Chapter 9
Arthur sat heavily at the kitchen table, the manila folder spread open before him like a crime scene. His fingers traced the printed lines of bank transfers and wire receipts, each number representing a piece of his retirement savings vanishing into a digital void. Thorne stood quietly by the window, letting the older man process the heavy implications of the financial report. The sunlight shifted across the kitchen floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the warm air, a stark contrast to the cold storm raging inside Arthur’s mind. For months, he had fueled his grief over David’s abandonment by channeling every ounce of his pain into pure, unadulterated hatred toward Elena. She was the convenient target, the outsider who had lured his son away from a stable career and into the precarious world of artistic entrepreneurship. But sitting here, staring at the forensic handwriting analysis confirming that David had forged signatures to rob both his business partner and his father simultaneously, Arthur felt the rigid foundation of his anger crumble away, leaving behind a terrifying, nauseating wave of guilt.
"Are you certain about the handwriting?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking slightly, the tough exterior finally wearing thin.
"My analyst is former federal forensics," Thorne replied evenly. "There is zero doubt, Mr. Henderson. Your son planned this execution down to the last decimal point. Ms. Vance was collateral damage in his exit strategy, just like you."
Arthur rubbed his temples with trembling fingers, closing his eyes as a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. He thought back to the driveway confrontation just days ago—the way Elena had stood tall in her green jacket, taking his verbal abuse without screaming back, absorbing his misplaced fury with quiet, dignified restraint. He had treated her like a criminal while his actual flesh and blood was halfway across the world, living off stolen money. The realization was suffocating. He looked up at Thorne, his eyes reflecting a deep, humbling sorrow.
"What about David's current location?" Arthur asked, the fight entirely drained from his voice. "Do you have a trace on him?"
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"We have a lead," Thorne said, pulling a single glossy photograph from the back of the folder and sliding it across the table. "He’s operating under an alias in Vancouver, working out of a small commercial loft downtown. He hasn't covered his tracks as well internationally as he did domestically."
Arthur stared down at the photograph. It showed a blurry street scene in Canada, with a figure matching David’s build walking past a brick storefront, his head turned away from the camera. The sight of his son—healthy, solvent, and entirely unrepentant—stoking the embers of Arthur’s grief into a quiet, focused resolve. He couldn't undo the eviction, and he couldn't take back the cruel words he had shouted on the driveway, but he knew he had to find a way to make things right with Elena before it was too late.
