Chapter 4: The Demolition of Margaret Thorne
The Thorne Foundation Gala was held at the Met, an ocean of diamonds, champagne, and old Manhattan money.
Margaret Thorne stood near the grand staircase, looking every bit the matriarch in a midnight-blue velvet gown, laughing softly with the governor. She was the picture of elite perfection—until the heavy glass doors opened and her son walked in.
He wasn't wearing his tuxedo. He was in his dark corporate suit, his coat damp from the rain, his jaw set in a way that made the greeting line part like the Red Sea. Behind him walked two federal marshals and his security team.
"Sebastian, darling," Margaret smiled, though her eyes narrowed at his attire. "You're late. The dinner is already—"
Sebastian didn't let her finish. He stepped into her personal space, pulling a thick, leather-bound folder from his jacket and dropping it right onto the silver tray a passing waiter was holding. The crystal champagne glasses on the tray rattled violently.
"What is the meaning of this?" Margaret snapped, her voice dropping its public sweetness.
"That's Arthur Vance’s sworn deposition, Mother," Sebastian said, his voice echoing clearly across the marble foyer. The jazz quartet stopped playing. The elite guests went rigid.
"It details five years of fraud, extortion, wire tampering, and the illegal tracking of a private citizen. It explains exactly how you fabricated a divorce to separate me from my wife—and from my children."
Margaret’s face went from pale to a ghastly, translucent white. "Sebastian... you're making a scene. We can discuss family matters privately—"
"We don't have a family, Margaret," Sebastian said, refusing to use her maternal title.
"As of 8:00 PM tonight, the board has removed you from the foundation."
"Your penthouse on Park Avenue is owned by Thorne Holdings; you have until noon tomorrow to vacate it."
"The marshals behind me are here to execute a warrant for witness intimidation and grand larceny regarding the corporate funds you misused to pay off your co-conspirators."
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"You wouldn't do this to your own mother," she whispered, her perfectly manicured hand reaching for the marble banister as the federal marshals stepped forward. "I built you, Sebastian!"
"You built an empty tower," Sebastian said coldly, turning his back on her as the handcuffs clicked into place behind him. "And I’m moving out."
