The Thorne Tower penthouse office felt sterile, antiseptic. Ethan reviewed the Henderson acquisition documents, the figures blurring. The tiny, stubborn sparkle of purple glitter on his discarded suit jacket (now incinerated, he'd ensured) seemed imprinted on his retina. So did the defiant blaze in Alex Moretti's eyes.
Amelia entered, her expression carefully neutral. "Sir, a report from building security. Alex Moretti was in the lobby this morning. He demanded to see you. Regarding the community center donation. He was… quite insistent. Security removed him."
Ethan didn't look up. "Inevitable," he stated coldly. "A predictable display of emotional inefficiency. Begging after the damage is done."
"Indeed, sir," Amelia agreed. "He was escorted out without further incident." She hesitated, then placed a thin folder on his desk. "Also, the final assessment of damages from the… incidents. Le Ciel provided the cost of the ruined Krug Clos d'Ambonnay and the dry cleaning quote for the suit, though it was deemed unsalvageable. The Brioni suit from yesterday has also been totaled. The paint was acrylic-based and bonded with the wool fibers. Replacement value is included."
Ethan finally glanced at the folder. The figures were significant, though negligible to him. A thought, cold and sharp, crystallized. An idea born of lingering anger, a desire for control, and that unsettling, unwanted flicker of… interest. Punishment with purpose. Efficiency over sentiment. His father's voice echoed: *Crush it where it interferes.*
"The waiter," Ethan said, his voice devoid of inflection. "Alex Moretti. He is currently employed?"
Amelia checked her tablet. "Temporarily suspended from Le Ciel without pay. Security background check shows recent, sporadic employment history – mainly food service, some temporary labor. Current address confirmed in the East End."
"Unreliable," Ethan murmured. "Financially precarious." He tapped the damage report. "He lacks the means to compensate Thorne Enterprises for the losses his carelessness incurred." He paused, letting the implication hang. "Sentiment dictates we write it off as a loss. Efficiency dictates… recompense."
Amelia's eyes widened slightly. "Sir?"
"Draft a formal letter of demand," Ethan instructed, his gaze returning to the Henderson papers, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact. "Itemized. The champagne. The first suit. The second suit. Replacement value, not repair. Deliver it to his residence. Certified mail. Offer him a choice: immediate, full financial restitution… or indentured service to Thorne Enterprises to work off the debt at a rate commensurate with his skill level." A cold smile touched his lips. "Minimum wage, naturally. Deducted from his earnings until the balance is cleared."
Amelia stared. "Indentured service, sir? That's… highly unusual. Potentially legally complex. And the optics, if it got out…"
"The optics are irrelevant," Ethan cut in. "He signed an employment contract with Le Ciel, which includes clauses regarding employee liability for gross negligence causing property damage. We leverage that. Ensure Legal makes it airtight. The choice is his: an impossible sum he cannot pay, or… employment." He emphasized the word. "He will choose employment. Out of desperation. And while employed by Thorne Enterprises, he will be under *my* control. His chaotic… influence… will be contained. Directed. Made efficient." And perhaps, a treacherous voice whispered, *understood*. He silenced it instantly.
"Where would he work, sir?" Amelia asked, still processing the cold ruthlessness of the plan.
"Here," Ethan stated. "Thorne Tower. Facilities Management. Janitorial services. Night shift. Somewhere visible enough to serve as a reminder of the cost of incompetence, yet isolated enough to avoid… contamination." *And somewhere I can observe*, the unspoken thought lingered. *To understand the defiance.*
"Janitorial?" Amelia couldn't keep the disbelief entirely out of her voice. "Sir, that seems… excessively punitive. And potentially inflammatory."
"It is punitive," Ethan acknowledged, his eyes glacial. "It is efficient. And it removes his disruptive presence from the community center sphere, where his misplaced heroics caused this mess. See it done, Amelia. Immediately." He returned his full attention to the Henderson papers, the matter settled.
**Alex: The Debt Collector**
The certified letter arrived two days later. Alex stared at the thick, expensive envelope bearing the Thorne Enterprises logo, his blood running cold. He opened it with trembling fingers.
The language was cold, legalistic. Itemized: Ruined Champagne - $4,200. Brioni Suit Jacket (Le Ciel Incident) - $8,500. Brioni Suit (Community Center Incident) - $8,500. **Total Debt: $21,200.00.**
Payment due in full within 30 days. Failure to pay would result in legal action to recover the debt, including wage garnishment and asset seizure (a laughable threat given Alex's 'assets').
*Or…*
The alternative was outlined in equally cold terms. Employment with Thorne Enterprises Facilities Management. Janitorial Staff. Night Shift (10 PM - 6 AM). Hourly wage: City Minimum. *All wages earned will be applied directly to the outstanding debt until satisfied in full. Acceptance of this employment constitutes agreement to these terms and waives any further claims against Thorne Enterprises regarding the aforementioned incidents.*
Alex sank onto their rickety kitchen chair, the letter crumpling in his fist. $21,200. It was an astronomical sum. An impossible sum. Even working construction for years, he'd never save that much. Garnishment? They'd take the pennies he earned, leaving his family destitute.
Janitorial. Night shift. At Thorne Tower. Under Ethan Thorne's thumb. It was a sentence. Humiliation. Servitude. But the only alternative was financial ruin.
Rosa read the letter over his shoulder, her face pale. "*Dio mio*," she whispered. "This is… this is monstrous. He can't do this!"
"He can, Ma," Alex said, his voice flat, hollow. "He owns everything. Including me, apparently." The weight of it was crushing. He'd tried to fight. He'd tried to apologize. Now he was being bought and put to work like a piece of equipment to be used until broken.
Marco exploded when he saw the letter later that evening. "He *what*?! Janitor? Debt slavery? That's illegal! That's… that's fucking evil, Alex! You can't accept this!"
"What choice do I have, Marco?" Alex shouted back, the dam of his despair breaking. "Huh? Tell me! Should I let them garnish my wages? Take everything? Leave Ma and Sofia with nothing? Should I just disappear?!" He shoved the letter at Marco. "It's $21,200! I could work construction for ten years and not pay that off! This… this is the only way out of the hole *he* dug for me!"
"It's a trap!" Marco argued, pacing the small living room like a caged animal. "He wants to punish you! Humiliate you! Control you! Working nights cleaning his fucking tower? It'll break you, Al!"
"Maybe I deserve it!" Alex retorted, the guilt and shame overwhelming. "The center lost its donation because of me! Sofia's heartbroken because of me! Maybe cleaning his floors is exactly what I deserve!" He slumped back onto the sofa, covering his face with his hands. The fight was gone, replaced by a terrible, resigned exhaustion. "I have to sign it, Marco. I have no choice."
Marco stared at him, his chest heaving. He saw the defeat in Alex's posture, the despair in his eyes. The fire of his own fury banked, replaced by a helpless, aching pain. He walked over and sat heavily beside Alex, not touching him, just sharing the suffocating weight of the situation. "Then I come with you," he stated, his voice rough. "I get a job there too. Nights. Facilities. Whatever. I'm not letting you face that bastard alone in that tower at night."
Alex lowered his hands, looking at Marco with tear-filled eyes. "Marco, no. You can't—"
"Try and stop me," Marco said, meeting his gaze, his own eyes fierce with protective determination. The unspoken *I love you* hung heavier than ever in the charged silence between them. The debt was forcing Alex into Ethan Thorne's orbit. Marco was determined to follow, a guardian shadow in the glittering, hostile tower. The collision wasn't over. It was just moving to a new, more controlled, and infinitely more dangerous arena.
**(End of Chapter 12)**