Chapter 4 - The Clearing House
“Rory!” Clara gasped, her face draining of all color as she sprinted across the dining room, dropping to her knees and sweeping me into her arms so hard my ribs ached. “Rory, what on earth—oh God, Mr. Kane, I am so sorry, please, she didn't mean to bother you, she’s just a child—!”
Mom was shaking from head to toe, shielding me with her body as if she expected the men in suits to draw weapons right then and there.
Vincent looked down at her. The cold, terrifying edge in his gray eyes softened just a fraction—not into warmth, but into a deep, heavy respect.
“Stand up, Mrs. Carter,” Vincent said, his voice firm but gentle. “You have nothing to apologize for in this room.”
“Mr. Kane, please, I’ll take her back to the office, I’ll quit, just don't—don't hurt her—!”
“Nobody is hurting anyone,” Vincent replied. He turned his gaze back to Sterling, who was now backed up against a marble pillar, sweating profusely. “Marco.”
From the shadows near the entrance, a tall, silent man in a dark trench coat stepped forward.
“Boss,” Marco said.
“Take Mr. Sterling to his private office,” Vincent instructed smoothly, buttoning his jacket. “Open his safe. Count out five thousand, four hundred and thirty dollars and thirty cents in cash. In hundred-dollar bills. If he is short by a single cent, take the steering wheel off his Porsche.”
“Right away, Boss,” Marco said, grabbing Sterling by the elbow with a grip that made the owner gasp in pain.
“You can’t do this!” Sterling shrieked as he was dragged toward the back offices. “This is extortion! I’ll call the police!”
“Call whoever you like,” Vincent said calmly, not even turning around. “The police in this county report to the Board of Commissioners, and the Board of Commissioners reports to me.”
The dining room descended into absolute silence.
Mom stared at Vincent, her arms still locked tightly around me, her chest heaving as she tried to process what had just happened in less than five minutes.
Vincent reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a heavy gold-plated fountain pen, and signed his name across the bottom of Mom’s work log, right beneath my purple stars. Then he folded the paper neatly and slipped it into Clara’s trembling hand.
“Your daughter is very brave, Mrs. Carter,” Vincent said quietly. “And she is entirely correct about one thing.”
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“What... what’s that, Mr. Kane?” Mom whispered.
“I am the real boss in this city,” Vincent said, his lips curving into a faint, grim smile. “And in my city, people who starve children don't stay in business very long.”
