The day my wife got her college diploma, the first thing she did was throw divorce papers on the oil stained hood of my truck. She said that I, a garbage collector, wasn’t worthy of her, a future real estate elite. I didn’t argue or make a scene, just smiled and signed the papers. I gave her what she called a garbage heap, my recycling yard and everything on it without asking for a penny. She drove away in her newly purchased BMW, laughing at my foolishness.
What she didn’t know was that in those divorce papers, I had planted a bomb with a three-year long fuse. 3 years later, when I saw the 100th missed call from her on my phone, I knew the fuse had burned to the end. The show began with a $5 million bill from an oil giant. It was a sunny spring afternoon just after the graduation ceremony at Harrison University. I stood in the parking lot, my work clothes still stained with oil from fixing a hydraulic press that morning.
I had planned to go home and change into clean clothes, but Naomi texted saying she had urgent business and needed me to come right away. As soon as I saw her, I knew something was wrong. She wore a brand new black suit with her long hair carefully styled, standing next to a white BMW that wasn’t ours. Beside her stood a well-dressed man in his 40s with a slick appearance and a gold watch that gleamed in the sunlight.
I could smell his cologne from across the parking lot, making my nose itch. Garrett Naomi started bluntly, a cold smile I’d never seen before playing on her lips. This is Tristan Wilson, VP of Citylight Real Estate. Also, my future partner. Tristan nodded in greeting with the kind of condescending attitude of an emperor acknowledging a beggar. Heard a lot about you, Garrett. Naomi has told me so much. His tone was dripping with mockery. And this Naomi pulled out a stack of documents from her crocodile skin purse and slammed them onto my truck’s hood.
Is our divorce agreement? I’ve already signed it. Now it’s your turn. I glanced at the papers, then looked back at her. Why? Please, Garrett, don’t play dumb. She rolled her eyes as if explaining something obvious. Look at yourself, then look at me. I have a degree now, and I’m about to become a sales manager at Citylight. And you? a garbage collector driving this truck that could fall apart any minute, living in that stinking recycling yard. We’re not in the same world anymore.
Tristan chuckled beside her, his hand resting on Naomi’s waist with a possessiveness and smuggness that made my stomach churn. I silently stared at Naomi. This woman was once the bride I’d sacrificed everything to marry. She had completed her college education with every dollar earned from my broken down truck. That stinking recycling yard had supported her for four whole years. But I said nothing. I just slowly pulled a clean rag from my pocket, carefully wiped my hands, and picked up the agreement.
Don’t you need to think this over? Tristan interjected, his tone openly mocking. That recycling yard sits on the edge of the city’s new planning zone. It’ll soon become prime real estate. Signing now is like handing over a gold mine. Tristan. Naomi glared at him, clearly not wanting him to reveal too much. I almost laughed out loud. A gold mine. Did they take me for a fool? What they didn’t know was what lay beneath this gold mine. A time bomb powerful enough to shatter their dreams.
“It’s fine, Naomi,” I said calmly, my voice betraying no emotion. “I was never good at business. Keep the land. I just want my truck and tools.” Tristan flashed a Victor’s smile as if already seeing future skyscrapers on that plot of land. Wise choice, Garrett. Some people are destined for great things, while others are only fit for dirty, hard labor. Ignoring his provocation, I took the pin Naomi handed me and signed every page. On the last page, I noticed the clause my lawyer had specifically added in legal jargon regarding potential easement disputes and environmental remediation responsibilities for unspecified historical third party underground facilities existing under plot 734 B.
The transfer assumes full liability. Naomi clearly hadn’t read this clause carefully. She thought it was just standard lawyer language describing potential environmental issues from my dirty business. I signed the final name and returned the documents to her. Good luck, Naomi. Tristan put his arm around Naomi’s waist, greed gleaming in his eyes. Don’t worry, Garrett. I’ll take good care of her. Maybe someday you’ll see our mansion built right on your land. I look forward to it. I nodded, climbing into my old truck.
The engine coughed a few times before roaring to life, the exhaust pipe belching black smoke. Through the rear view mirror, I saw Naomi and Tristan laughing with the victorious posture of people who thought they were standing on my corpse. They thought this was the end, not knowing it was merely the prologue to a carefully orchestrated revenge. A week earlier, while installing a new oil filter in Naomi’s car, I had discovered her dash cam memory card was full.
