Chapter 4 - The Public Disgrace
Three days after the eviction, the high-fashion world and Wall Street financial news were rocked by an unprecedented scandal.
HAYES TECH LOGISTICS COLLAPSES INTO BANKRUPTCY OVERNIGHT VANCE CAPITAL SEIZED BY FEDERAL MARSHALS FOR FRAUD EMERGING DESIGNER SOPHIA ROMANO ANNOUNCES EXCLUSIVE PARIS COLLECTION
Inside a small, dingy motel room near the Queens highway, Ethan Hayes sat on the edge of a stained mattress, drinking cheap whiskey from a plastic cup.
He was wearing the same dirty shirt he had been thrown out in. His phone had been disconnected, his bank cards were declined everywhere, and his name was toxic. Every former business associate he called hung up the second they heard his voice, terrified of drawing the wrath of the Romano Syndicate.
Khloe Vance sat on the opposite bed, crying loudly, her makeup smeared across her face.
"My dad is in federal prison!" Khloe wailed, throwing a plastic bottle at the wall. "The bank took our penthouse! The news is saying my father stole client funds for ten years! Why aren't you doing something, Ethan?!"
Ethan glared at her with pure, unadulterated hatred. "Doing something? Doing what, Khloe?! My company is gone! My house is gone! I have four hundred dollars in cash left in my pocket because I hit the right woman!"
"She’s a mobster's daughter!" Khloe spat. "She lied to you for three years! She acted like a pathetic little housewife while sitting on billions!"
"She built my business!" Ethan screamed, throwing his glass against the wall, where it shattered into shards. "She wrote my business plans! She designed my logistics algorithms! I had gold in my hands and I threw it away for you!"
Suddenly, the wooden door of the motel room was kicked inward with a deafening bang.
Four uniformed officers from the Greenwich Police Department stepped into the room, their weapons drawn, followed by two detectives in trench coats.
"Ethan Hayes?" Detective Miller announced, pulling a red-stamped arrest warrant from his jacket.
Ethan scrambled back against the headboard. "What... what is this?! I gave up the house! I gave up the company!"
"You are under arrest for aggravated domestic assault, felony reckless endangerment, first-degree kidnapping, and unlawful imprisonment," the detective read cold-bloodedly. "We have full medical records from St. Jude’s Hospital, forensic analysis of the basement door locks, and recorded security footage from your own driveway."
Ethan’s face went hollow. "Security footage...?"
"Your wife had private security cameras installed in the main hallway two weeks ago, Mr. Hayes," the detective smiled coldly. "The footage clearly shows you dragging her down the stairs by her hair and kicking her broken leg. The prosecutor is requesting maximum bail—set at twenty million dollars."
"Twenty million?!" Ethan shrieked as the officers slammed him onto the dirty mattress and snapped heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. "I don't have twenty dollars! I can't pay bail!"
"Then you’ll wait for trial in Rikers Island," the officer replied, dragging Ethan off the bed.
Khloe tried to slide out the bathroom door, but a female officer stepped into her path, snapping cuffs onto her wrists as well.
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"Khloe Vance," the officer said. "You are under arrest as an accessory to felony domestic assault and obstruction of justice."
As they were dragged out of the motel into the glaring flashes of press cameras waiting in the parking lot, Ethan saw Marco standing beside a black sedan across the street, quietly sipping a cup of coffee, watching the arrest with a cold, victorious smile.
