Chapter 4: The Showdown

Chapter 4: The Showdown

The email invitation was deliberately bland: “Meeting to Discuss Account Renewal.” Liam scheduled it for 3:00 PM, a time when the workday lull often made people irritable and impatient. He sat in his silent, climate-controlled office, the city skyline a serene, unblinking witness behind him. On his main monitor, a blank video conference window waited. On his second, the 24-page report glowed, a digital guillotine poised to drop.

He clicked ‘Join Meeting’ precisely at 3:00. His own face appeared in a small window, calm and composed, the picture of corporate professionalism. A moment later, the other window flickered to life, revealing Scott Henderson.

The contrast was jarring. While Liam was framed by clean lines and the cool geometry of his office, Henderson was a chaotic blur of motion in what looked like a poorly lit garage. The camera on his laptop was smudged, casting a greasy film over the image. Behind him, tools hung haphazardly on a pegboard, and a stack of greasy invoices was piled on a workbench. Henderson’s face was already a blotchy red, his thinning grey hair sticking up at odd angles. He looked like a man who had been simmering in his own rage all day.

“Carter, is it?” Henderson barked, forgoing any greeting. “Let’s cut the crap. I’ve been jerked around by your company for weeks. Where’s my money? Fifteen thousand dollars. I want it wired by end of business today.”

Liam met his hostile gaze without blinking. He let the man’s belligerence hang in the air for a full three seconds before responding, his voice perfectly level. “Mr. Henderson. Thank you for making the time. My name is Liam Carter. I’m the senior manager who has taken over your account. As you know, you requested a refund based on claims of faulty service. I’ve spent the past week conducting a full, top-to-bottom audit of your account, and I’m calling to discuss the results.”

The formal, dispassionate tone seemed to infuriate Henderson even more. “Audit? I don’t need an audit, I need a check! Your stupid tracking numbers don’t work! You’ve been sending my calls to God-knows-where for a year!”

“Our audit has concluded that the performance issues you’ve cited are not due to any failure of our systems, Mr. Henderson,” Liam said, his voice as sharp and cold as cut glass. He had the entire report memorized, a litany of Henderson’s own failures. “In fact, our systems have performed flawlessly. The problem, we’ve found, is with lead conversion.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we sent you the calls. You failed to turn them into jobs,” Liam stated plainly. He decided to offer up the first piece of bait. “For instance, the lead from the Oakwood Property Management group for the 50-unit apartment complex. A six-figure contract, by our estimates. According to our records, you declined the job, citing a schedule that was booked for the next eighteen months.”

Henderson’s face contorted. He had clearly not expected this level of scrutiny. “My schedule is my schedule! That’s none of your damn business! What about all the junk leads? The tire kickers?”

“We also logged your rejection of a service call from a Mrs. Sarah Miller,” Liam continued, pressing his advantage. The name hung in the air. He saw a flicker of recognition—and then panic—in Henderson’s eyes. “She had an urgent roof repair. Her husband, a Sergeant in the Army, is currently deployed. You told her it wasn’t your problem.”

The bluster in Henderson’s face began to curdle into genuine fear. This wasn’t some clueless customer service rep he could scream at. This man knew things. Intimate, damning things.

“Based on these findings, and many others,” Liam said, delivering the first blow, “your refund request is unequivocally denied.”

For a moment, Henderson was speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. He had lost, and he knew it. He scrambled, trying to find a new angle of attack, a different position of leverage. He fell back on his old, worn-out sense of entitlement.

“Fine! Whatever!” he spat, waving a dismissive hand. “Forget the refund for now. We’ll deal with that later. I’ve been a loyal customer for eight years. Eight years! I expect to be treated with respect. I want my old rate. The legacy rate Priya gave me. You’re not going to jack me up like you do the new guys.”

Liam felt the trapdoor swing open beneath Henderson’s feet. It was the exact move he had predicted. The arrogant assumption that his long, abusive history with the company was an asset.

A slow, chillingly calm smile touched Liam’s lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Mr. Henderson, your legacy contract expired at the end of last month. We are, of course, happy to continue our business relationship. But given the… high-maintenance nature of your account, we’ve prepared a new service agreement for your consideration.”

With a click of his mouse, Liam shared his screen. A clean, professionally formatted contract appeared. At the top, under ‘Monthly Service Fee,’ was a number in bold black font.

Henderson squinted at the screen, his eyes widening in disbelief. His face cycled from red to a pale, mottled purple. “Nine hundred… and fifty dollars? A month? NINE HUNDRED AND FIFTY?!” he bellowed, the audio on Liam’s speakers crackling under the strain. “That’s TRIPLE! Are you insane?! My rate was three hundred! This is highway robbery!”

“It’s our new standard rate for your service tier, with a surcharge reflecting the significant administrative oversight your account requires,” Liam said smoothly. “It’s non-negotiable.”

“I’m not paying it!” Henderson roared, spittle flying at his own camera. He was completely unhinged now, a cornered animal biting at the steel bars of a cage he hadn't seen being built around him. “You think you can just bully me into this? I’ll take my business elsewhere! I’ll go to your competitor!”

“That is certainly your prerogative,” Liam said, his calm a perfect counterpoint to Henderson’s fury.

That was the final push. Henderson’s pride, his greatest and most predictable weakness, took over completely.

“THAT’S IT! I CANCEL!” he screamed, jabbing a thick finger at his screen. “You hear me, Carter? I cancel everything! You’re fired! Shut it all down! I don’t need you! I never needed you!”

Liam made a quiet, deliberate show of typing a note onto a digital pad. “Very well. As per your verbal request, I am processing the immediate termination of all services for Henderson & Son Contracting, effective immediately. You will receive a final, prorated bill for the days used this cycle.”

The finality of it seemed to sober Henderson slightly. The rage gave way to the dawning, terrifying realization of what he had just done. He scrambled for his last weapon. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” he threatened, his voice hoarse. “This is a breach of contract! I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got! I’ll drag your company’s name through the mud!”

The ghost of a smile on Liam’s face solidified. This was the checkmate.

“Of course, Mr. Henderson,” he said, his voice laced with an almost pleasant cordiality. “Please, have him contact our legal department at his earliest convenience. I will be more than happy to forward him, and by extension the court, a copy of my full, 24-page audit report.”

He leaned closer to his camera, his eyes locking with Henderson’s.

“I’m sure he’ll find it, and the attached audio recordings of your calls with Ms. Patel, to be very… illustrative.”

The color drained from Scott Henderson’s face. The bluster, the rage, the entitlement—it all vanished, replaced by the stark, silent terror of a man who suddenly realized he was naked, exposed, and utterly defeated. He knew exactly what was on those recordings.

Liam watched him for one more satisfying second, the man’s world crumbling in pixelated silence. Then, with a quiet click, he ended the meeting.

The screen went black, leaving only his own reflection staring back at him. The showdown was over. The poison had been drawn.