Chapter 5 - Repossession and Reality
By 2:00 PM, the transformation of Sterling’s Bistro was complete.
There were no customers left. The kitchen staff had all gathered hesitantly near the swinging doors, peeking out to see what Chicago’s most feared man was doing to their boss.
Marcus stood by the front windows, speaking into a burner phone. “Yeah, get the flatbed over here right now. We’re impounding the German garbage parked out front.”
Outside, a heavy-duty tow truck backed up directly onto the sidewalk, its amber emergency lights flashing against the midday gray of the Chicago sky. Passersby stopped on the sidewalk, pointing cameras and whispering as two of Vincent’s men slapped a neon-orange sticker across the windshield of David Sterling’s brand-new Porsche.
Inside, Vincent turned his attention back to Clara and me.
I was happily coloring a drawing of a duck on a napkin that one of the terrified waiters had brought me, using a blue crayon Vincent had asked his bodyguard to retrieve from his car.
“Ms. Carter,” Vincent said, his tone shifting from icy executioner to polite gentleman. “How much is total back-pay owed to all twenty-two employees of this establishment?”
Clara blinked, still trying to process the surreal reality unfolding around her. “I... I think around sixty-eight thousand dollars. Total. With overtime and holiday pay included.”
Vincent looked at Marcus. “Is that accurate according to the ledger?”
“To the dollar, boss,” Marcus confirmed.
Vincent reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek black checkbook stamped with the private seal of Kane Holdings, and removed a gold fountain pen. Without hesitation, he wrote out a single line of numbers, signed his name at the bottom, and tore the check from the binding.
He slid it across the table toward Clara.
Clara looked down at the paper, and her breath hitched.
The check was made out directly to Clara Carter in the amount of $68,450.00.
“Mr. Kane... I can’t accept this,” Clara stammered, pushing the check back across the mahogany wood as if it were burning her fingers. “This is... this is a fortune! I can’t take your money!”
“It’s not a gift, Ms. Carter,” Vincent said firmly, sliding it right back to her side of the table. “It’s a loan assignment. You are now the primary creditor of Sterling’s Bistro.”
Clara stared at him, utterly bewildered. “What do you mean?”
Vincent pointed his pen toward David Sterling, who was currently watching his Porsche get hoisted onto the flatbed truck through the front window with a look of sheer devastation.
“As of two minutes ago, my legal team purchased David Sterling’s corporate debt for the sum of one dollar,” Vincent explained casually. “Which means he now owes sixty-eight thousand dollars plus interest to Kane Holdings. Or, alternatively... he can sign over the deed, the liquor license, and full operational control of this restaurant to you and your fellow employees.”
David heard the words from across the room and let out a loud, pathetic wail.
“You can’t do that! That’s my life’s work!” David shouted, running over toward our table before two bodyguards stepped effortlessly into his path, crossing their arms like brick walls.
“Your life’s work?” Vincent raised an eyebrow, finally standing up to tower over the trembling restaurateur. “You built a business on the backs of single mothers and working stiffs who couldn't afford a lawyer. You had your chance, David. Now you have two choices: sign the title over to Ms. Carter, or spend the next ten years explaining your offshore tax evasion to federal prosecutors while my associates help you find a very comfortable cell in Marion.”
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David looked at the checkbook, looked at the tow truck hauling away his precious Porsche, and finally looked at the pen Vincent was holding out to him.
With shaking, tear-stained fingers, David Sterling grabbed the pen, leaned over the edge of the table, and signed away his empire.
