He Paid $1,000 for a $1,000,000 Banquet. So I Gave Him a Funeral

"Folks, don't you want to get back the money you worked your asses off for?" "Don't you want to see Francis get what's coming to him?" "In a few days I'll have the whole thing ready." "Who's got the guts to see this through with me?" "Ms. Armstrong, how exactly do you plan to pull this off?" Zachery Lawrence, the seafood restaurant owner, sent a voice message. "He paid me $1,000, so I'll give him exactly $1,000 worth of service." "What can you even do with $1,000?" asked Blake Finch from the furniture store. "Give him a funeral worth every penny he paid," I replied. "You'd really go through with that? We thought you were just joking earlier. His boss is Mortimer Weiss, a big shot in this city with a lot of pull around here." Yvette Lambert, the flower shop owner, fired off a string of horrified emojis. "His boss is Mortimer, then what? Does being Mortimer’s assistant give him the right to bully us into doing business?" "Francis is running his con in Mortimer's name. Mortimer probably doesn't even know." "Let's blow this whole thing wide open and see who ends up too ashamed to show his face." Everyone went quiet for a moment. "I'm in. I've swallowed enough humiliation," Zachery answered first. "Count me in too. Worst case, I lose my business. But I'm sick of swallowing this anger." Blake Finch from the furniture store said right after. "Ms. Armstrong, you tell us how, and we'll follow your lead to the end." Yvette chimed in too. Seeing everyone rally behind me, I knew I wasn't fighting this battle alone. "Good. Everyone listen up. Here's what we're going to do." Just then Francis sent over a menu, with a message. "Vanessa, make every dish on this menu. One dish short and I'm coming after you." I opened the image. Australian lobster, king crab, top-grade wagyu, caviar. A full 108-course menu, with every dish costing a small fortune. "Assistant Francis, a $1,000 deposit won't even come close to covering this," I replied. Francis wrote back. "I don't care whether you can pull it off. If you can't pull it off, that's on you." "If you can't make it, pay for it out of your own pocket." "You run a business and you don't even grasp that much?" I looked at the threats on the screen and couldn't help laughing. "Assistant Francis, even the best chef can't cook without ingredients." "$1,000 won't even buy one claw from a decent lobster." "If you're truly serious about throwing this birthday gala, put down a proper deposit." "Besides, I've got other customers' orders in my shop. My team is short-handed. We can't turn out this many elaborate dishes all at once." The message had barely gone out when a high-priority alert suddenly flashed across my shop's dashboard. "Your shop has been forcibly taken offline for suspected policy violations. All orders have been canceled." I froze. Right after, Francis's message popped up. "Now you can focus on the order, can't you?" "Those other orders in your shop, I already took care of them for you." "Try to back out again, and your shop will never be restored." I took a breath, then switched straight back to the business owners' group chat. "Folks, my online shop just got reported and shut down." The messages started pouring in. "Way too arrogant. The man thinks he's untouchable. I can't take it anymore." "Ms. Armstrong, we can't just let this slide." "Right. Let's fight back." Watching the owners seethe with rage, I typed out my reply. "Since he wants to play dirty, let's give him a funeral he'll never forget." "Does anyone know someone who can put together a truly creepy funeral display?" The chat went silent for a few seconds. Then Yvette sent a message. "My cousin runs a little special-effects workshop back home. He makes lifelike wax figures and creepy funeral props." "He's done haunted-house displays before. Give him a photo of something, and he can make a replica so realistic it'll give you chills." "For $200, he'll turn the whole venue into the kind of place people won't want to stay in after dark."

My eyes lit up. "Perfect. Call your cousin right now. Tell him I want the creepiest funeral display he can make, and I want it ready by tomorrow." Yvette got on it right away. Once everything was set, I messaged Francis back. "Assistant Francis, the menu's confirmed. My team is working around the clock to get everything ready." "I guarantee it'll blow you away." Francis replied with a smug little emoji. "Smart of you to know your place." "But if you screw this up, I'll make sure you pay for it." I stared at the chat window and smiled. Francis, you're going to remember this event for the rest of your life. Early the next morning, Francis's messages came flooding in right on schedule. "Vanessa, a birthday gala has to have live entertainment." "Get me the best orchestra in the city, with everyone dressed in tuxedos." "The cost is included in the deposit. Figure it out yourself." I looked at my phone and let out another short, humorless laugh. One thousand dollars, and he wants a symphony orchestra? I opened the business owners' group chat. "Everyone, Assistant Francis wants a band for the gala." "Anybody got a connection?" Zachery jumped in right away. "My great-uncle runs a small funeral band out in the country. They play at funerals and graveside services. They’ve got brass instruments, strings, and a portable organ.” "They can even bring a little funeral choir to sing mournful hymns." "Two hundred bucks, and they'll play all day." I replied without a second's hesitation. "Deal. Have your great-uncle bring the whole crew and make sure they're waiting when the guests arrive." With the band sorted, Francis fired off another demand. "The venue has to be a luxury estate, several thousand square feet." "It needs a big lawn, a fountain, and plush carpets." "And under no circumstances are you to embarrass Chairman Mortimer." I forwarded the demand to the group. Blake Finch sent a message. "Ms. Armstrong, there's an old memorial property outside town that's available." "It's got a huge overgrown lawn, easily several thousand square feet." "There's even a filthy drainage pond right beside it. We can pass it off as a decorative fountain." "The place looks like it hasn't been maintained in twenty years." "Rent's $388 for the whole day." I bit back a grin. "Perfect. Lock it down right now." "Send me the address." With everything ready, I sent Francis a confirmation. "Assistant Francis, the band and the venue are both secured." "Everything meets your requirements." Francis replied almost instantly. "You'd better not be cutting corners on me, or you'll be sorry." I casually pulled up his social media feed. His latest post had just gone live. "A $1 million luxury birthday gala for Chairman Mortimer. A hundred tables, a thousand guests. Everything is ready." "A top-tier orchestra, Michelin-level cuisine, and a luxury estate venue" "You get what you pay for. I hope you enjoy it, Chairman." The attached photos were high-resolution shots he'd downloaded from the internet. The comments were nothing but fawning praise. "Assistant Francis is so capable." "Chairman, having a right-hand man like this is a real blessing." Mortimer himself even liked the post and commented, “Looking forward to it.” I looked at the screen, barely suppressing a smile. One million dollars? Exactly how much he'd pocketed along the way didn't need to be spelled out. I opened Francis's chat again. "Assistant Francis, a deposit of just one-thousandth of the total is really too little. The team is under enormous pressure having to cover the costs up front." "Could you pay half of the remaining balance upfront?" Francis sent a message. "Vanessa, you're out of your mind." "Let me tell you, whether you get the balance at all depends entirely on my mood." "I have a strict set of standards for signing off on the finished job."

