Chapter 9 - The Thorne Empire Crumbles at Dawn
At three o’clock in the morning, the penthouse suite of Marcus Thorne was shattered by the shrill, persistent ringing of four different encrypted telephone lines.
Marcus Thorne, the sixty-two-year-old patriarch of Thorne Capital, sat up in his silk sheets, his chest tightening with instinctive dread.
He reached for his bedside phone, his voice gruff and laden with sleep.
"What is so urgent that you are calling my private residence at this ungodly hour?" Marcus demanded into the receiver.
"Marcus, turn on the financial news networks right now!" screamed the panicked voice of Arthur Pendelton, his chief financial officer.
"We are being completely eradicated!"
Marcus leaped out of bed, grabbing his remote control to switch on the sixty-five-inch television screen mounted on the wall.
The screen flashed bright red with emergency breaking news banners scrolling across the bottom:
BREAKING NEWS: STERLING COMMERCIAL BANK CALLS $40 MILLION FACILITY AGAINST THORNE CAPITAL.
THORNE LOGISTICS MARITIME LICENSES REVOKED BY FEDERAL SHIPPING COMMISSION.
THORNE STOCK TANKS 72% IN PRE-MARKET TRADING AMID MASSIVE SHORT SQUEEZE LED BY STERLING GLOBAL.
FELONY ARREST WARRANTS ISSUED FOR THORNE CAPITAL HEIR GRANT THORNE IN LUXURY RESTAURANT ASSAULT.
Marcus Thorne’s blood ran cold, his heart hammering against his ribs like a sledgehammer.
"What is this?!" Marcus roared into the phone, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped the receiver.
"Why is Andrew Sterling attacking us?! We were finalizing the joint venture contract this Monday!"
"Marcus... it’s not about business," Arthur stammered, his voice choked with terror.
"It’s Grant."
"Grant did something unspeakable at Le Miroir tonight."
"There is a video circulating across every social media platform on the internet."
"Grant and his friends trapped a waitress in a chair, shaved her head on camera, and threw money at her."
"And who was the waitress, Arthur?!" Marcus screamed, his face turning purple with rage.
"She’s just a server! Why would Sterling destroy a billion-dollar merger over a common server?!"
"She is Andrew Sterling’s legally wedded wife, Marcus!" Arthur screamed back.
The phone slipped from Marcus Thorne’s fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a sharp plastic crack.
The air left his lungs in a single, agonizing gasp.
Andrew Sterling’s wife.
The very woman his reckless, worthless son had assaulted on a live video stream was the secret wife of the most ruthless, vengeful billionaire in North America.
Before Marcus could recover from the shock, the heavy oak doors of his penthouse were blown open with a resounding crash.
Six state marshals, accompanied by heavily armed tactical police officers, poured into the foyer with drawn weapons.
"Marcus Thorne!" the lead investigator bellowed, flashing a gilded federal badge.
"Step away from the phone and put your hands where we can see them!"
"We have warrants for the seizure of all Thorne Capital corporate servers, accounting ledgers, and personal assets under suspicion of systemic racketeering and corporate fraud!"
"Where is my son?!" Marcus gasped, clutching his chest as sharp pains shot down his left arm.
"Where is Grant?!"
"Grant Thorne is currently being processed at Central Booking," the investigator replied coldly.
"His bail has been denied by order of the chief magistrate."
"He is being held in protective custody awaiting grand jury indictment for felony aggravated battery, hate-motivated intimidation, and criminal conspiracy."
Forty minutes later, Marcus Thorne was escorted in a police cruiser to the Central Booking facility in downtown.
He was permitted a ten-minute emergency consultation in the secure visitation booths.
When the metal door opened on the other side of the reinforced glass, Marcus barely recognized his own son.
Grant Thorne was dressed in an ill-fitting orange inmate jumpsuit, his hands and ankles bound by heavy steel shackles.
His designer hair was a disheveled mess, his face swollen from weeping, his nose running uncontrollably as he shuffled to the metal stool.
"Dad!" Grant wailed, slamming his cuffed hands against the thick glass partition.
"Dad, you have to get me out of here!"
"The guards are treating me like an animal!"
"They took my watch, they took my clothes, and they put me in a cell with eight violent felons!"
"One of them took my shoes, Dad!"
"Call your friends in the governor's office! Call Judge Carter!"
Marcus Thorne stared at his son through the glass, his face drained of all fatherly affection, replaced by an expression of cold, bitter despair.
"Judge Carter cannot help you, Grant," Marcus said, his voice trembling with exhausted sorrow.
"Judge Carter’s son was arrested in the booth right next to you."
"The governor refused to take my calls."
"The attorney general personally signed the order to freeze every single offshore trust linked to our family name."
Grant’s eyes widened in sheer, disbelieving panic.
"What... what are you saying, Dad?"
"I am saying that Thorne Capital is dead," Marcus whispered, a solitary tear tracing a line down his wrinkled cheek.
"The banks have foreclosed on our penthouse, our private hangars, and our estates in the Hamptons."
"By the time the markets close this afternoon, our name will be erased from the business registry."
"And you..." Marcus looked at his son with profound disgust.
"You shaved the head of Andrew Sterling’s wife for a few thousand likes on the internet."
"You will stand trial, Grant."
"You will be convicted."
"And you will serve every single day of the ten-year mandatory sentence that the state prosecutor is seeking."
"Because there is no money left to hire private defense lawyers."
"You are on your own."
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Grant Thorne let out a bloodcurdling scream of pure despair, slamming his forehead against the partition as the guards dragged him backward into the dark corridors of the prison.
Marcus Thorne turned his back on his son, walked out into the cold morning drizzle, and knew that the Thorne dynasty had been wiped from existence forever.
