Chapter 4: The Coup de Grâce

Chapter 4: The Coup de Grâce

The next morning, the air in Leo Grant’s office was thick enough to chew. Alina had laid her discovery out on his cluttered desk like a royal flush, the printout of the dissolved LLC filing sitting atop the predatory contract.

Leo stared at it, his tired eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something that looked dangerously like professional awe. He picked up the paper, reading it once, then a second time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less incendiary.

"A ghost corporation," he breathed, leaning back in his chair. The springs groaned in protest. "For fourteen months. The sheer, unadulterated arrogance..." He shook his head, a short, disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. "He never thought anyone would look. He’s a shark who forgot he needs the water to be a shark."

"So we have him," Alina said, her voice taut with adrenaline. "We can invalidate the contract, get my car back, sue for damages—"

"Whoa, slow down," Leo cautioned, holding up a hand. The cynical lawyer was back, wrestling the excited idealist back into its cage. "This is an incredible find, Ali. Game-changing. But it's also a lit fuse. Thorne's not just going to roll over. The smart play is to use this as leverage. We draft a letter, show him we know, and force a quiet settlement. Get your car back, maybe some damages for your trouble. We avoid a war."

Alina’s face hardened. A quiet settlement. Go back to how things were. The memory of standing on the highway, humiliated and helpless, flashed in her mind. The condescending voice of Brenda, the smug tow-truck driver. It wasn't just about her car anymore.

"No," she said, her voice quiet but unyielding. "A quiet settlement lets him do this to someone else next week. He doesn't get to walk away quietly. You said it yourself, Leo. He’s built a fortress. This isn't a crack in the wall. This is the key to the whole castle."

Leo ran a hand through his unruly hair, his expression deeply troubled. "Ali, you don't understand what you're suggesting. This isn't poking the bear. This is walking into the bear's cave, stealing his honey, and slapping him across the face with his own paw. He will come after you with everything he has. He'll sue you into the Stone Age."

"Let him," she retorted. "He has money. I have this." She tapped the dissolution notice. "And I have nothing left to lose."

Ignoring Leo’s frantic protests that this was reckless, that she needed a strategy, Alina walked out of the legal aid clinic. His warnings echoed in her ears, but they were drowned out by the thrumming of her own resolve. Leo wanted to fight by the rules. Alina understood that Thorne had been playing a different game all along. It was time to change the board.

Back in her apartment, she sat in front of her laptop. Her bank account balance stared back at her: $784.32. Barely enough for next month’s rent, which was already overdue. The state's online business registration portal was stark and bureaucratic. The fee to register a new Limited Liability Company was $500.

She pictured Marcus Thorne’s perfectly coiffed hair and condescending smirk. She thought of the Innovatech meeting, the opportunity that had vanished with her car. This wasn't just an expense; it was an investment in vengeance. With a steady hand, she typed "Thorne Motors, LLC" into the field for the desired company name. She filled in her own name as the registered agent and her apartment as the principal address. She entered her debit card information, her entire financial future hanging on this single, defiant act.

Her finger hovered over the "Submit" button. This was the point of no return. Leo’s voice of caution was a faint whisper. The roar of her own righteous anger was a hurricane.

She clicked.

A confirmation page appeared. Payment successful. Application received. For the price of her security, Alina Vance had just become the legal owner of Thorne Motors. She then spent another hour using a legal template and her own graphic design skills to draft a ruthlessly professional Cease-and-Desist letter.

The dealership was just as she remembered: a gleaming, sterile cathedral of chrome and greed. The air smelled of expensive leather and plastic, a scent that now made her stomach churn. Salesmen in shiny suits eyed her as she walked in, their predatory gazes dismissing her jeans and blazer as a waste of their commission-hungry time.

"Can I help you?" one of them asked, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"I'm here to see Marcus Thorne," Alina said, her voice betraying none of the frantic hammering in her chest.

"Mr. Thorne doesn't typically take walk-ins. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Alina said calmly. "But he'll want to see me. Tell him Alina Vance is here."

She was made to wait for twenty minutes in a leather chair that probably cost more than her laptop. It was a classic power play, meant to intimidate. But as she sat there, clutching the crisp envelope in her hands, she felt a strange calm settle over her. She wasn't a victim begging for scraps. She was a CEO, here to deal with an infringement issue.

Finally, she was led to a lavish corner office with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the lot full of cars—his cars. Marcus Thorne sat behind a massive mahogany desk, a portrait of untouchable power. His silver-and-black hair was perfect. His suit was impeccable. He was tapping his custom signet ring on the polished surface of his desk, an arrogant little rhythm of impatience.

"Miss Vance," he said, not bothering to stand. His voice was smooth, laced with condescension. "You have three minutes. I assume you're here to discuss your outstanding recovery and storage fees? Perhaps to beg for a payment plan?"

Alina walked across the plush carpet and stood before his desk. She met his cold, calculating gaze without flinching.

"I'm not here to discuss fees, Mr. Thorne," she said, her voice as cool and polished as the desk between them. She slid the envelope across the mahogany. "I'm here to serve you this."

Thorne’s condescending smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. He picked up the envelope, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He slit it open with a silver letter opener and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside.

Alina watched him read. She saw the subtle shift as his eyes scanned the official letterhead she had designed—"Thorne Motors, LLC"—and her address listed below it. She saw the amusement drain from his face, replaced by a deep furrow of confusion. His gaze darted from the paper to her, then back again. The confident tapping of his signet ring stopped.

He read the demand: that he immediately cease and desist all commercial use of the name "Thorne Motors," as it was the legally registered trademark and business name of the entity she now controlled.

The silence in the room was absolute. Thorne’s carefully constructed mask of affable arrogance crumbled, revealing the raw, ugly fury beneath. His face darkened, a flush creeping up his neck.

"What is this?" he finally hissed, his voice a low growl. "Some kind of joke?"

"It's a legal notice," Alina replied, her heart pounding but her voice steady. "My lawyer, Leo Grant, advised against this course of action. He said it was a declaration of war." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "He was right. You are now illegally operating your business under my company's name. I'll expect your legal counsel to be in touch with mine to discuss the terms of your compliance."

She turned without waiting for a response, leaving him sputtering in disbelief, the cease-and-desist letter trembling in his hand. She walked out of his office, past the stunned receptionist, and through the gleaming showroom.

As the glass doors slid shut behind her, the cool city air hit her face. The adrenaline surged, a dizzying, terrifying wave. She had done it. She had walked into the lion's den and stolen his roar. The war had begun.