Chapter 7 - The Eviction of Arthur Vance
While Robert Sterling stood at Marissa’s apartment door on Racine Avenue, the scene inside Harper’s Table was unfolding with the brutal efficiency of a military operation.
It was exactly 7:55 AM.
The restaurant was closed, with the metal security gate pulled halfway up and the OPEN sign unlit, while Arthur Vance sat at his cluttered back-office desk, sipping a mug of dark roast coffee and reviewing last week’s food cost percentages with a smug sense of righteous satisfaction.
He still felt entirely justified about firing Marissa Miller the afternoon before; in Arthur’s narrow, venomous worldview, discipline and ruthlessness were the only things keeping the restaurant afloat in a brutal economy.
Suddenly, the heavy front glass door swung open with a sharp click, followed by the firm, heavy sound of leather-soled shoes striding across the polished wooden floorboards.
Arthur frowned, irritation flaring in his chest as he grabbed his coffee mug and stepped out of his office into the dim dining room. "Hey! We don't open until eleven! Can't you read the—"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing in the center of the dining room were two imposing men in sharp executive suits, flanked by a burly, uniformed court bailiff whose hand rested casually near his leather utility belt.
At the front stood Nolan Price, his expression cold and unimpressed as he surveyed the red-and-white gingham tablecloths with casual detachment.
"Arthur Vance?" Nolan asked, his voice carrying effortlessly across the quiet room.
Arthur’s face flushed a mottled, angry crimson as he puffed out his chest, stepping forward with defensive arrogance. "Who the hell are you and how did you get in here? This is private property! I'm calling the police right—"
"No need for you to call anyone, Arthur," Nolan interrupted, gesturing toward the bailiff, who stepped forward and handed a thick legal packet directly into Arthur’s trembling hands. "You are currently standing on property owned exclusively by Calloway Holdings. And as of seventy-two hours ago, the commercial mortgage note held by Meridian Properties was purchased in full by our firm."
Arthur stared at the documents, his eyes darting frantically across the legal terminology, the color draining entirely from his face until he looked like a ghost. "That... that's impossible. Harrison owns the note! That's my brother's company! He wouldn't sell out to—"
"Your brother sold his debt at a ten percent premium because your financial mismanagement and liability exposure made you a toxic asset," Nolan stated coldly, stepping closer until Arthur was forced to take a step back. "Effective immediately, your management contract is terminated for gross misconduct, labor violations, and hostile workplace creation."
"You can't do this!" Arthur shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched panic as desperation clawed at his throat. "I built this place! I made Harper’s Table what it is! You're just a couple of corporate suits who don't know a damn thing about running a restaurant!"
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"We know enough to recognize a parasite when we see one," Nolan replied evenly. "You have exactly ten minutes to clear your personal belongings out of that office, hand over your keys, and walk out the front door. If you take one step past ten minutes, the bailiff will assist you with handcuffs."
Arthur looked around the empty dining room, realizing with crushing horror that his little kingdom had evaporated in less than a minute, leaving him with nothing but his own ruined reputation and a locked door.
