Chapter 2 - The Valet Stand at Le Cirque
Inside the velvet-draped, chandelier-lit dining room of Le Cirque, Dominic Thorne was in his absolute element.
He sat at a round, white-cloth corner table, cutting into a dry-aged filet mignon, swirling a three-hundred-dollar glass of Bordeaux. Sitting across from him were his mother, Victoria, his father, Richard, and his sister, Chloe. They were currently ordering appetizers off the high-end menu without looking at the prices.
“Honestly, Dominic,” Victoria said, dabbing her lips with a silk napkin, her diamond bracelets jingling. “Audrey was being terribly dramatic outside the hospital. Making a scene in front of the nurses like that! It reflects poorly on our family’s social standing.”
“I agree,” Chloe chimed in, scrolling through her phone. “And honestly, that leather jacket she wears looks like it came from a thrift store. She really needs to update her wardrobe if she’s going to accompany us to the Thorne Capital gala next month.”
Dominic took a slow sip of his wine, feeling a wave of supreme satisfaction. “Don’t worry about Audrey. She’s docile. She knows her place. Her father is some retired pencil-pusher from Virginia who lives on a pension. She knows she hit the jackpot marrying into our family.”
Richard Thorne, a retired mid-level bank executive who pretended to be far wealthier than he was, nodded approvingly. “Good boy. Keep the upper hand in the marriage. That SUV she brought into the wedding has been a blessing for your firm’s image. People see you pull up in an armored, executive-class vehicle, and they assume Thorne Capital has real institutional backing.”
Dominic grinned. “I’m planning to transfer the title into the company name next week. I’ll just tell her it’s for insurance tax write-offs. She won't ask questions.”
Just as Dominic raised his glass to toast their lunch, a frantic waiter hurried over to their table, leaning down to whisper into Dominic’s ear.
“Sir? Are you the owner of the black Cadillac Escalade with Virginia plates parked in the front VIP valet lane?”
Dominic frowned, setting his wine glass down. “Yes. What about it? Did the valet scratch it?”
“No, sir,” the waiter said nervously, sweating under his collar. “There are four law enforcement vehicles parked around it right now. A team of federal marshals and state officers are currently hooking your vehicle up to a heavy flatbed tow truck.”
Dominic stood up so fast his chair screeched against the parquet floor. “What?! That’s impossible!”
“Dominic, what’s going on?” Victoria asked, her brow furrowing in irritation.
“Stay here. It’s probably a stupid parking ticket mistake from when Audrey drove it last month,” Dominic snapped, pulling his suit coat on and rushing out through the restaurant’s glass doors.
When Dominic stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk of East 58th Street, his blood ran cold.
Two heavy, dark-blue federal transport trucks were blocking the street. A massive industrial tow truck was positioning its steel lift beneath the rear axle of my black Escalade. Standing beside the vehicle was a tall, stoic man in an expensive navy suit, holding a thick leather binder. Surrounding him were three armed officers wearing federal badges.
“Hey! Stop right there! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dominic roared, marching down the valet steps. “That’s my car!”
The man in the navy suit slowly turned around. His face was entirely unbothered by Dominic’s outburst.
“Dominic Thorne?” the man asked in a crisp, razor-sharp legal tone.
“Yes, I am Dominic Thorne! Managing Partner of Thorne Capital!” Dominic demanded, thrusting his chest out. “Unkook my truck immediately, or I’ll have your badge and your job by end of day!”
The man didn't flinch. He opened his leather binder and pulled out a stack of stamped, official legal documents.
“My name is Jonathan Vance, Senior Partner at Vance, Sterling & Croft,” the lawyer said calmly. “I am the head asset manager for the Brooks Private Family Trust. I am here to execute an immediate repossession order for this vehicle.”
Dominic blinked, momentarily stunned. “Repossession? Are you insane?! The vehicle is paid off!”
“It is indeed paid off,” Jonathan Vance replied smoothly. “Paid off entirely by Audrey Brooks’s private family trust. You are not a named trustee, nor do you hold power of attorney over her assets. At 1:15 PM today, Mrs. Audrey Brooks formally revoked your driving privileges and canceled the umbrella insurance policy associated with your name.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. Anger flared in his eyes. “This is ridiculous! Audrey is my wife! She’s at home right now! She doesn't even know you’re doing this! This is some legal misunderstanding!”
The lawyer pulled out a official court order bearing a judge’s signature, handing a duplicate copy directly into Dominic’s hands.
“Furthermore, Mr. Thorne,” Jonathan Vance continued, his voice echoing across the valet lane, “as of twenty minutes ago, an emergency restraining order and property freezing injunction has been filed in the Southern District of New York. You are hereby ordered to surrender all physical keys, garage openers, and vehicle access cards associated with this asset immediately.”
Victoria, Chloe, and Richard came rushing out of the restaurant, having followed Dominic outside.
“Dominic! What is happening?!” Victoria shrieked, looking at the tow truck lifting the Escalade into the air. “They’re taking the car? How are we supposed to get to SoHo?!”
“Sir, the key,” one of the armed federal officers stepped forward, his hand resting casually on his holstered sidearm. “Hand it over now.”
Dominic looked at the armed officer, then at the lawyer, then at his hysterical mother. Sweat was beginning to drench his expensive linen shirt. His hand shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather-bound key fob of the vehicle he had bragged about all afternoon.
He handed it to the officer.
“This is an outrage!” Richard yelled from behind him. “My daughter-in-law will hear about this! She will fire all of you!”
Jonathan Vance adjusted his tie, giving the Thorne family a cold, pitying look.
“I assure you, Mr. Thorne,” the lawyer said softly, “Mrs. Vance is the one who ordered this. Oh, and one more thing, Dominic...”
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Dominic looked up, his face pale and sick. “What?”
“I suggest you clear your belongings out of the East 72nd Street penthouse before five o'clock today,” Vance said, stepping toward his sedan. “The locks are being changed at 5:01 PM.”
