks like this.
“No, you. Just you. That other thing, it’s on you. You’re my voice of reason.”
“But I’m not,” she says softly. “All I do is love you, baby. You’re the one doing everything else.”
When I guide her onto my lap, she lets me.
We’ve spent so much time together lately, and somehow, it’s still not enough.
I don’t think it ever will be. I’ll always want more of her.
And I’ve finally learned that wanting isn’t a flaw or a weakness.
It’s a powerful promise. An unbreakable vow from me to her.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling emotional, “for stumbling into my life and turning it inside out.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that, baby. It’s not like either of us had a choice, is it? We were inevitable.”
Inevitable. That’s the word for it. From the first moment I saw her, I was already lost. Already hers.
I had no choice. I was always bound to fall in love with her.
It’s like she’s tailored to me, exactly right for my deepest needs, flawlessly perfect in her own way.
She fits me in ways I didn’t know I was empty.
With her silly T-shirts, movie quotes, wild curls, pretty freckles, sharp tongue and sharper mind, impulsive temperament, loving nature …
Against every ridiculous, impossible odd, we found each other. Billions of variables and parameters led us to the moment we stepped into that elevator. And somehow, we turned coincidence into unbreakable love. We made it our constant.
And in my heart, in that part of me she so effortlessly conquered and stole, I know it was never luck. Never chance. It was fate. A destiny that didn’t trap us, but chose us. Over and over again.
“I love you,” I breathe, undone and overwhelmed.
“I love you too, baby.”
The kiss that follows is like every other one we’ve shared—full of promise, heavy with forever. It’s a quiet understanding passing between us. A taste of what’s to come.
We’re standing at the dawn of the rest of our lives, and thanks to her, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive anymore. It feels like something I get to live. Day after ordinary day. Love strengthened in a thousand small ways. Laughter, arguments, and forgiveness. Growth. Home.
And when the sun eventually sets on our lives, when time has softened us and the world has witnessed us soar together, I know exactly where I’ll be. Right here. Still reaching for her. Still grateful. Still undone by that smirk, those freckles, and the way she looks at me like I’m worth loving.
A lifetime lived in the light, grounded in this woman, a story we wrote together, hand in hand. This woman, who pulled me out of my corner and never asked me to be anything but hers.
My freckled dork. My feral raccoon. My greedy, needy little half-fiancée.
What a fucking life it will be.
The End