Chapter 7 - The New Dynasty
Six months later, the skyline of New York City gleamed under a crisp autumn sunset.
From the corner office on the forty-fifth floor of the newly rebranded Mercer-Thorne Tower, the view was breathtaking. The old mahogany desk of my father had been replaced by a sleek, modern glass workspace. No framed family portraits cluttered the shelves. Instead, a single, elegant plaque rested by the window, bearing the quarterly financial reports of a multi-million-dollar real estate conglomerate operating entirely under my sole direction.
My recovery had been long and grueling, but every scar on my head was a quiet reminder of the day I stopped carrying people who refused to walk on their own.
My parents had moved into a modest two-bedroom apartment in Queens—the only property exempt from the federal asset seizure because it was registered under my grandmother’s old name. Dad had tried to get a job consulting for local construction firms, but his toxic reputation in the industry made him radioactive. No one trusted a man who had looted his own son’s medical trust.
Chloe had dropped out of her master’s program and was working part-time at a local boutique, trying desperately to revive her Instagram influencer career with pictures of budget coffees and thrift-store outfits. She had tried calling me twice—once to ask for rent money, and once to invite me to her birthday dinner.
Both times, I blocked the number without a second thought.
The office door opened softly, and Vincent Vance walked in, holding a fresh cup of coffee and a thick manila folder.
“Everything set for the board meeting tomorrow?” Vincent asked, taking a seat across from me.
“All documents are finalized,” I replied, spinning my pen between my fingers. “The municipal redevelopment bids for downtown are locked in. Thorne & Sterling is fully funded.”
Vincent smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, looking back at where you were six months ago—flatlining in an ICU gown with a bankrupt trust—and looking at you now... it’s quite a masterpiece.”
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“It’s not a masterpiece, Vincent,” I said, looking out the floor-to-ceiling glass at the bustling city below, where millions of people rushed through the streets, living, breathing, and fighting for their own survival.
“It’s just business.”