I meant to clear it, but heard a conversation between her and Tristan during preview. Tristan, are you sure that land is valuable? Naomi’s voice was full of greed. “Baby, trust me,” Tristan answered confidently. “The city planning has been approved. Within 6 months, property values in that area will at least triple. Your idiot husband doesn’t even know he’s sitting on a gold mine. He just knows how to collect junk. Doesn’t understand land appreciation at all.” “Shu, don’t call him that,” Naomi laughed.
Though he is a fool, always covered in grease, coming home just to lie on the couch watching sports. I really don’t know why I married him. Because you had poor judgment back then. Tristan laughed sleazily. But it’s better now you have me. Once we get that land and sell it, we can immediately buy a big house in the Lake District. Then you’ll be a proper rich lady. Well, you need to get rid of your wife first, Naomi said coily.
Don’t worry, the divorce papers are ready. My woman is greedy. Give her enough cash and she’ll agree to anything. Tristan said confidently. Compared to her, I’m more worried about your husband. He seems honest, but country folk can sometimes be difficult. Relax. He’s just a brainless manual laborer. As long as he keeps his truck and tools, he’ll be satisfied. I know him. He’s not as smart as you think. They mocked my work, my clothes, even the way I talked without restraint.
Then came more plans. How to exploit my stupidity and honesty. How to flip the land immediately after the divorce for multiple times the price. After hearing this recording, I didn’t explode in anger or have an emotional breakdown. Years of military service and the hard work afterward had taught me how to control my emotions. I simply copied the memory card and drove straight to Ray’s detective agency. Ray’s detective agency was located in the city’s most chaotic commercial district, an inconspicuous second floor office.
The neon sign at the entrance was halfbroken with the remaining letters flickering intermittently. Truth world. Ray was my comrade from the Marine Corps. We had survived the gunfire in Iraq together and formed a bond stronger than brotherhood. After retiring, he used the reconnaissance skills learned in the military to open this detective agency. That Ray slammed the table after hearing the recording. Brother, let’s go break that pretty boy’s legs right now. I know some guys who can guarantee he’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
No, I said calmly, my gaze determined. I want them to pay a much higher price. Not just physical pain, but complete destruction. Career, reputation, money, everything they value. Ray stared at me for a few seconds, then nodded. You’ve changed, Garrett. You used to be soft-hearted. People change, especially after being betrayed by those they trust most. I smiled bitterly. I need you to investigate a few things. First, Tristan Wilson’s background, his company, financial situation, weaknesses. Second, details of the city’s new district planning, especially the future value of my land.
Got it. Ray took out a notebook and started writing. Anything else? Recommend a lawyer who doesn’t follow the conventional path. Not some suitwearing elite, but someone who really knows how to fight in the gray areas of the law. Ry flashed a cunning smile. I know just the guy, Felix Jennings, nicknamed Diamond Hole, because no matter how tight a contract is, he can find a hole to drill through. Over the next 3 days, Ray and his team began a comprehensive investigation of Tristan and Citylight Real Estate.
The results were encouraging. Tristan’s company appeared glossy on the surface, but was actually drowning in debt. They desperately needed this new project to attract investors and bank loans. Even more interesting, Tristan himself was caught in an ugly divorce lawsuit, desperately concealing his relationship with Naomi to avoid paying more alimony. But this wasn’t enough. I needed a stronger trump card, a weapon for a killing blow. This information is useful, but not enough to completely destroy them, I told Rey.
I need something more lethal. Why not start with the land itself? Ry suggested. Every piece of land has history. Maybe there’s a secret buried under your plot. This hint was like a lightning bolt in the darkness, illuminating my path. Early the next morning, I headed straight to the county land archives office. It was a dusty basement filled with yellow drawings and heavy archive books. I spent an entire day there and finally discovered an amazing secret on a land survey map from the 1960s.
Under my recycling yard, two oil pipelines had once been laid, belonging to one of America’s largest oil companies, Continental Oil. Although these pipelines had been abandoned for years, according to the law, the ownership and related responsibilities of the underground facilities had never been officially transferred. This was the weapon I needed. That afternoon, I contacted the lawyer Ry recommended, Felix Jennings. His office was set up in a converted warehouse space with Hawaiian landscape photos and various strange legal documents hanging on the walls.
The man himself was even more unexpected with a thick gray beard, wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt, looking more like a retired surf instructor than a lawyer. Ray told me about your situation. Felix got straight to the point, his voice raspy. Revenge, huh? I love these cases. Tell me, what price do you want those two cheaters to pay? Everything, I answered briefly. Good. Good. He rubbed his hands, excitement gleaming in his eyes. Ray said, “You found something interesting?” I spread the materials I’d found in the land archives office before him.
