Chapter 4 - THE THORN MANSION CLEANOUT
While Mara slept peacefully under the influence of a mild vitamin sedative in her hospital suite, a fleet of six dark SUVs pulled up outside the gates of Senator Thorne's sprawling estate in Westchester.
Senator Richard Thorne stood in his mahogany-paneled study, furiously pacing the floor. Beside him, Bianca was crying hysterically, holding an ice pack against her red eyes.
"You fool!" Senator Thorne roared at his daughter. "Do you have any idea what you've done?! Gabriel Valentine isn't just a businessman! He holds the mortgage on this house! He owns the bank that funded my re-election campaign!"
"How was I supposed to know?!" Bianca screamed back. "She's a worthless maid! She was sleeping in our servant quarters!"
Before Senator Thorne could respond, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion were pushed open with tremendous force.
Eight heavily armed men in black tactical gear marched into the foyer, clearing a path.
Behind them walked Gabriel Valentine, flanked by Viktor.
Senator Thorne rushed out into the foyer, his face pale and sweating. "Don Valentine! Please! This is a terrible misunderstanding! My daughter didn't know—"
Gabriel raised one hand, stopping the Senator mid-sentence.
"Your daughter laid her hands on my family," Gabriel said, his voice ringing through the grand marble foyer like a death knell.
"Your... your family?" Senator Thorne blinked, bewildered. "She's just a housemaid!"
"She is carrying my child," Gabriel revealed, stepping closer to the Senator.
The room went dead silent. Senator Thorne’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. Bianca let out a faint, strangled gasp, collapsing against the handrail of the grand staircase.
"My heir grows inside her," Gabriel said coldly. "And today, your daughter struck her twice. She drew her blood. She humiliated her on her mother's grave."
"Don Valentine, I beg you—" Senator Thorne dropped to his knees right on the marble floor, trembling violently. "Punish me! Do whatever you want with my political assets! But spare my family!"
Gabriel looked down at the kneeling Senator with supreme detachment.
"By six o'clock tonight," Gabriel ordered, "all of Mara Whitfield's personal belongings will be packed and delivered to my estate. Every back wage, every unpaid hour she worked in this house over the last three years, will be calculated at one hundred times the standard rate and wired to her personal bank account."
"Yes, yes! Immediately!" Thorne gasped.
"And as for you, Bianca," Gabriel turned his cold gaze toward the trembling woman on the stairs. "You will draft a formal, written letter of apology to Mara. You will deliver it in person, kneeling on the floor, while my guards record it."
"No!" Bianca sobbed out. "I won't kneel to a maid!"
Gabriel smiled—a terrifying, cold sliver of white teeth.
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"Then tomorrow morning, the federal prosecutor will receive the unredacted ledgers of Senator Thorne’s offshore tax evasion schemes," Gabriel said smoothly. "You have until sunset to decide whether your pride is worth twenty years in federal prison for your father."
Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel turned on his heel and walked out of the mansion.
