Chapter 4 - The Unraveling of Dominic Vance
Dominic sat on the bare floor of the empty nursery, the receipt for the twenty-dollar bus fare crumpled in his fist. The silence of the apartment was suffocating, broken only by the distant, rhythmic hum of the subway rumble beneath the street. His phone lay beside him on the floor, its screen dark, though he had spent the last two hours dialing Audrey's number over and over again, only to be met with the same mechanical operator: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
His mind was a chaotic storm of panic, greed, and confusion. He didn't understand how this had happened. Audrey was a quiet, simple girl from Westchester. She wore plain cotton dresses, spent her free time reading poetry to her stomach, and never once complained when he made her use his mother’s old, dented sedan before he took the luxury SUV for himself. Her father, Charles, was a retired contractor—a man who wore flannel shirts and spoke with a rough, gravelly voice.
How could a Westchester builder have the power to freeze a thirty-million-dollar venture capital fund? How could he command a repossession team from Brooks Global Logistics?
Dominic snatched his phone and dialed the only other person who might have answers: his startup’s lead lawyer, a slick corporate attorney named David Vance—his second cousin.
"David," Dominic gasped the moment the line connected. "Tell me you've found something. Who is backing Vanguard Capital? Why did they pull our funding?"
David's voice didn't carry its usual confident, smooth tone. He sounded tired, his words hurried and sharp. "Dominic, I’ve been running background checks on Vanguard's parent companies for the last two hours. It’s a rabbit hole. Vanguard is owned by a holding company called Horizon Trust, which is owned by Blue Star Holdings, which is a direct subsidiary of Brooks Global."
"Brooks Global," Dominic whispered, the name feeling like a physical weight on his chest. "Yes, I know. My father-in-law's company is called Brooks... wait. No. His name is Charles Brooks. But... he’s just a regional contractor. He owns Brooks Construction in White Plains."
"Dominic, you idiot," David said, his voice dropping to a harsh, mocking whisper. "Brooks Construction is a shell company. It’s a registered training facility owned by Brooks Global Corp. Charles Brooks doesn't just own a few dump trucks in Westchester. He is the majority shareholder of Brooks Global. He is the man who built the New York subway extensions, the JFK airport terminals, and half the deep-water ports on the eastern seaboard. He is worth eleven billion dollars, Dominic."
The phone slipped slightly in Dominic's hand, the plastic casing slick with his cold sweat. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. "Eleven... billion?"
"And your wife, Audrey, is his only child," David continued, his voice dripping with a mixture of disbelief and pity. "She is the sole heiress to the entire Brooks empire. Dominic, what did you do to her?"
"I... I didn't do anything," Dominic lied, his voice high and defensive, though the memory of the cold, crumpled twenty-dollar bill he had pressed into her hand outside the hospital flashed behind his eyes. "This should cover the bus fare. Hurry up." "We just... we had a disagreement. She was being dramatic about her discharge from the hospital."
"Well, whatever you did, her father is systematically erasing you from the face of the Earth," David said. "Vanguard just filed a formal injunction against your startup for intellectual property theft. They claim your logistics software uses proprietary code owned by one of their shipping subsidiaries. The courts just approved an emergency asset freeze. Your company accounts are locked, Dominic. You can't even pay your rent."
"No," Dominic breathed, his eyes wide with horror as he looked around the empty nursery. "No, they can't do that. The code is ours! Marcus wrote it!"
"Marcus used an open-source library that was purchased by Brooks Global three months ago," David explained, his tone completely devoid of hope. "They owned the rights to the core algorithms before you even launched your beta. They let you build your company on their land, Dominic, and now they're just reclaiming the dirt. I’m resigning as your counsel. If I stay on your board, Brooks Global will blackball my entire firm. Good luck, cousin."
The line went dead.
Dominic slowly lowered the phone, his body trembling so violently he had to press his back against the wall to stay upright. The gold Rolex on his wrist felt like a handcuff.
The front door of the apartment suddenly rattled, followed by the heavy, authoritative sound of three loud knocks.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Dominic scrambled to his feet, a desperate, pathetic hope rising in his chest. Audrey. It had to be her. She had come back. She was soft-hearted; she always had been. She had probably regretted leaving him in the empty apartment and had come to tell him it was all a big misunderstanding.
He ran down the hallway, threw open the door, and froze.
It wasn't Audrey.
Standing in the dingy, carpeted hallway were two men in impeccably tailored navy suits. They carried leather briefcases, their faces cold and professional, looking at Dominic as if he were a minor stain on an otherwise clean floor.
"Dominic Vance?" the lead man asked.
"Yes," Dominic stammered, his hand gripping the edge of the door. "Who are you?"
"We represent the legal division of Brooks Global Corp," the man said, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a thick, white folder bound in red ribbon. "We have been instructed by our client, Miss Audrey Brooks, to serve you with these documents."
He handed the folder to Dominic. The paper was heavy, expensive linen, the gold embossed logo of Brooks Global gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway.
"What is this?" Dominic asked, his fingers leaving wet smudges on the clean paper.
"These are the formal divorce papers, filed on behalf of our client," the lawyer said. "Furthermore, you will find an emergency petition for sole custody of Leo Brooks-Vance, with a temporary restraining order barring you from coming within one thousand feet of Miss Brooks or the infant."
"This is ridiculous!" Dominic yelled, his voice cracking as he tried to summon his old, arrogant authority. "I am his father! She can't keep me from my son!"
"The petition is accompanied by a sworn affidavit from Dr. Evelyn Vance, Chief of Obstetrics at New York Presbyterian," the lawyer continued, his voice remaining perfectly flat, devoid of any human emotion. "She has documented severe medical neglect on your part—specifically, forcing a post-operative patient to walk and use public transit five days after a major caesarean section, which resulted in internal hemorrhaging and localized infection. The court has already signed the emergency order, Mr. Vance."
Dominic took a step back, the weight of the document folder feeling like a physical blow to his chest.
"And finally," the second lawyer said, stepping forward, "we have been instructed to deliver this message from Mr. Charles Brooks."
Dominic looked up, his lips trembling. "What... what message?"
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The lawyer looked Dominic straight in the eyes, his expression turning to one of quiet, terrifying amusement.
"He said to tell you that he has reserved a premium table for you at the bankruptcy court on Monday morning. And he hopes you've saved your bus fare."
