Chapter 3 - The Price of a Drink
"Mr... Mr. Rainer," Evan stammered, trying to stand up, but his knees wobbled against the mahogany table. He had grown up hearing his father—a prominent Baltimore real estate developer—speak of Dominic Rainer with a cautious, deferential tone that borders on fear. "There’s been a mistake. We didn't know she was—we thought she was just regular staff—"
"She is regular staff," Dominic said smoothly, stepping closer until the shadow of his broad shoulders fell directly across Sloane’s phone screen, which was still broadcasting live to nearly a quarter of million people. "She chose to work here. She chose to earn her own living. And you chose to humiliate her."
Dominic pulled his hand from his pocket and laid a single, thick manila folder on the white tablecloth right beside Sloane’s half-empty champagne glass.
"What is that?" Sloane whispered, her bravado completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sickening panic as she stared at the bold black lettering stamped across the cover: Caldwell Properties & Holdings: Comprehensive Asset Freeze & Lien Execution.
"That," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, terrifying calm, "is the financial blueprint of your father’s real estate portfolio, Evan. As of 9:02 PM, Rainer Logistics has acquired every outstanding construction bond, commercial loan, and development lien your family holds across Baltimore County."
Evan’s face went slack. "You... you can't do that. Those loans are backed by the state bank—"
"The state bank called me twenty minutes ago to ask if I wanted them bundled or separated," Dominic replied without blinking. "I chose bundled. Which means your father’s thirty-million-dollar waterfront development project in Fells Point is currently in default. The foreclosure notices are being hand-delivered to his estate as we speak."
Sloane stared at Dominic in horror, her phone still clutched in her trembling hand. The live stream chat was scrolling so fast it looked like digital static, with viewers suddenly pivoting from mocking the waitress to screaming about the live financial execution playing out on their screens.
Wait, is that Dominic Rainer?!
Holy crap, Caldwell’s dad is getting wiped out live!
Delete the stream! Delete the stream right now!
Sloane hit the red button to cut the broadcast, but it was already too late. The damage was immortalized.
"You can't ruin my family over a spilled drink!" Sloane shrieked, standing up so fast her chair tipped backward onto the hardwood floor with a sharp crash. "It was a prank! It was just a joke!"
Dominic turned his dark eyes toward her. There was no anger in them—only an absolute, frozen void.
"My wife doesn't find your jokes funny, Ms. Mercer," Dominic said quietly. "And in my world, when someone disrespects the foundation of my house, I tear theirs down to the dirt."
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Before Sloane could scream another word, two local police cruisers—lights flashing silently without sirens—pulled up right outside the glass windows of the restaurant.
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