Chapter 6: Unconditional Surrender

Chapter 6: Unconditional Surrender

The glow of the laptop screen cast long shadows across the living room. Liam’s LinkedIn page was a theatre of war, and he was the sole director. The view count on his post had ticked past ten thousand. The comments section was a chorus of outrage and support. The number of anonymous ‘ghosts’ from London and Manchester had climbed to over fifty. He had created a firestorm, and now Olympus Sports was burning.

Still, the phone on his desk remained stubbornly silent.

Aoife paced behind him, a nervous energy radiating from her. "Maybe they won't call," she whispered, twisting a loose thread on her jumper. "Maybe they'll just send in the lawyers."

"No," Liam said, his voice quiet but certain. "Lawyers are slow. My post is fast. Every minute they wait, the damage compounds. The Head of PR is watching her career flash before her eyes. The CEO is getting notifications while he's trying to eat his dinner. They'll call." He exuded a confidence he didn't entirely feel, but it was crucial to maintain the posture of a man who knew he was going to win.

He was refreshing the page, watching a new comment pop up from a supply chain analyst he barely knew, when the phone screen lit up.

The name was blocked, but the number underneath was not. It began with +44. The UK.

Liam’s heart gave a single, hard thump against his ribs. He looked at Aoife, a silent message passing between them. Showtime.

He let it ring once. Twice. He wanted them to wait. He wanted them to feel that sliver of doubt, to wonder if he would even pick up. On the third ring, he calmly tapped the screen and put the phone on speaker.

“Liam O’Connell,” he said, his voice neutral.

A woman’s voice answered, smooth and professional, but stretched thin over a wire of pure panic. "Mr. O'Connell? My name is Eleanor Vance. I'm the Head of Public Relations for Olympus Sports."

Liam felt a cold flicker of triumph. The ghost had a name. He'd tagged her, and she had come.

"I saw your tag, Ms. Vance," Liam said, keeping his tone level. "Took you long enough to find my phone number."

"Yes, well, my sincerest apologies for the delay, and for the entire experience you've had," she began, launching into a pre-rehearsed damage control script. "I've just been made aware of the situation and I want to assure you that this is not the standard of service we aim to provide. There has clearly been a significant breakdown in our processes, and I..."

Liam cut her off. He did it politely, but with the sharp finality of a closing door. "Ms. Vance," he said, the ice creeping back into his voice. "With all due respect, I am no longer interested in corporate apologies. I received your company's 'full and final resolution' this morning. It came in the form of a twenty-Euro voucher. You had your chance for a simple resolution. That time has passed."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. He had derailed her script completely. She was expecting to placate a disgruntled customer; she was not prepared to negotiate with a man holding her company's reputation hostage.

"I... I understand your frustration, Mr. O'Connell," she stammered, the professional veneer cracking. "The offer was... inappropriate. I've seen the post. We would like to resolve this immediately. We are, of course, prepared to issue you a full refund for the ninety Euro and cover the forty-seven Euro customs charge."

This was the offer he would have celebrated just hours ago. Now, it was merely an opening bid. He let the silence stretch, forcing her to stew in it. He glanced at his laptop screen, where his post was still gathering momentum.

"That's a good start," Liam said finally. "But the terms of surrender have changed."

"Surrender?" Eleanor's voice was incredulous.

"You declared this war, Ms. Vance, not me. When your company chose to use deceptive sales practices. When your staff chose to ignore me. When your management chose to insult me. So yes, surrender. And these are my terms. They are not negotiable."

He leaned forward, his voice low and clear, a general dictating terms on a battlefield of his own choosing.

"One: You will reimburse me for the forty-seven Euro customs charge. I will pay it myself to release the package, and you will transfer the funds to my bank account within two business hours of me providing you with the receipt. Not a voucher. Not store credit. Cash."

He could hear her sharp intake of breath.

"Two: You will issue a full refund for the original ninety-Euro purchase price of the item. That will also be processed immediately."

"Of course, Mr. O'Connell, we can do that," she said quickly, eager to agree.

"I haven't finished," Liam said coldly. "Three: I am keeping the product."

The silence that followed was thick with shock and indignation. "Mr. O'Connell," she said, her voice regaining a sliver of corporate authority. "That's... that's against all company policy. We can't refund an item that isn't being returned."

"Your company's policies are precisely what caused this problem," Liam countered, his voice like flint. "Consider it compensation. Compensation for the hours I've wasted on the phone with your incompetent staff. Compensation for the stress this has caused my family just before Christmas. And compensation for your clumsy attempt to cover your tracks by deleting the product page—a tactic, I might add, that I have documented and am prepared to detail in Part Two of my 'Open Case Study' on LinkedIn."

He let that threat hang in the air. He saw Aoife's eyes go wide. She mouthed the words, "Part Two?" and he gave her a subtle, almost imperceptible wink.

Eleanor Vance was trapped. He could hear the faint, frantic clicking of a keyboard in the background. She was likely messaging her superiors, her fingers flying as she relayed his demands. The multi-million Euro company was scrambling, all because one man in a small town in Ireland had refused to be bullied.

"Mr. O'Connell," she said finally, her voice completely devoid of its earlier confidence. It was the sound of total defeat. "We can... agree to those terms."

"Excellent," Liam said, allowing no triumph into his voice. "I'm glad we understand each other. I will now pay the courier fee. Expect an email with the receipt and my bank details within the next five minutes."

"And the... the post, Mr. O'Connell? On LinkedIn? We would be extremely grateful if you would remove it."

"I will remove the post," Liam said smoothly, "as soon as both payments—the refund and the reimbursement—have cleared in my account. Not before. You control how quickly that happens."

He didn't wait for her reply.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Eleanor," he said, and hung up.

The silence in the room rushed back in, but this time it was different. It wasn't tense. It was golden. Victorious. Liam stared at the phone, then slowly, a wide grin spread across his face. He looked up at Aoife, whose face was a mirror of his own disbelief and elation. She threw her arms around his neck, laughing.

"You did it!" she cried. "You magnificent, stubborn bastard, you actually did it!"

He held her for a moment, savouring the victory. He had fought the beast and won. He had stared into the cold, indifferent eye of the corporate machine and made it blink.

He sat back down at his desk, his mission not quite over. He clicked over to the courier's website, entered his details, and paid the €47 hostage fee with his own debit card. He saved the receipt, attached it to a new email addressed directly to Eleanor Vance, included his banking information, and hit send.

A moment later, the confirmation page loaded on the courier's site. The angry red text was gone, replaced by calming green.

Payment Successful. Your package is now released for delivery. Estimated arrival: 1-2 business days.

He looked from the screen to the crayon drawing still stuck to the fridge. The little footballer in his magical, shimmering black kit. Santa's delivery was safe. And thanks to the arrogance of a corporate giant, it was now completely, utterly free. The tax on Christmas had been repaid, with interest.