Chapter 5 - The Reckoning in Midtown
The velvet-roped entrance of The Obsidian Club in Midtown was usually reserved for New York’s corrupt elite.
Inside the VIP cigar lounge, fifty-two-year-old Arthur Vance sat in a leather armchair, sipping fifty-year-old scotch, surrounded by three junior associates. He was laughing at a dirty joke when the heavy oak doors of the lounge were suddenly kicked off their hinges with a deafening crash.
Glass shattered. Patrons screamed and scrambled for the exits.
Dominic Hale stepped through the dust and splinters, flanked by ten heavily armed enforcers.
Arthur’s scotch glass slipped from his hand, smashing against the hardwood floor. His face turned ashen white. “D-Dominic? What is this? What’s going on?”
Dominic walked slowly across the room. He didn't draw a gun. He didn't shout. He simply walked up to Arthur, grabbed him by the throat with one hand, and hoisted the grown man out of his leather chair, slamming him brutally against the brick wall.
Arthur sputtered, his legs dangling in the air, clawing desperately at Dominic’s iron grip. “Dominic... please... I’m your underboss!”
“Eight years ago,” Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute malice, “you forged photographs of the woman I loved. You stole my daughter’s father from her. You left them to starve.”
Arthur’s eyes bulged in absolute terror. He realized in an instant that the secret he had buried eight years ago had just been unearthed. “Dominic... wait! Moretti forced me! He threatened my family!”
“You traded my family’s life for your greed,” Dominic said coldly.
With a flick of his wrist, Dominic hurled Arthur across the room. The man crashed into a glass display cabinet, groaning in agony as blood poured from his forehead.
Dominic motioned to his men. “Take him to the docks. Seize every asset, every bank account, every property registered under his name. Strip him of everything he owns.”
“Dominic! Please! Don’t kill me!” Arthur wept, crawling on his hands and knees.
Dominic looked down at his former underboss with utter disgust.
“I won’t kill you, Arthur,” Dominic said softly. “Death is too merciful. You are going to spend the rest of your pathetic life in a federal prison for corporate fraud and tax evasion. I’m sending every piece of evidence I have on you to the District Attorney tonight. By tomorrow morning, you will be a broke, nameless convict.”
The guards dragged the screaming traitor out of the lounge.
Dominic turned to his remaining men.
“Effective immediately,” Dominic commanded, his voice echoing through the ruined room, “all Hale syndicate operations are shutting down. We are liquidating the underground assets and transferring every dollar into legal real estate and logistics. If anyone has a problem with that, they can answer to me.”
No one said a word.
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Dominic adjusted his lapels and walked out into the cool night air. The mob boss was dead.
The father was taking his place.
