Chapter 4 - The Leftover Rice
The reservation at Carbone had not gone as smoothly as Dominic Vance had anticipated.
Despite his loud insistence at the maître d’ station that he was the "CEO and Founder of Aegis Dynamic" and a personal friend of the hospitality group’s managing partner, they had been forced to wait forty-five minutes in the crowded front vestibule. Victoria had complained bitterly about the humidity, her knee joints, and the insolence of the hostess, while Natalie had sulked because the lighting near the bar was "unflattering for her Instagram stories."
When they were finally seated, Dominic had attempted to project the aura of a triumphant patriarch. He ordered two bottles of reserve Barolo, three orders of the spicy rigatoni, the veal parmigiana, and the whole branzino.
He held court for two hours.
"The Series B is basically locked," Dominic bragged, cutting into his veal with theatrical precision while Arthur nodded along solemnly. "Once the sixteen-million-dollar tranche clears from our Cayman partners on Friday, our valuation hits eighty-five million. By Q3 of next year, we do the mezzanine round, and then it’s an outright acquisition by Google or Palantir. I’m looking at an exit of fifty million liquid for my personal shares."
"You deserve every penny of it, darling," Victoria purred, sipping her wine with an air of practiced superiority. "You certainly didn't get that drive from your father’s side of the family. And God knows you didn't get it from that girl you married."
"Don't start on Audrey, Mom," Dominic muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "She served her purpose. She gave me an heir. But she’s entirely devoid of ambition. She looked like an absolute disaster today on the curb. I had to give her fifty bucks just to get her out of my sight. The woman has zero resilience."
"She’s common, Dominic," Natalie chimed in, chewing a forkful of pasta. "I told you that the day you brought her home. Her father is a construction worker! You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. By the way, I need you to transfer another twenty-five thousand to Velvet & Vine tomorrow. I found an archival Chanel jacket for Friday’s gala, and my business checking account was overdrawn."
"I'll have the controller wire it first thing in the morning," Dominic said without hesitation, basked in the warmth of his sister's admiration. "Nothing is too good for my family on Friday night. We are entering a different tax bracket, Nat. Start getting used to it."
By the time Dominic paid the eighteen-hundred-dollar bill—charging it, as always, to his Aegis Dynamic corporate black card—it was nearly five-thirty in the afternoon.
He drove his parents and sister back to their rented pre-war apartment on the Upper West Side, enduring another thirty minutes of his mother’s unsolicited advice on how to raise an infant ("*Get a live-in night nurse immediately, Dominic; a man in your position shouldn't be subjected to midnight crying*"), before finally steering the Range Rover toward Soho.
As he pulled up to the curb of the luxury building on Mercer Street, the sun had fully dipped below the horizon, casting the cobblestone streets in cold, blue shadows.
Dominic tossed his keys to the valet.
"Leave it up front, Tony," Dominic said casually, not bothering to look at the attendant. "I might head out to the Soho House later for a nightcap."
The attendant, a young man who usually leaped at Dominic’s commands, hesitated. He looked at the Range Rover, then looked down at a digital tablet in his hands with a deeply uncomfortable expression.
"Uh... Mr. Vance?" Tony said, clearing his throat.
"What?" Dominic snapped, checking his phone. "Did you not hear me? Leave it out front."
"I... I can't do that, sir," Tony stammered. "In fact, I’m not authorized to accept those keys from you."
Dominic froze. He slowly lowered his phone, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "Excuse me? Are you having a stroke, Tony? I pay four thousand dollars a month in HOA fees for this building. Take the damn keys."
"Mr. Vance, building management issued a directive two hours ago," Tony said, stepping back and holding up his hands defensively. "The vehicle... the Range Rover Autobiography with New York plate *BRK-882*... has been flagged by the title holder. The flatbed is already on its way to impound it."
Dominic burst out laughing—a sharp, condescending bark.
"Flagged by the title holder? Are you insane? *I* am the title holder! I drive the car every single day!"
"Sir, the registered owner on file is Apex Sovereign Fleet LLC," Tony said, reading directly from his tablet screen. "The legal owner filed an unauthorized possession notice at three o'clock today. Furthermore, building security has received an immediate revocation notice regarding your parking bay."
