Chapter 2 - The Convoy on King Street
The morning mist was still clinging to the cobblestones of King Street when Martin Blake arrived to unlock The Roasted Bean.
He was in an excellent mood. Vanessa Hart had tagged the café in an Instagram story the previous evening praising "the cooperative management." Foot traffic was guaranteed to spike by midday. Firing Claire had been a minor inconvenience; replaceable staff were a dime a dozen in central London.
At 7:58 AM, a low, synchronized hum rattled the storefront's double-glazed glass.
Martin paused, key hovering over the brass deadlock.
Around the corner rolled a convoy of sleek, black Cadillac Escalades, their tinted windows reflecting the cold morning sky. They didn't park along the designated curb. With military precision, three vehicles blocked the eastbound lane, three barricaded the west, two mounted the wide pedestrian walkway, and two idled bumper-to-bumper directly in front of the café’s main entrance.
A crowd of early morning commuters stopped in their tracks. Phones were drawn. Murmurs rippled across the pavement.
The passenger door of the lead vehicle opened.
A man stepped onto the sidewalk. He stood well over six feet, dressed in a bespoke charcoal-grey three-piece suit without an overcoat despite the chill. His posture was rigid, his jaw sharp and shadowed by stubble, and his dark eyes swept across the street with the calculating efficiency of a predator.
Roman De Luca.
Beside him stepped an elderly gentleman holding a thick leather folio—Jonathan Vance, the head of De Luca Global’s corporate legal team.
Martin swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he pulled the key from the lock. "Excuse me, sir! You can't park here! The delivery trucks need access, and—"
Two men built like brick walls moved past Roman, flanking the entrance without touching Martin.
Roman didn't raise his voice. When he spoke, the gravel in his tone cut right through the traffic noise. "Are you Martin Blake?"
"I... yes, I am the general manager. Who is asking?"
"The man who bought your building twenty minutes ago," Roman said calmly.
He gestured with two fingers. Jonathan Vance stepped forward and snapped open the leather folio, presenting a certified land registry transfer and an immediate eviction notice bearing the stamp of the High Court.
"As of 7:35 AM," Vance recited in a dry, emotionless monotone, "De Luca Acquisitions acquired the underlying freehold, the leasehold contract, and the outstanding bank loans of this commercial property. Under Section 14 of the commercial breach clause, the landlord is executing immediate repossession for structural audit."
Martin’s face drained of color. "What? You can't just buy a building and shut down a business in twenty minutes!"
"I can," Roman replied, stepping closer until his shadow completely eclipsed the manager. "And I did."
Roman reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a pristine, white printed photograph. It was a still frame from the café's interior CCTV, captured the previous afternoon: Martin standing beside Vanessa Hart while Claire walked out the door with her coat over her arm.
"Yesterday afternoon, my sister Elena sat inside your establishment," Roman said, his voice dropping into a register that sent ice down Martin's spine. "Her mobility aid was hidden. She was served alcohol without consent. And when she provided recorded evidence of the abuse, you demanded she quiet down to protect an online influencer."
"I... I didn't know who she was!" Martin stammered, his knees visibly shaking. "If I had known she was a De Luca, I swear—"
"That is your crime," Roman interrupted, his eyes dead and unblinking. "You believe human dignity is a privilege reserved only for the powerful and the loud."
Roman tapped the glass window behind Martin.
"Change the locks," Roman ordered the two men behind him. "Board the windows. If this man attempts to step inside before the legal review is concluded, have the Metropolitan Police detain him for criminal trespass."
"Wait! What about my staff? What about the inventory?" Martin yelled, desperate.
May you like
Roman didn't look back as he returned to his SUV. "Your staff will receive full severance from my foundation. You, Martin, will never manage a business in this city again."
The car door clicked shut. Within seconds, construction crews stepped out from the rear vehicles with heavy timber boards, hammering the doors of The Roasted Bean shut before the morning rush had even begun.
