I’m Being Charged With Threatening A Coworker In The Office. I’ve Been On Medical Leave In Another

The lineup included six photos: me, Keith, and four other men of similar age and build. According to Reigns’ report, which Lang obtained through discovery, Olivia had studied the photos for several minutes before selecting photo number four.

“Keith? I think this is him.” She had said, according to the report. “But the person I saw in the garage was wearing a cap and I couldn’t see his face clearly. This man looks similar to what I remember.” She added.

Reigns had then shown Olivia my photo separately. “What about this man? Is this the person who harassed you?” Reigns asked.

Olivia had hesitated, comparing my photo to Keith’s. “They look very similar. I… I’m not sure. I thought I was sure before, but looking at these photos I can’t tell the difference. They could be the same person or they could be different people. I’m sorry. I don’t know.” Olivia said.

The uncertainty was devastating for the prosecution’s case. If the victim couldn’t positively identify me as her harasser, the charges couldn’t proceed.

But more importantly, it confirmed what we’d been arguing all along: Keith resembled me enough to be mistaken for me, especially in poor lighting or on grainy security footage.

The Journal of Obsession

On February 14th, Detective Reigns obtained a search warrant for Keith Brennan’s apartment. What they found was chilling.

In Keith’s bedroom, hidden in a closet, they discovered a folder containing printed photos of me from college—photos from Facebook, from our apartment, and from parties we’d attended together.

They found a notebook with pages of handwritten notes about my mannerisms, my speech patterns, and the way I walked and gestured. One page was titled “Nathan’s Tells” and listed specific behaviors: “runs his hand through his hair when nervous,” “crosses arms when defensive,” “stands with weight on right leg.”

They found receipts for a dark jacket and baseball cap matching the clothing worn by the figure in the parking garage footage.

They found a burner phone with a call log showing texts sent to Olivia’s number on the dates she’d reported receiving threatening messages. Most damningly, they found a journal.

Keith had been documenting his plan for months. The first entry was dated July 15th, about a month after he’d started at Cascade.

“Saw Nathan’s name on the company directory today. He works here. Same company, different floor. He has no idea I’m here. After all these years, fate has brought us back together. He took Stephanie from me. He always took everything. Always the golden boy. Always the one girls wanted. He ruined my college experience, made me feel like a second-choice friend. It’s time he understood what that feels like. It’s time he lost something, too.”

The entries continued, detailing Keith’s growing obsession. He’d researched my life, my work, and my routines.

He’d planned to destroy my reputation, my career, and my freedom. When I’d had the motorcycle accident in October, Keith had seen an opportunity.

With me out of the office, he could act without risk of being seen with me and his impersonation being obvious. He’d chosen Olivia almost at random.

She was new to the company, wouldn’t have known me personally, and, according to Keith’s journal, she reminded him of Stephanie.

The harassment campaign had been about making me look like a stalker, a predator—someone whose life would be destroyed by allegations alone.

On February 18th, Keith Brennan was arrested and charged with stalking, harassment, criminal impersonation, identity theft, and making false statements to police. The charges against me were formally dropped.

Lang called me with the news, and I sat in Rebecca’s living room staring at my phone, unable to process that it was actually over. “Nathan, you’re clear. The DA issued a formal apology. Cascade Analytics is being notified that the charges were false. Your suspension should be lifted.” Lang said.

I should have felt relief; instead, I felt numb. My reputation had been destroyed, my colleagues believed I was a stalker, and my name had been in police reports and court documents.

Even with the charges dropped, some people would always wonder if I’d somehow gotten away with it. “What happens to Keith?” I asked.

Lang was quiet for a moment. “He’s facing significant prison time. The stalking and harassment charges alone could mean years. Add in the identity theft and false statements; he’s looking at a minimum of five years, possibly up to ten.” Lang replied.

I thought about my old friend, the person I’d lived with and trusted, who’d spent months planning my destruction over a woman from a decade ago. The waste of it all was staggering.

On February 22nd, I spoke with Olivia Kent for the first time. She’d requested to meet me through Detective Reigns, wanting to apologize in person.

We met at a coffee shop near Cascade’s office with Reigns present as a neutral party. Olivia was smaller than I’d expected, fragile-looking in a way that made the terror she’d experienced feel even more real.

She sat across from me with her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, not drinking, just holding it for warmth.

“Mr. Cross, I don’t know what to say. I was so sure it was you. The emails came from your account. The person looked like you. I never questioned that it was anyone else. I’m so sorry for what I put you through.” Olivia said.

I looked at this young woman who’d been victimized and manipulated, who’d believed she was protecting herself by reporting me, and who’d had no way of knowing she was being used as a weapon in someone else’s vendetta.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were terrorized by someone who went to great lengths to make you think I was responsible. You did everything right: you reported it, you protected yourself, you trusted the evidence you had. None of this is your fault.” I said.

Olivia’s eyes filled with tears. “But your life was destroyed. Your job—” She began. “Your reputation can be rebuilt.” I interrupted gently.

“You were genuinely in danger. Keith’s obsession was real. If you’d ignored the threats, stayed quiet, something worse could have happened. You did what you had to do.” I added. Reigns spoke up.

“Ms. Kent, you were a victim of a sophisticated scheme. Mr. Brennan used you to hurt Mr. Cross. Neither of you is responsible for his actions.” Reigns said.

We talked for another 20 minutes. Olivia described the fear she’d lived with, the hypervigilance, the constant looking over her shoulder.

I described the helplessness of being accused from 1,500 miles away, unable to defend myself, watching my life crumble. There was something cathartic about sharing our experiences—two people who’d been collateral damage in Keith Brennan’s decade-old grudge.

When we parted, Olivia hugged me briefly. “Thank you for understanding. I hope you can rebuild your life.” She said.