Chapter 6 - The Unraveling
By Monday morning, Daniel Bennett’s world had ceased to exist.
The Michigan Department of Licensing and Regulatory Affairs, acting on the digital evidence Claire had provided, issued an immediate stop-work order on the multi-million-dollar Harbor View development. State troopers blocked the entrance to the construction site, while yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the concrete towers that Daniel had declared the crown jewel of Detroit’s revival.
The stock price of Bennett Real Estate Investment Trust plummeted eighty-two percent in four hours of panicked trading. Commercial lenders called in fifty million dollars in emergency short-term notes, and by noon, the Wayne County prosecutor’s office announced a criminal indictment containing fourteen counts of aggravated domestic assault, witness intimidation, corporate fraud, and attempted murder.
Sitting in his cavernous, deserted office on Woodward Avenue, Daniel poured his fourth glass of bourbon. The mahogany desk was littered with eviction notices, legal summonses, and frantic voicemail transcripts from council members who had suddenly forgotten his name.
The double doors of his office opened. Daniel jumped to his feet, reaching into his desk drawer for the snub-nosed revolver he kept hidden behind the files.
A man stepped inside. It wasn't the police.
It was Victor Cole, a notorious loan shark affiliated with the city's southern docks—a man to whom Daniel owed three million dollars in high-interest bridge capital.
“Victor,” Daniel stammered, his hand sweating against the butt of the gun in the open drawer. “I’m glad you’re here. The media reports are completely fabricated. The city will release the escrow funds by Friday, and I can wire your entire principal with interest—”
“Shut up, Daniel,” Victor said flatly, pulling out a chair and sitting down without taking off his leather gloves. “I didn't come for your excuses. I came to tell you that your debt has been purchased.”
Daniel blinked, confused. “Purchased? By whom?”
“Moretti.”
The name sounded like a death sentence falling on the hardwood floor. Daniel’s knees weakened, and he sank back into his executive chair. “Dominic Moretti bought my paper?”
“Every single cent of it,” Victor replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the polished desk. “He owns your mezzanine debt, your personal line of credit, your construction equipment liens, and the mortgage on your Bloomfield Hills mansion. You don't owe the docks anymore, Daniel. You owe Dominic. And Dominic has initiated foreclosure proceedings effective twelve o'clock today.”
“He can't do that!” Daniel shouted, his voice cracking with hysteria. “That house is my primary residence! It’s protected under state homestead statutes!”
“Not when your wife holds fifty percent of the title and has already signed the voluntary liquidation decree,” Victor remarked with a chilling grin. “You’re broke, Danny boy. You don't even own the chair you’re sitting on. The marshals are downstairs in the lobby right now with an eviction warrant and an arrest warrant. If I were you, I’d take the service elevator before they put you in iron.”
Daniel’s chest heaved. Pure, unadulterated venom surged through his bloodstream, blinding him with rage. Claire. It was all Claire. That pathetic, sniveling little schoolteacher he had plucked from obscurity, the woman who was supposed to grovel for his approval, had systematically torn his life to shreds with the help of a monster.
“Where is she?” Daniel hissed, pulling the revolver from the drawer and pointing it directly at Victor’s chest. “Tell me where Moretti is keeping her!”
Victor didn't even flinch. He looked at the gun with mild amusement, shook his head, and stood up. “You really are an idiot, aren't you? Pointing a piece of nickel-plated junk at a man who has three associates standing outside your door. You want to find Claire? She’s at Moretti’s estate in Grosse Pointe. But you won't get within a hundred yards of that gate alive, Daniel.”
Victor turned his back on the gun and walked toward the door. “Have fun with the feds. I hear the federal holding facility in Milan is lovely this time of year.”
May you like
When the door clicked shut, Daniel collapsed against the desk, his hand shaking violently as he stared at the revolver. The sirens were already wailing in the street below, growing louder with every passing second. He couldn't run to the airports; his passport was flagged. He couldn't go to his banks; his accounts were frozen.
He had only one path left. A desperate, suicidal thirst for vengeance that blocked out all reason. He grabbed his coat, racked the slide of the gun, and slipped out through the emergency fire escape into the freezing rain.
