Chapter 7 - Unraveling the Elite
Before Preston could finish his stumbling excuse, a heavy, suffocating wave of panic rippled through the rest of the restaurant. Several well-connected businessmen seated near the windows suddenly recognized the man standing at Table Twelve. Whispers broke out like wildfire across the dining room. "That's Dominic Vale..." "Jesus Christ, what is Hale's son doing to his wife?" "We need to get out of here right now." Richard Hale’s name carried weight in public municipal contracts, but everyone in Chicago who understood the real power structure of the city knew that Dominic Vale operated on an entirely different plane of existence—one where police badges, political donations, and city council seats meant precisely nothing. Preston’s friends caught the terrified whispers of the surrounding patrons and began frantically pulling out their wallets and coats. "Preston, sit down. Shut up and sit down," Nolan Pierce hissed, grabbing Preston’s sleeve with a trembling hand. "You don't know who that is. That's Dominic Vale." Preston blinked, the name finally piercing his alcohol-addled brain. The Hale Urban Development firm occasionally crossed paths with commercial logistics and zoning boards tied to Vale-controlled entities; Richard Hale had always warned his son to steer clear of the Vale organization. But the realization came far too late. Dominic didn't raise his voice, nor did he make a fist. Instead, he pulled out his secure phone with his left hand, tapped a single speed-dial button, and brought it to his ear. "Marcus," Dominic spoke into the receiver, his eyes never leaving Preston’s pale face. "Lock down the building. No one leaves through the elevators, the service stairs, or the valet garage. Notify the city inspector that the Monarch Room is experiencing a severe structural hazard. And call Mayor Vance—tell him Richard Hale's son is currently vandalizing my property."
