Chapter 5
The freezing wind howled through the great portico of Thorn Manor as four black tactical SUVs formed a barricade across the circular driveway.
Flashing amber lights illuminated the grand stone pillars. Half a dozen private security officers in tactical gear stood along the grand staircase, their heavy combat boots tracking mud over the antique French runners.
"You cannot do this to me!" Edward roared, his voice cracking with old age and frantic desperation. He stood in the entryway clutching a velvet jewelry box and an antique hunting rifle. "I am Edward Thorn! I built this conglomerate with my bare hands! This house has borne my family name for four generations!"
The commander of the security detail, a stone-faced veteran named Miller, stood at the threshold with his arms folded.
"Put the firearm down, Mr. Thorn," Miller said, his tone flat and unyielding. "Or you will be detained for unlawful possession and brandishing a deadly weapon on private property. You have exactly twenty minutes to clear your personal effects. Wardrobes, fine art, and historic fixtures remain inside per court injunction."
"This is theft! Broad daylight armed robbery!" Marguerite screeched, stumbling down the stairs with a fox-fur coat draped over her ruined evening gown. Butterfly stitches held the cut beneath her left eye together, swollen into a horrific shade of purple. "Where is our luggage? Where are my trunks?"
"Your personal clothing has been boxed and placed into the moving van outside, Miss Thorn," Miller replied without looking at her face. "Fine jewelry acquired through corporate expense accounts has been seized pending forensic audit."
"My diamonds!" Marguerite shrieked, lunging toward Miller. "Those are mine! Edward bought them for my thirtieth birthday!"
Miller took a single step forward, his towering frame instantly blocking her path. "Purchased with funds drawn from the Eleanor Thorn Estate Trust, which did not belong to Edward Thorn. Step back, ma'am."
"Edward, do something!" Marguerite screamed, grabbing her father's arm. "Call the Governor! Call your friends at the Supreme Court!"
Edward lowered the hunting rifle slowly to the marble floor, his hands trembling with a sudden, violent palsy. For the first time in his seventy years, the illusion of his absolute sovereignty had shattered.
"The Governor won't take my calls," Edward muttered, staring at the polished stone beneath his shoes. "I tried three times from the study. His secretary told me he was out of the country."
"What about Lawrence? What about your brothers?"
"They left an hour ago, Marguerite," Edward whispered bitterly. "The moment Vance showed them the foreclosure warrants, they emptied their desk drawers and took the town cars. Cowards. Every last one of them."
Miller checked his wristwatch. "Time is up, Mr. Thorn. Walk to the gates, or my men will assist you."
Edward looked up at the towering portraits of his ancestors lining the high gallery walls. His chest heaved with bitter rage as he glared into the darkness beyond the portico.
"Tell Linnea," Edward hissed, spitting on the doorstep as he stepped into the freezing rain, "that she may hold the deed to this stone cage, but she does not have the strength to hold the city. The Thorn Board will tear her apart before the markets open on Monday."
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"Miss Thorn anticipated your concern," Miller replied, handing him a sealed white envelope. "She asked me to give you this bus fare."
Edward knocked the envelope to the wet gravel with a venomous snarl, dragging his weeping daughter down the dark drive as the iron gates slammed shut behind them.
