Chapter 12
The morning sun rose over the city like a smear of grease on a dirty windowpane, casting pale, watery light across the leather upholstery of Eleanor’s town car as it idled outside the district precinct. Arthur sat in the passenger seat, freshly shaved and wearing a clean woolen coat that Eleanor had purchased for him the night before at an all-night department store off the highway. His old olive-green military jacket rested in the trunk, folded neatly beside a cardboard box containing forty years of lost time. He looked out the frosted window at the gray brick facade of the police station, his hands resting quietly on his knees. "You don't have to go inside with me," Eleanor said softly, keeping her hands on the steering wheel. "My lawyers have already filed the injunctions for corporate fraud and extortion. Marcus is being picked up at his apartment as we speak." Arthur turned his head, a faint, tired smile touching his lips. "I spent forty years letting other people tell me where I could and couldn't go, Ellie. I think I can handle a police precinct." They stepped out into the crisp morning air together, their footsteps crunching on the thin layer of frost coating the pavement. Inside the station, the air smelled of stale coffee, floor wax, and the quiet despair of people who had spent their night on the wrong side of the law. A desk sergeant with tired eyes and a drooping mustache directed them down a narrow corridor toward a small conference room where a detective and two corporate attorneys in dark suits were already waiting with a stack of financial ledgers spread out across a metal table. As they approached the door, Arthur paused for a fraction of a second, his hand brushing against his coat pocket where the crumpled, fire-damaged photograph now rested safely inside a protective plastic sleeve. Eleanor noticed the hesitation, reached out, and took his weathered hand in hers, her fingers lacing firmly through his calloused ones. Together, they pushed open the door and stepped into the light.
