Chapter 6 - Midnight at Sterling's
David didn't even make it two steps.
Before he could reach the sofa, Vincent moved with horrifying speed. He stepped into David’s path, grabbed David’s wrist with his left hand, and twisted it with enough force to shatter the joint.
CRACK!
David let out a blood-curdling scream as the paperweight dropped harmlessly onto the thick carpet.
Vincent didn't stop there. He slammed his right hand around David’s throat, lifting the grown man off his feet and slamming him violently against the brick fireplace column.
David kicked his legs uselessly in the air, his eyes bulging as Vincent’s grip tightened like an iron vise.
“Don't you ever,” Vincent growled, his face inches from David’s, his breath cold and steady, “raise your hand in front of that child again.”
Vincent dropped him. David crashed onto the floor, clutching his broken wrist and coughing up blood.
Vincent pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, calmly wiping his hands as if he had just touched dirty trash. He glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the office.
The pendulum swung steadily. Tick. Tock.
The hands were approaching twelve. It was 11:52 PM.
“Marcus,” Vincent said, his tone entirely businesslike once more. “How much money is currently sitting in David Sterling’s personal liquid accounts?”
Marcus checked his screen. “Three point eight million dollars across his primary accounts.”
“Good,” Vincent said. He looked down at David. “Here is what is going to happen before the clock strikes midnight.”
Vincent walked over to the desk, pulled out a fresh stack of legal transfer documents, and slapped them down in front of David.
“First,” Vincent stated, “you will execute an immediate, irrevocable transfer of three point eight million dollars to an escrow account managed by Marcus. Five thousand four hundred and thirty dollars of that is back pay for Emily Carter. The remaining three point7-plus million is interest, emotional distress compensation, and a trust fund for Rory Carter’s future.”
David wept on the floor. “That’s… that’s all my money! I’ll have nothing!”
“You’ll have a prison cell,” Vincent countered flatly. “Second, you will sign over full, unencumbered deed ownership of Sterling’s Bistro—including the land lease, liquor license, and equipment—to Emily Carter.”
Emily gasped, clutching her chest. “Mr. Kane… no! I can’t take a restaurant!”
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Vincent looked at Emily with absolute sincerity. “Your husband built the accounting system for this place, Ms. Carter. You’ve been running the floor for four years while he stole the profits. It was always yours.”
He glared back down at David. “Sign the papers. Or I step out of this room and let Frank handle the audit.”