"If I find even one thing I'm not happy with when the time comes, you won't get a single cent of the balance, and you'll pay me double in damages." "Don't think I don't know all the tricks you merchants pull." "I could pick any reason I want and destroy your reputation." I saved the whole conversation and immediately forwarded it to the business owners' group chat. "Everyone look at how shameless this guy is." Anger rippled through the chat. "That's exactly his line. When he screwed me over, he said the same thing." Yvette sent an angry emoji. “He nitpicks everything, doctors the evidence, and pulls every dirty trick in the book." Zachery piled on. "That time he ordered office desks and chairs from me, the work was flawless, and he insisted there was a formaldehyde smell and forced me to cough up $30,000." Blake's voice was shaking. "The man is a straight-up bloodsucker." "Everyone, hold on." I typed quickly. "Everyone he's cheated, pull together your transfer records, chat screenshots, and compensation agreements." "At tomorrow's birthday gala, I'm going to make him pay every last cent back—with interest." The group lit up at once, everyone immediately scrambling to gather their evidence. I stared at the screen, my gaze turning cold. Francis, since you've backed yourself into a corner, don't blame me for being ruthless. I'd like to see how you get yourself out of tomorrow's mess. Right then, Francis sent another order. "Vanessa, go get a big red banner made." "It needs to say clearly: Welcome, honored guests, to the $1,000,000 luxury birthday gala for one thousand guests across a hundred tables, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer." "The letters need to be big and eye-catching, and the banner needs to go in the most prominent spot at the venue." "I want every guest to see how much of the credit is mine." I looked at the message and gave a short laugh. Taking credit? I'll make sure everyone sees exactly what you've done. I got on the phone with the print shop right away. "Sir, I need a rush order on a white banner." "Black lettering on a white background, using one of those fonts you'd see on a funeral program." "It should read. Welcome to the $1,000 outdoor funeral, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer." "Delivered first thing tomorrow morning." The print shop owner nearly choked. "Ms. Armstrong, are you sure you want it worded like that? You really shouldn't put something like that in writing without thinking it through." "I'm sure. Do it exactly as I said. You'll be paid in full." By early the next morning, everything was ready. I sent Francis the location for that outdoor memorial site out in Blake's village. Francis called immediately, his tone full of suspicion. "Vanessa, what godforsaken place did you send me? Why is it so out of the way?" My tone stayed calm. "Assistant Francis, there's something you don't understand." "These days, the most exclusive venues are all about privacy." "A secluded spot in the countryside gives you that back-to-basics feel while still being upscale and refined." "The chairman is used to the noise of the city. He's sure to love this kind of peaceful, untouched setting." Francis seemed convinced. "Smart of you." "We're leaving now. You'd better have everything set up perfectly." "If anything goes wrong, I'll make you regret it." I hung up and turned to look at the venue behind me. Across the sprawling, overgrown lawn stood several dozen battered banquet tables. Black tablecloths covered every one of them. On top sat a grotesque imitation of the hundred-course feast Francis had demanded. The tables were covered with skeletons, grotesque funeral props, and eerily realistic fake food. Black roses covered the surrounding tables, and on the other side, Zachery's great-uncle and his funeral band stood waiting in black suits. A portable organ sat beside them, while the brass players held their instruments at the ready. The funeral choir stood behind them, dressed head to toe in black. Everything was ready. It was supposed to be a million-dollar birthday gala. Instead, I'd turned it into a full-blown nightmare. In the most conspicuous spot, that enormous white banner hung rolled up and ready to be unfurled at a moment's notice. Half an hour later, a roar of engines shattered the peaceful countryside. One luxury car after another, each worth millions, came rolling into the weed-choked field in a long procession. The motorcade pulled up in front of the memorial lot. Francis was the first to jump out, a sycophantic grin on his face as he hurried to the Rolls-Royce at the center of the convoy and swung the door open with exaggerated deference. "Chairman, please step out. We've arrived at the venue for your birthday celebration." Mortimer stepped out of the car, looking pleased with himself. Behind him, a swarm of guests, each one wealthy or powerful, climbed out one by one, ready to attend this lavish birthday banquet they'd been promised. I stood in the shadows, watching Francis fawn over Mortimer. Then I raised a hand. "Drop it." The enormous white banner shot skyward in an instant, snapping and whipping in the wind. Black cloth, black lettering, stark and glaring against the sky. "Welcome to the $1,000 outdoor funeral, hosted by Assistant Francis in honor of Chairman Mortimer." At the same moment, Zachery's uncle bellowed. "Play!" The mournful blast of brass instruments tore through the air, joined by the deep, haunting notes of a portable organ and the low voices of the funeral choir, their sound carrying across the grounds.