Chapter 7 - Ashes and Alibis
The rain had started by evening, drumming a steady, melancholic beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse apartment—the very apartment Dominic had so gleefully stripped from my name just days before.
He sat alone in the dark living room, a half-empty glass of scotch on the coffee table, watching the glow of his phone illuminate his tear-streaked, hollowed-out face. He had called Natalie three dozen times in the last hour. Her phone had gone straight to voicemail every single time.
It didn’t take long for opportunists to vanish when the money dried up. By afternoon, the doorman had called upstairs to inform Dominic that Natalie had packed her designer luggage, thrown my ivory cashmere coat into the hallway trash chute, and hailed an Uber to JFK Airport. She hadn’t even left a note. She had loved Dominic’s bank accounts, his penthouse, and his corporate title; she had never loved Dominic.
A sharp knock echoed at the penthouse door.
Dominic’s heart leaped with a pathetic flicker of hope. Maybe Natalie had changed her mind. Maybe she had come back. He stumbled across the room, wrenching the heavy oak door open with trembling fingers.
It wasn’t Natalie.
Two men in dark suits stood in the corridor, holding official legal briefs with heavy red seals. Behind them stood a building manager with a clipboard.
“Dominic Vance?” the lead federal receiver asked coldly.
“Yes?” Dominic croaked.
“By order of the federal bankruptcy court and the primary institutional creditors of Vance Medical Supply, we are executing an immediate asset freeze and foreclosure on this residential property. You have thirty minutes to vacate the premises. All personal effects remaining after that time will be impounded.”
May you like
Dominic stared at them, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “No... you can’t. This is a private residence! I own—you can’t do this!”
“You signed personal guarantees on every corporate loan in your portfolio, Mr. Vance,” the receiver said, stepping past him into the foyer. “You own nothing. Hand over the keys.”
