Chapter 2

Three days later.

Myron Whitney's "Whitney Plaza" threw open its doors, half-finished and thrown together.

Wayne Whitney strutted around the store like he owned the world.

"You there. The floor's still filthy. That's two hundred bucks off your pay!"

"If you can't handle it, get out. Plenty of people would kill to work in my superstore!"

The floor staff took the abuse and didn't dare say a word.

Meanwhile, across the street.

On the twenty acres of empty lot, construction ran full tilt, twenty-four hours a day.

Steel framing climbed straight out of the ground.

The speed of it was staggering.

Myron rounded up a few local thugs and marched over to the site gates to make trouble.

"Shut it down! I want you off this job!"

"You're making a racket. You've scared off every customer I had!"

The head of security didn't waste breath. He just grabbed Myron by the collar.

And tossed him into the mud pit beside the gate like a bag of trash.

Myron clawed his way out of the mud, jabbing a finger at the site and cursing at the top of his lungs.

Then, pleased with himself, he pulled up his suppliers on the phone.

"This is Myron Whitney of Whitney Superstore. From now on, you supply me and only me."

"Anyone who dares deliver to Landon Perez is picking a fight with Myron Whitney!"

But not ten minutes later.

Every one of those recorded calls landed on my phone.

Leah was fuming. "Mr. Perez, that old crook has some nerve."

"Let him jump around. A grasshopper in the fall doesn't have many days left to hop."

To pull in a crowd, his son had bought up a big load of cheap, near-expired junk.

Eggs at twenty cents apiece, low-grade cooking oil at five bucks a jug.

It drew a swarm of bargain-hunting women in no time.

The store was packed shoulder to shoulder, the women fighting over the deals like their lives depended on it.

Wayne snapped a photo of the jammed store and posted it online.

Caption:

"I'm the real business genius. Certain washed-up strays only belong on a construction site, eating dust."

I laughed and turned to Leah.

"Go order the two biggest flower baskets you can find. Have them sent to his storefront."

"Wish him a booming business and money rolling in."

Leah stared at me, completely lost.

Half an hour later, two enormous congratulatory flower baskets stood at the door of Whitney Superstore.

Myron read the name on the ribbon, planted himself in front of the neighbors, and started bragging at the top of his voice.

"See that! Perez, that little punk, has caved!"

"He knows he can't beat me on my turf, so this is his roundabout way of apologizing!"

"I'm telling you, as long as Myron Whitney says the word, he'll never get back up as long as he lives!"

I stood in the makeshift office on the second floor of the site.

Watching the smug father and son across the street.

It was like watching a sitcom.