Felix put on his reading glasses and carefully studied those ancient drawings and documents. So, these pipelines definitely exist, but have been abandoned for decades. Felix pondered, “According to current law, the oil company still owns these pipelines and rights of use while also bearing related environmental responsibilities. This is quite a complex legal gray area. I want to plant a bomb in the divorce agreement, I said straightforwardly. I don’t want the land. I want them to pay. Felix’s eyes lit up, revealing a wolflike smile.
I like your thinking, but we need to be more clever. Relying solely on the oil company might not be enough. Their legal team is powerful, and bureaucratic institutions move slowly. We need time, at least 3 years, to perfect this trap. 3 years? I raised an eyebrow. Why so long? First, we need the oil company to realize these pipelines potential value. The natural gas market is heating up now and will peak in 3 years. If we can convince the oil company these abandoned pipelines can be converted to natural gas lines, they’ll be very interested.
Second, we need to wait for the development of the city’s new district to reach its peak. By then, your recycling yard land will be at its maximum value. Naomi and Tristan will have invested all their money and credibility in the project, making it impossible to easily withdraw. Finally, we need to build a perfect legal trap. The divorce agreement is just the first step. We also need to prepare a series of documents, evidence, and legal claims to ensure they can’t escape.
Felix’s plan was meticulous and cunning. Exactly what I needed. 3 years, I nodded in agreement. I can wait. Good. Then the first step is to draft a special divorce agreement. On the surface, you’re giving up all rights to the land, but in reality, we’ll plant a time bomb. Felix began typing rapidly on his computer. The clause about underground facilities responsibility will look like standard legal terminology, but actually it will make them assume all potential massive compensation liabilities.
I finished his sentence, my lips curling slightly upward. Exactly. Felix clapped happily. They’re too greedy, only seeing the surface value of the land while ignoring the potential legal liabilities hidden underground. That’s the fatal weakness of the greedy. After signing the divorce agreement, I quickly disappeared from people’s radar. I sold the house in the neighborhood and rented a modest apartment in the neighboring city. Under Ray’s name, I registered a transport company, Trust Transport. I specifically took on dangerous goods and large equipment transport jobs that others wouldn’t touch.
Using the skills I learned in the Marine Corps and my understanding of machinery, I quickly established a foothold in the industry. On the surface, I was just a truck driver barely making ends meet. But in reality, I was quietly building my own business empire. I used every profit to expand the fleet and recruit veterans as drivers and technicians. Our team was disciplined and efficient, quickly becoming a dark horse in the industry. Meanwhile, Felix began executing our plan.
First, he wrote a letter of concern to Continental Oil Company in the name of an environmentalist inquiring about the disposal plans for those abandoned pipelines. This was just to leave a trace in official records, making the oil company aware of these pipelines existence, but not enough to trigger an immediate large-scale reaction. Then at a veterans charity shooting competition, I accidentally met the oil company’s legal director, Warren Morrison, a former platoon leader. We quickly became acquainted through our shared military experience.
Over the next 2 years, I regularly invited him to fish at my lakeside cabin, never mentioning those pipelines. I was just building a relationship, waiting for the right moment. You know, Garrett, during one fishing trip, after a few whisies, Warren said, “The company is looking for new natural gas pipeline routes. The existing ones aren’t enough, but new construction costs are too high. Is that so? I pretended to be casual. Have you considered using some abandoned old pipelines?
Renovation costs should be much lower than new construction. The problem is finding ownership of those pipelines, many buried in decades old archives. More troublesome is that many places have already built houses or malls, making it impossible to start work. Indeed, a difficult problem, I agreed, already calculating the next step in my mind. In the third year, when Naomi and Tristan’s project development entered a critical stage, I closely monitored their every move through Ray’s intelligence network. They had successfully attracted many investors and were preparing to build a high-end shopping center on my old recycling yard, including a three-level underground parking garage.
They even planned to hold a grand project launch party, inviting all investors and local media. The time was finally ripe. I contacted Warren using a tone of accidental discovery to mention those abandoned pipelines running beneath my ex-wife’s property. Doesn’t your company need old pipelines for renovation? I remember there are several under my ex-wife’s land that once belonged to Continental Oil. Warren’s interest was immediately ignited. A few days later, he sent someone to check the archives, confirming the existence and ownership of these pipelines.
