They Mocked His Gear Until the Cliff Broke

2: 2

Jackson moved fast, dragging the others over to block the door of the private dining room.

"Darrell, if you don't give us our money back today, you're not walking out of here."

I looked at this bunch of men who called me their brother every other day, and felt nothing but cold.

"You listen to me. Two thousand dollars wouldn't even cover the raw materials—"

Before I could finish, Jackson was on his feet.

"Enough, Darrell, save the crap. I don't care if you talk till the sky falls, you're refunding us today."

"Fine. Since none of you will listen, I'll give you your money back."

I sent every deposit I'd taken straight back to them, one by one.

And once the money was gone, oddly enough, something in my chest eased.

But they still stood in the doorway.

"You've got your money. Move."

Jackson's face was thick with anger. "You gave us back this twenty grand, sure. But the dozen-odd times before that, how much did you rip us off for? You think you can just walk away from that?"

"Right, Darrell. Over the years I bought from you ten times, that's two hundred grand. Take out the cost, that's maybe twenty thousand, so you owe me a hundred and eighty back."

"Same for me. You've been sucking our blood all these years. You don't cough it up today, you don't leave this room."

"…"

They were fuming, and a couple of them looked ready to come at me with their fists.

I took out my phone, unhurried, and dialed 911.

"Yeah, Officer, The Grand Table restaurant, private room one. Somebody's holding me here against my will and trying to extort me. Please send someone right away—"

The second I finished the call, Jackson rushed over and hung up my phone for me.

"You—you rip us off, and then you call the cops?"

"You all know exactly what my gear goes for on the market. I honestly never imagined a person could be this shameless."

I turned my eyes on Jackson and let out a cold laugh. "Before you ever bought my equipment, a cheap set cost you seventy, eighty grand. I sold you a set for twenty—and every one of you said mine was better than the seventy-, eighty-thousand-dollar stuff."

"You even said it was my gear that won you all that prize money and all those sponsors over the years. Called me the man who gave you a second life. And now you turn around and say I ripped you off?"

That left Jackson at a loss, guilt creeping into his face.

Quite a few of the others dropped their heads too.