Chapter 6 - Desperation at the Gates
By Wednesday afternoon, the desperation of the Vance family had crossed the line from corporate panic into unhinged madness.
A sleek black town car tore up the private, five-mile driveway of the Sterling Estate, ignoring the automated security warning signs and racing straight toward the massive wrought-iron front gates. The vehicle slammed on its brakes just inches from the barrier, tires screaming against the asphalt.
The rear door flew open, and Dominic tumbled out, stumbling slightly on the gravel driveway before sprinting toward the intercom pillar.
Inside the estate's central security lodge, Dante watched the live feed on a high-definition monitor, a faint smirk playing across his lips as he pressed the intercom talk button.
"Can I help you, Mr. Vance?" Dante's voice echoed smoothly through the metal speaker box.
Dominic grabbed the intercom grill, panting heavily, his hair disheveled, his expensive tie crooked. "Dante! Let me in! I need to see Vivienne! Just five minutes! Please, you have to let me talk to her!"
"Mr. Vance," Dante replied calmly, "you are currently trespassing on private property protected by federal and state security mandates. If you do not turn your vehicle around and vacate the premises within sixty seconds, local state troopers will be dispatched to arrest you for criminal trespass and violating a judicial restraining order."
"No! Wait!" Dominic screamed, his voice cracking with sheer desperation. "My mother is ruined! Our accounts are frozen! The board of directors is holding an emergency vote to strip my father of his chairmanship! If Vivienne doesn't call off her father’s legal team, our entire family is going to prison for corporate fraud!"
"Your family's fraudulent business practices are a matter for federal investigators, not my employer," Dante said coldly. "And as for Vivienne—she is resting. She does not wish to be disturbed by ghosts."
Before Dominic could scream another plea, the massive wrought-iron gates began to hum mechanically, swinging slowly outward—not to let him in, but to reveal a pair of unmarked Westchester County sheriff’s patrol cars pulling up directly behind his town car, their red and blue emergency lights flashing silently against the bright afternoon sun.
Dominic spun around in horror as two uniformed deputies stepped out of their cruisers, their hands resting on their utility belts, approaching him with stern expressions.
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"Mr. Dominic Vance?" the lead deputy asked, pulling a laminated document from his breast pocket. "You are in direct violation of a court-ordered restraining order issued by the Westchester County Family Court. Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Dominic didn't even try to run. He slumped forward against the intercom pillar, his shoulders shaking as the metal cuffs clicked securely around his wrists, a pathetic end to a man who had spent his entire life believing his last name made him untouchable.
