Chapter 11
The overnight flight from Seattle to Vancouver was quiet, the cabin lights dimmed to a low amber glow as the regional jet cruised smoothly above a thick blanket of clouds. Arthur sat in aisle seat 14B, staring straight ahead at the safety manual tucked into the seat pocket in front of him. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, the knuckles white against his weathered skin. Beside him, Officer Miller—who had taken personal vacation time to accompany the older man across the border—flipped quietly through a small paperback novel, occasionally glancing over to ensure his companion was holding up under the emotional strain. This wasn't an official police extradition; David hadn't committed a crime that Canadian authorities were actively pursuing without formal interstate warrants, but Miller had agreed to come along as a stabilizing presence, recognizing that Arthur was a father on a desperate quest for closure. The plane’s engines hummed a steady, hypnotic bass note that seemed to amplify the internal monologue running through Arthur’s mind. He thought about Clara back home, heavy with child and worrying herself sick, and he thought about Elena in her damp downtown loft, rebuilding her life from the ashes of their shared ruin.
The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing their imminent descent into Vancouver International Airport through a light morning rain. Arthur took a slow, deep breath, squaring his shoulders inside his dark jacket as he prepared for the confrontation ahead. When the plane finally touched down with a gentle screech of rubber against wet tarmac, the physical reality of the journey set in with crushing weight. Clearing customs was a straightforward formality, and within an hour, Arthur and Miller were stepping out into the brisk Canadian air, hailing a dark sedan to take them downtown to the address Thorne had provided. The rain was falling in a fine, misty spray, coating the windshield of the cab as they navigated the bustling morning traffic of the waterfront district.
"Remember, Mr. Henderson, keep your emotions in check," Miller advised quietly as the cab slowed down outside a sleek brick loft building on Water Street. "We are here for answers, not a fistfight."
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"I know, Miller. I'm too tired for a fight anyway," Arthur replied, his voice flat and resolute.
They stepped out onto the damp pavement, the towering glass and brick architecture framing the grey skyline of the harbor. Arthur adjusted his collar against the chill, checked the slip of paper with the loft number, and pushed open the heavy glass double doors of the building. The lobby was modern, smelling faintly of espresso and expensive wood polish. They took the elevator to the fourth floor, the digital floor indicator ticking upward in silence, each second bringing Arthur closer to the son who had broken their family apart.