A week later, the oil company’s assessment team concluded these pipelines were still structurally sound and could be converted to natural gas lines at low cost with a potential value exceeding $20 million. But when they contacted Naomi to discuss pipeline usage rights, they were refused. Naomi and Tristan had invested too much in the shopping center project to change plans. More importantly, their underground parking garage design directly conflicted with the pipeline locations. They refused. I pretended to be surprised when asking Warren.
Yes, and with a terrible attitude, Warren said angrily. That guy Tristan even threatened to sue us for harassing their project. They’ve already started preliminary construction, completely ignoring our warnings. That’s outrageous. I shook my head inside. Those pipelines could cause serious environmental problems if damaged. As the former owner, I’m very concerned. Don’t worry, Garrett. Warren patted my shoulder. Our legal team is preparing litigation. According to records, the ownership and usage rights of these pipelines were never transferred, and their construction constitutes infringement.
We’ll make them pay. The plan was unfolding perfectly. It was a Friday night and Citylight Real Estate was hosting a project launch party at the city’s most luxurious hotel, the Ritz Carlton. According to Ray’s intelligence, almost all investors and local media would attend. Naomi, as the project’s main responsible person, would give a speech on stage. Felix and I sat in a cafe across from the hotel, watching guests enter through the window. The guests were elegantly dressed, completely unaware of the storm about to hit.
Naomi and Tristan appeared in the camera flashes. She wearing an expensive red evening gown. He in a tailored suit. Both were smiling broadly like triumphant generals. “Look at them,” Felix clicked his tongue, acting like they’ve already counted the money and put it in their pockets. “Yeah,” I smirked. “Too bad after tonight. All that awaits them is a pile of debt and endless legal troubles.” When Naomi stood center stage, raising her champagne glass and preparing to deliver her success speech, I nodded to Felix.
It’s time. Felix picked up his phone and dialed a number. Go. Just 10 minutes later, as Naomi was passionately describing the project vision on stage, a formally uniformed court summoned server walked into the venue. Behind him followed two police officers and a notary. Quite a spectacle. All eyes in the room focused on this uninvited guest. He walked straight to the stage and handed a thick envelope to a dumbfounded Naomi. “Miss Naomi Garrett?” the server asked loudly, ensuring everyone could hear.
“Why, yes, that’s me,” Naomi stuttered, her face instantly turning pale. “This is a temporary restraining order and asset freeze order from the US District Court. ” The server officially announced, his voice clear and strong. It also includes a litigation notice from Continental Oil Company demanding you immediately cease all development activities on plot 734B and assume $5 million in damages and environmental remediation costs for underground facilities. The room instantly fell silent with only a few gasps of surprise.
Investors exchanged looks. Reporters camera flashes frantically flickered, capturing this dramatic scene. Tristan rushed onto the stage trying to grab the documents from Naomi. This must be a mistake. We have legal land use rights. According to our records, the server calmly said the ownership of oil pipelines under plot 734 B belongs to Continental Oil Company and was never transferred. Your underground parking garage construction has already caused irreversible damage to these facilities, violating the Federal Energy Facilities Protection Act.
Naomi stood on stage, her legs weak and her face as white as paper. She opened the envelope and saw the thick legal documents with that hearttoppping number. $5 million. This was almost half of their project’s total investment. This this can’t be, she mumbled, her voice trembling with fear. An investor stood up, his voice angry. Tristan, what’s going on? Didn’t you discover these pipelines during due diligence? Another investor followed with questions. What about our funds now? If the project is stopped, who will be responsible for our investment?
Soon, the entire venue descended into chaos. Investors demanded explanations. Reporters took photos and recorded frantically, and project team members panicked. Tristan tried to control the situation. Everyone, everyone, please calm down. This is just a minor legal dispute. We’ll resolve it quickly. But his words carried no conviction. Investors had already smelled blood and were concerned about their money’s safety. That night, my phone began ringing frantically. Naomi’s number again and again. I didn’t answer, just smiled and placed the phone on the table, drinking beer with Ry and the others in my new garage to celebrate.
Looks like someone’s in trouble. Rey laughed, raising his beer bottle. Want to hear her voicemails? Absolutely. I nodded, connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker. Naomi’s voice immediately filled the entire garage from initial anger to later pleading and finally to hysteria. Garrett, you bastard. I know this must be your doing. 5 million. This will ruin me. All the investors are withdrawing. The bank has frozen our accounts. Please, let’s talk, okay? For old times sake. I can give you money.
