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.

3: 3

.But Hester planted her hands on her hips and walked right up to me.

"Darrell, do you think we're all idiots? A few years back, hardly anyone in the country made this kind of outdoor camping gear. Now it's everywhere, and the prices came down ages ago."

Hester's words gave the whole group their nerve back.

"Right, exactly. Cell phones used to sell for tens of thousands a piece. Now nobody would take one for free."

"Yeah, everything's cheap now. You still charged us over two grand. If that's not gouging, what is it?"

I just pointed up at the security camera in the corner of the room.

"You just told me to refund you a hundred and eighty grand, right? And you blocked the door and said you wouldn't let me leave until I paid up. Isn't that extortion?"

"You—you're talking nonsense. We're only asking for what's ours. That's fair and square."

Jackson was still loud, but his tone had gone a lot softer. He clearly didn't have the backbone to hold it.

"Then you can explain it to the cops in a minute. Five years ago, gear that went for seventy or eighty grand on the market, you bought from me for two thousand. Now that gear isn't worth as much, so you want me to refund you the difference. That's it, right?"

That shut them up. One after another, they dropped their heads.

Hester opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Forget it, Jackson, let him go."

Only then did they clear the doorway.

I stepped out of the private room and turned back to look at them.

"Remember what you said today. Don't you dare regret it later."

"Darrell, you cheated us out of our money, and sure, you weaseled out of it. But we're still reporting you to the Explorers' Association."

"That's right. We'll make sure you can't survive in this business, and get your company's products boycotted across the whole industry."

"Darrell, you just wait. This isn't over."

"…"

I gave them a flat look and said coldly, "Fine. I'll be waiting."

Just then a server came wheeling a cart over, the restaurant manager beside her.

"Mr. Dickerson, can we start serving?"

"Send everything I ordered to my company. I'm giving up this room."

When they heard that, Jackson and the others got angry all over again.

"Darrell, you think a little money makes you something special? You think we can't afford a meal without you?"

Then Jackson jabbed a finger at the manager and said coldly, "We got here first. Serve us these dishes. I'll settle the bill later."

The manager turned to me, waiting for my call.

"If they're willing to pay, then it's none of my business."

Only then did the manager have the server keep bringing them their food.

Jackson couldn't wait to raise his glass.

"The greedy capitalist is finally gone. No one's going to bleed us dry anymore. Come on, everyone, drink up."

"Getting cheated for years by certain greedy people. We've got to celebrate properly tonight."

"…"

I paid them no more attention and went straight back to my company.

The first thing I did was call in Jacob James, the workshop supervisor in charge of production.

"Those ten custom outdoor camping and survival kits, don't make them. Cancel the order."

Jacob looked plainly relieved to hear it.

"Mr. Dickerson, you should've done this a long time ago. Those ten of yours always demanded the best materials, all custom-fitted, took forever. Not only did it drag down the company's production, the real thing is you were subsidizing them out of your own pocket."

I couldn't help a bitter smile. Even an outsider like Jacob knew exactly how much I'd given them.

4: 4

Back when I first sold them a full set of gear for two thousand dollars, they practically treated me like the parents who'd given them a second life.

"Darrell, this tent of yours is unbelievable. A gale strong enough to snap trees and it doesn't even budge."

"The safety rope doesn't so much as shiver. The quality's insane."

"How did you make these climbing boots? They fit perfectly, the grip's incredible, and I've worn them two years and there's barely any wear."

Jackson had been the first to jump in about how cheap I sold it all.

"Darrell, a set used to run me seven or eight grand. Yours is two thousand and it's better quality than theirs. I don't even know how to thank you."

Later they took my gear into all kinds of competitions.

Rock climbing, wilderness survival challenges. They took first place several times, and every man walked away with hundreds of thousands in prize money.

Some of them even used the fame to launch outdoor livestreams, and raked it in.

Now, over one picture from Hester, they'd all turned their backs like they didn't know me. Thinking back on it now, I could hardly believe how ridiculous I'd been.

Right then my phone rang. It was the manager from the restaurant.

"Mr. Dickerson, those friends of yours finished eating and now they don't want to pay—"

The manager was only halfway through when Jackson's voice cut in. "Darrell Dickerson, you set us up, you son of a bitch. Ordered over five grand of food. Get down here and pay for it yourself, or I'm going to the association to report you."

"Then go ahead and report me. And Manager, if you need to call the police, call the police. Don't spare me any face."

I hung up.

The masks these people wore were getting uglier by the day.

A few minutes later, Manager Lambert—the restaurant manager—called back.

"Mr. Dickerson, they got into a huge fight over the bill. In the end everyone chipped in five hundred to settle it. But they seem to really hate you. They're saying they're going to report you."

"They're welcome to try."

Sure enough, half an hour later I got a call from Nicholas Chavez, the vice president of our Explorers' Association.

Nicholas had his own team, and for years they'd been rivals of the team I was on.

Except they lost to us every time. Over the last few years my team took first place five times, while they managed second twice and finished out of the top three the rest.

"Mr. Dickerson, your teammate Jackson and a few others just called to report you. I nearly died laughing."

I asked, a little curious, "And what exactly did President Chavez find so funny?"

"Mr. Dickerson, that gear of yours—forget two thousand, I'd pay two hundred thousand for it. Shame you won't sell. So, these ungrateful wolves finally broke your heart?"

Before I could answer, Nicholas went on. "Mr. Dickerson, all these years you spent looking after them, we saw every bit of it. Take just one thing—last wilderness survival challenge, several of our teams had our tents blown flat by the typhoon, and only yours held. Otherwise, you think first place and that prize money would've landed in Jackson's lap?"

I couldn't help finding it a little bitter, that even a rival could see everything I'd given them.

And they not only ignored all my years of it, they'd turned around and blamed me and gone off to report me.