Chapter 10
Later that afternoon, Elena was busy setting up her portable lighting umbrellas in her temporary studio space—a converted loft downtown that a generous colleague had lent her for a week. The room smelled of fresh paint and ozone from electronic equipment. She wore her signature green jacket over black pants, her dark hair pulled back in its usual neat knot, though her movements were relaxed compared to the high-stress packing days at the house. A soft knock at the street-level metal door echoed through the stairwell. Elena paused, frowning slightly as she checked her wristwatch. She wasn't expecting anyone, certainly not Clara, who had promised to rest after their brief park meeting. Elena walked down the metal stairs, reached for the heavy latch, and pulled the door open. Standing on the sidewalk, looking uncharacteristically small and broken in his dark jacket, was Arthur.
Elena froze, her hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. The micro-expression of surprise on her face quickly gave way to a cold, guarded neutrality. She did not invite him in, nor did she tell him to leave, simply waiting to see what possible reason brought the man who had evicted her to her doorstep.
"Elena," Arthur began, his voice rough and stripped of all its previous bluster. He didn't look her in the eye, staring instead at the threshold between them. "May I come in for a moment?"
"Why, Arthur?" Elena asked, her voice calm, measured, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Did I miss a box on your driveway?"
"No," Arthur said, swallowing hard as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You didn't miss anything. I... I came to apologize. And to show you something."
He reached into the inside pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out the manila folder Thorne had given him earlier that morning, holding it out tentatively between them like an offering of truce. Elena looked at the folder, then back up at his weathered, aged face. She saw the heavy burden of regret etched into every wrinkle around his eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, she reached out and took the folder from his hand, stepping back just enough to allow him entry into the ground floor foyer. Arthur stepped inside, keeping his distance, respecting the invisible boundary she had established. Elena flipped open the cover, scanning the forensic handwriting report and the financial breakdown of the Cayman Island wire transfers. Her eyes lingered on the pages for a long minute, reading the cold proof of David’s calculated betrayal. The shock she expected didn't come; instead, a strange, hollow validation washed over her. She closed the folder softly and looked up at him.
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"I knew he took the accounts," Elena said quietly, her voice steady. "I just didn't know how deep the lie went. I spent months wondering if I had missed a sign."
"You didn't miss anything, Elena. Neither did I," Arthur whispered, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his confession. "I spent all my anger on you because it was too painful to admit that my own son was a thief."