Give you anything you want. Each message made the brothers laugh harder. We raised our glasses and drank deeply, celebrating the perfect start of the revenge plan. 3 days later, when Naomi’s missed calls reached 100, I finally decided to meet her and Tristan. I chose a truck driver diner on the edge of town, King of the Road, where the coffee was terrible, but the stakes were big and cheap, a favorite gathering spot for truck drivers. I arrived half an hour early and chose a window table.
Ry and two burly truck drivers accompanied me. They were all veterans, one a former tank mechanic, the other an explosives expert. The table was filled with beer bottles and steak plates. The atmosphere relaxed and cheerful. When Naomi and Tristan walked in, all the drivers in the diner curiously watched this well-dressed but exhausted couple. Naomi’s makeup was no longer impeccable with obvious dark circles under her eyes. Tristan’s suit was wrinkled, looking like he hadn’t changed for several days.
Garrett. Naomi forced a smile, her voice containing a hint of pleading. Thank you for agreeing to see us. I didn’t stand up, just gestured for them to sit down. Beer, I pushed over two unopened bottles. No, no thanks, Naomi said quietly, her eyes darting, unable to look directly into mine. After sitting down, Tristan immediately began defending himself. Listen, Garrett, I know you might have some misunderstandings about us. But this oil company thing is completely fabricated. Those pipelines were abandoned long ago.
They can’t possibly have legal rights to claim compensation. We’ve hired the best lawyers and will resolve this issue soon. I slowly took a sip of beer, watching him perform. Really? Are you an oil law expert? Tristan choked but quickly recovered. No, but we’ve consulted experts. They say cases like this would at most cost a few thousand to settle, not 5 million. Is that so? I asked casually. Then why are your investors withdrawing? Why has the bank frozen your accounts?
Naomi couldn’t help but interject. Because of that damned court injunction, the project has been halted. Everyone’s panicking. Garrett, you must know something. Please tell us how can we resolve this issue. In fact, I continued, my tone is calm as if discussing the weather. Continental Oil Company does own those pipelines. It’s clearly written in the land archives. And according to the divorce agreement, Naomi agreed to assume all responsibilities related to historical third party underground facilities. Naomi’s face grew even paler.
But that was just standard clause. No one would actually pursue those abandoned pipelines from decades ago. You know, I didn’t read those legal terms carefully. So, you admit you signed a legal document you didn’t fully understand. My voice remained calm, but carried a hint of sarcasm. Strange that a business school graduate would make such a basic mistake. Tristan started sweating cold. Listen, Garrett, we can negotiate. What do you want? Money? We can give you a share of the project.
Unless Felix suddenly appeared behind them, holding a folder. Someone planned to build an underground parking garage above those pipelines, potentially causing structural damage. This is no longer just a matter of civil compensation, but involves criminal liability. Tristan spun around sharply. Who the hell are you? Felix Jennings, Mr. Garrett’s attorney. His colorful Hawaiian shirt looked particularly jarring under the dim diner lights, but his gaze was as sharp as a dagger. Felix sat down and opened the folder. According to Citylight Real Estate’s project plans, which by the way are public documents, you plan to excavate a three-level underground parking garage beneath plot 734B.
This would directly damage the structure of the oil pipelines, causing potential environmental disaster. This is absurd. Tristan slammed the table as he stood up, his voice shrill with fear. Those pipelines were abandoned long ago. Nobody cares about them. Legally, they are still active. Felix said calmly as if teaching a child. And Continental Oil Company now plans to reactivate these pipelines as part of their new natural gas network. Your project directly obstructs national energy security. Naomi began to sob.
Garrett, please. This will ruin us. All investors are withdrawing. The bank has frozen our accounts. We’ll be left with nothing. What a coincidence. I smirked, the temperature in my voice dropping to freezing point. That’s exactly what you planned to do to me 3 years ago. Throw me away like garbage. Take everything from me. Felix took out a small recorder and pressed play. Naomi and Tristan’s conversation in the car clearly echoed through the diner. Your idiot husband doesn’t even know he’s sitting on a gold mine.
Shoo. Don’t call him that, though. He is a fool. He’s just a brainless manual laborer. Naomi’s face instantly turned ghostly white. Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t utter a word. The entire diner fell silent. All the truck drivers watching this good show. Now, let’s talk about solutions. I leaned back in my chair, my voice carrying the calm of a victor. I’ve reached an agreement with Continental Oil Company. They agree to withdraw the lawsuit provided the property is immediately returned to its rightful owner, me.