"This is an administrative glitch," Dominic snarled, his face flushing crimson with sudden embarrassment as two neighbors walked past, glancing at the confrontation. "Get out of my way. I’ll deal with management in the morning. I’m going upstairs."
Dominic stormed past the valet, pushing through the heavy bronze-and-glass revolving doors of the lobby.
The doorman, an older Dominican man named Hector who had worked in the building for a decade, avoided his eyes entirely.
Dominic marched toward the private elevator bank, pulling his electronic keycard from his leather wallet. He swiped the card against the brass sensor.
*Beep-beep.*
A red LED flashed. The brass elevator doors remained firmly shut.
Dominic swiped it again, harder this time.
*Beep-beep.* Red light.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Dominic roared, spinning around toward the concierge desk. "Hector! Why isn't my penthouse key working? Did the system crash?"
Hector slowly rose from behind the marble counter. He looked distinctly uneasy, but there was an underlying firmness in his posture that Dominic had never seen before.
"Mr. Vance," Hector said calmly. "Your access credentials have been deactivated."
"Deactivated?! By whom?! I own the penthouse!"
"You do not own the penthouse, sir," Hector replied, pulling a laminated memorandum from beneath the desk. "The property is held by Mercer Heritage Trust. At four-thirty this afternoon, the trustee’s legal counsel, Thorne & Associates, executed an emergency vacancy order. Your name has been removed from the building roster."
"Thorne & Associates?!" Dominic’s voice cracked, rising into a shrill, hysterical pitch. "Who the hell is Thorne & Associates?! Audrey! Audrey did this! That hysterical, neurotic little bitch is throwing a tantrum because I made her take the bus!"
He shoved his phone to his ear, furiously speed-dialing my number.
*“The number you have dialed is no longer in service or has been disconnected.”*
Dominic pulled the phone from his ear, staring at the screen in disbelief. He dialed again. The same automated operator message played.
"Fine!" Dominic shouted, his chest heaving with rage as the doorman watched in stony silence. "She wants to play games? She wants to lock me out of the apartment? I have my master key! I’ll walk up the fire stairs!"
"I wouldn't advise that, Mr. Vance," Hector said evenly.
"Get out of my way, Hector, before I have you fired by midnight!"
Dominic shoved through the heavy security door leading to the emergency stairwell. He charged up the concrete steps, taking them two at a time, his designer leather loafers slapping violently against the concrete. By the time he reached the fifth floor—the private entrance to the triplex—he was gasping for air, sweat drenching his tailored dress shirt.
He pulled his physical brass key from his ring, jammed it into the deadbolt of the private landing door, and twisted.
It didn't turn.
The lock cylinder didn't even budge a millimeter.
Dominic dropped to his knees, peering closely at the escutcheon plate. The entire high-security Medeco lock cylinder had been replaced. It was brand new, gleaming steel, with a digital biometric keypad installed directly above the handle.
"Audrey!" Dominic screamed, pounding his fists against the reinforced steel door until his knuckles bruised. "Audrey, open this goddamn door right now! Do you hear me?! Open this door, or I swear to God I will call the police and have you thrown out on the street with your brat!"
Silence.
The heavy, soundproof door absorbed his blows without a single vibration.
"Audrey! Stop acting like a psycho!" he shrieked, kicking the base of the door. "I know you're in there! Heat up the rice and open the door! You can't lock me out of my own home! I pay for everything! Everything you have is mine!"
Suddenly, the door didn't open, but a cool, detached voice echoed from the small intercom speaker mounted beside the biometric pad.
"Mr. Vance."
Dominic jumped back, his eyes wild. "Audrey?! Who is this?!"
"This is building security dispatch," the voice said calmly. "You are currently trespassing on private property owned by Mercer Heritage Trust. An emergency protective order has been filed with the New York City Police Department First Precinct under index number 4492. If you do not vacate this stairwell within sixty seconds, two armed units currently waiting on Mercer Street will place you under arrest for felony domestic criminal trespass."
