Chapter 6 - The Gates of Westchester
When Dominic’s black sedan pulled up to the iron gates of the Carver estate at precisely twelve o’clock, the guards didn’t search him. They simply opened the gates, their faces stone-cold and indifferent.
He parked in the gravel courtyard, stepped out into the crisp autumn air, and walked up the grand stone steps.
The heavy oak doors swung open before he could even raise his hand to knock.
Augustus Carver stood in the center of the vast marble foyer, hands clasped behind his back, waiting like a judge preparing to read a death sentence.
“You’re punctual,” Augustus noted.
“I was taught to be,” Dominic replied evenly, stepping across the threshold and closing the doors behind him.
“Walk with me,” Augustus commanded, turning toward the private garden path at the rear of the mansion.
Dominic followed him in silence. The gardens were immaculate, filled with late-blooming roses and quiet stone fountains. They walked fifty yards before Augustus finally stopped beside a white marble bench.
“Do you know why I brought you here today, Dominic?” Augustus asked, without looking at him.
“To collect the debt,” Dominic answered honestly. “Take the clubs. Take the shipping contracts. Take my life if that’s what it takes to satisfy your honor.”
Augustus turned slowly, his sharp eyes pinning Dominic to the spot. “Do you think this is about business? Do you think a few million dollars in real estate or a couple of nightclubs can wash away the fact that you raised your hand against my daughter?”
“No,” Dominic said, his voice dropping. “It can’t.”
“She spent seven years working for a living,” Augustus continued, his voice rising with controlled fury. “Seven years living in a cramped apartment, riding the subway, refusing to use a single cent of my money because she wanted to prove she could survive on her own terms. And you—the boy I pulled out of the gutter—decided she was nothing because of her uniform.”
Dominic felt a heavy, suffocating weight crush his chest. He didn't offer an excuse. He didn't mention the missing watch or the stress of the Marlowe Club audit.
“I was wrong,” Dominic said, his voice rough and steady. “There is no excuse for what I did. I let pride blind me.”
A shadow moved across the terrace doors behind them.
Dominic looked up and saw Claire standing by the glass, watching them with an expression that was impossible to read.
Augustus followed his gaze, then looked back at Dominic.
“I am stripping you of your seat on the Manhattan Development Board,” Augustus said coldly. “You will hand over operational control of the Marlowe Club to an independent trusteeship. And you will leave New York for six months.”
Dominic absorbed the sentence. It wasn't death, but for a man whose entire identity was tied to his empire, it was professional exile.
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“Understood,” Dominic murmured, bowing his head slightly.
“Get off my property, Dominic,” Augustus said, turning his back on him. “And pray we never cross paths again.”