What? Impossible. Tristan shouted, veins bulging on his forehead. That land was legally obtained by Naomi through a divorce agreement. This is fraud. Yes, but the agreement clearly stated she would assume all responsibilities arising from underground facilities. If she cannot afford this $5 million compensation, the court will rule the property be returned to its original owner. Felix calmly explained. This is basic contract law. We can sue. Tristan threatened, but his voice lacked conviction. Of course you can, I shrugged, completely relaxed.
Your investors will be thrilled to hear that their money will be locked in litigation that could last 5 years. Oh, don’t forget your bank loans. Interest is acrewing and your personal assets will soon be seized. Naomi completely broke down, her makeup smeared all over her face from tears. Please, Garrett, there must be another solution. For old times sake, old times. I scoffed. You didn’t think about old times when you betrayed me, did you? Tristan suddenly lunged, trying to grab my collar.
You scheming bastard. You planned all this. I didn’t dodge, just calmly looked at him. Rey and the two brothers immediately stood up, one twisting Tristan’s arm, the other pressing down on his shoulder, forcing him heavily back into his seat. “I suggest you calm down, suitman,” Ry threatened. “This is our territory. No one would hear your screams. ” Tristan instantly wilted, the arrogance on his face replaced by fear. There is one solution, I said slowly, my voice calm, but leaving no room for refusal.
I will donate the plot to the Marine Corps Veterans Foundation. They will work with the oil company to convert those pipelines into part of a natural gas line. The foundation has agreed that once the project starts, they will withdraw all lawsuits against you. What about us? Naomi sobbed, her eye makeup completely ruined, looking like a fallen clown. You, I scoffed. Your credibility is already destroyed with all investors and banks. As for personal debts, that’s not my problem.
I believe Tristan’s ex-wife will be very happy to hear this news. Tristan’s face turned ashen. You planned all this from the beginning, didn’t you? From the very start, you were waiting for this moment. Not entirely, I said. Honestly, I only decided to teach you a lesson the moment you chose to betray me. Never underestimate an honest man pushed to the edge. They left the diner with their heads hanging low. A week later, the court officially ruled the plot be returned to me, and I immediately donated it to the Veterans Foundation.
In exchange, my Trust Transport Company became the exclusive contractor for the foundation and oil company’s joint project, signing a 10-year contract worth over $50 million. 3 months later, the local newspaper reported two pieces of news. First, the Marine Corps Veterans Foundation received a large donation and planned to open a community activity center in the city’s new district. Second, Citylight Real Estate declared bankruptcy and its VP Tristan Wilson was arrested for business fraud and illegal fundraising, facing up to 10 years in prison.
Naomi’s situation was even more miserable. She not only lost her job, but was saddled with enormous debt. Reportedly, she had moved back to her hometown, living in her parents’ basement and surviving on odd jobs. Her real estate license was revoked, and she had no place left in the industry. A year later, the Veterans Foundation’s Community Centerly opened at the address of my former recycling yard. The place, once mocked by Naomi and Tristan as a garbage heap, had become a modern complex facility, including a job training center, rehabilitation clinic, and community activity space.
On opening day, I wore my best truck driver work clothes and set up a barbecue in the yard for the attending veterans. All my brothers were there, Ray, Felix, my oil company friend, Warren, and dozens of Trust Transport employees. Trust Transport had now grown into a professional logistics company with an annual turnover exceeding $30 million. Our fleet had expanded from the initial two used trucks to over 50 modern heavy transport vehicles focusing on specialized transport services for dangerous goods and large equipment.
A young reporter came over and curiously asked me, “Mr. Garrett, what’s your secret to transforming from a recycling yard owner into such a successful entrepreneur? I flipped the sizzling stakes on the grill without looking up and said, “No secret. Just remember two things. Never let people look down on you and never betray those who trust you.” Ry walked over and handed me an ice cold beer. To our brotherhood, I raised my beer and clinkedked it hard with my brothers.
To those who once looked down on us, the sunlight shone on us. The air filled with the aroma of barbecue and beer. I finally felt true victory. Not just revenge against Naomi and Tristan, but victory over life itself. At that very moment, on the other side of town, Naomi was probably sitting in her parents’ basement, looking at that divorce agreement, finally understanding what that legal terminology she never bothered to read actually meant. That garbage heap she once mocked had now become a gold mine she could never reach.
That rough man she once despised had now become an opponent she could never surpass. He who laughs last laughs best. And I, Garrett, the poor thing dumped by his wife on graduation day, now stood in the sunshine, raising a beer, toasting to a bright future. Revenge is a dish best served cold. But I turned it into a lively barbecue party.