Dominic stepped back, his breath hitching in his throat. His mind was spinning in a chaotic, disorienting vortex.
*Protective order? Thorne & Associates? Impounded cars?*
"This is a mistake!" Dominic stammered toward the intercom. "My wife is having postpartum psychosis! She doesn't have the legal authority to do this! Her father is a retired contractor from Syracuse! He doesn't know lawyers!"
"You have forty-five seconds, Mr. Vance," the intercom replied, flat and indifferent. "The officers are entering the lobby."
A wave of icy panic finally pierced through Dominic’s arrogant stupor.
He turned around and stumbled back down the concrete stairs, his legs shaking, his designer coat flapping wildly behind him. He burst through the ground-floor exit into the alleyway, bypassing the lobby entirely.
When he emerged onto Mercer Street, panting and disheveled, the reality of his situation hit him like a physical blow.
A heavy flatbed commercial tow truck was idling directly in front of the building. Two operators in high-visibility vests were currently winching the black Range Rover Autobiography onto the inclined steel bed.
"Hey! Hey! Stop that!" Dominic yelled, running toward the truck. "That's my car! Stop!"
A uniformed NYPD sergeant stepped out from the shadows of the building awning, placing a heavy, gloved hand directly against Dominic’s chest, halting his momentum with effortless ease.
"Dominic Vance?" the officer asked.
"Yes! Officer, arrest these men! They are stealing my vehicle!"
The sergeant pulled a folded document from his tactical vest, thrusting it into Dominic’s trembling hands.
"I’m serving you with an emergency temporary order of protection issued by Judge Miller of Manhattan Family Court," the officer said, his voice entirely devoid of sympathy. "You are commanded to stay one thousand feet away from Audrey Brooks and the infant Leo Brooks-Vance. This vehicle is the legal property of Apex Sovereign Fleet, and the repossession order is fully authorized."
"Brooks?" Dominic choked out, his mind seizing on the name. "Her name is Audrey Vance! She took my name!"
"According to the state court registry, the petitioner is Audrey Brooks," the officer replied coldly. "Furthermore, Mr. Vance, if you take one step back into this building, or attempt to contact the petitioner via phone, email, or third party, I will personally cuff you and transport you to the Tombs. Do we understand each other?"
Dominic stood frozen on the cobblestones.
He watched as the heavy hydraulic lift engaged, hoisting the Range Rover into the air. The tires settled onto the flatbed. The chains were locked with a deafening, metallic clang. The tow truck pulled away, turning the corner onto Prince Street, its amber warning lights reflecting against the dark shop windows.
Dominic was left standing on the curb.
He had no car. He had no access to his home. His phone was blocked. He was wearing an eighteen-hundred-dollar coat, but his pockets contained nothing except his wallet, his dead keycard, and his vanity watch.
The autumn wind swept down Mercer Street, chilling him to the bone.
For the first time in his life, Dominic Vance felt small.
He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and dialed the only person left who still believed in his absolute greatness.
"Mom?" Dominic choked out, his voice cracking like a terrified child's.
"Dominic? What is it, darling?" Victoria’s voice came over the speaker, backgrounded by the sound of classical music. "Did you convince Audrey to apologize?"
"Mom... she locked me out," Dominic whispered, staring at the empty curb where his luxury SUV had sat twenty minutes ago. "She locked me out, took the car, and called the police. I’m on the street."
A shrill gasp echoed from the other end.
"That ungrateful, vicious little peasant!" Victoria screeched. "How dare she! After everything you’ve given her! Come to the apartment right now, Dominic. Arthur and I will call our friends in the city government. We will crush that little girl. We will take that baby and leave her with nothing!"
"Yeah," Dominic breathed, trying desperately to reconstruct the shattered fortress of his ego. "Yeah. You're right, Mom. She’s just a nobody from Syracuse. Her little trust fund won't protect her once the Series B closes on Friday. I have the sixteen million coming."
He straightened his coat, trying to mask his terror beneath a renewed veneer of venom.
May you like
"She thinks she can embarrass me?" Dominic snarled into the phone, hailing a yellow cab on the corner. "On Friday night, I’m going to wipe her off the map."
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