The Influencer Who Tried to Destroy Me

Three years ago, I converted my storefront into a fast-food place selling boxed lunches, serving the construction workers across the street.

I'd worked sites beforeknew exactly how hard they had it. I'd also choked down my share of overpriced, garbage-quality lunches from vendors who didn't give a damn.

So I renovated the place to code and set my price at a flat $8. Fifteen different dishes every day, unlimited rice refills.

Business exploded. Workers started coming from sites miles away.

When I ran the numbers at month's end, I was barely breaking evenactually covering labor costs out of pocket.

But watching those guys eat well, eat full, made it worth it. I knew I was doing something right.

Until the day a livestreaming influencer showed up and changed everything.

He pulled his car right up to my entrance and started shouting. "Family! Stop eating street-stall boxed lunches. Starting today, I'm giving out benefits! Three bucks for an all-you-can-eat buffet!"

I knew immediatelyhe was here for me.

While his crew set up the scene, he kept yelling into his phone. "Everyone get over here! Rice and soup, all you want! Plus we're doing giveaways in the streamprizes up for grabs!"

He pulled container after container from an insulated cooler: braised pork ribs, steamed sea bass, black pepper steak. Nothing like ordinary boxed lunches.

My $8 meals already lost money just to build a reputation. This guy was hawking a $3 buffet loaded with hearty meat dishes.

I recognized him. Marcus Cole"Conscience" Cole, his fans called him. He specialized in livestreams where he pretended to "care about workers." Also $8 a meal.

A few days earlier, he'd set up right here. First time his stream ever crashed and burnedat the same price, every worker chose my shop instead.

After he ended that stream, he'd walked in with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a few guys trailing behind him. "Hey. Next few days, you close up. I promised my fans I'd give out benefits here."

I stared at him. "Marcus, if you're giving benefits to workers, I'm all for it. But why do I have to close? That doesn't make sense."

His boys started banging on the tables.

"The hell's your attitude? You know who this is? Million-follower influencer!"

"Tips roll in smooth everywhere else, and then we come here and get embarrassednot a single construction worker showed up to eat!"

"Who the hell sells boxed lunches for eight bucks? We're staying a few more days. You don't close up, don't blame us for what happens next."

I grabbed my phone. "So what if he's a big influencer? Get out or I'm calling the cops."

They cursed their way out the door. Marcus paused at the threshold and threw back one last line: "You refused the toast. Now you'll drink the forfeit. Just wait."

Now, they were back.

The crowd around their stall kept growing. Workers still lined up at my counter hesitated, glanced overthen drifted away.

"Hey Alex, the food over there looks pretty good. I'll check it out for you."

I forced a smile. "Go ahead. Honestly, I'm curious too."

Eight dollars versus three. For guys making two, three hundred a day, that five-dollar difference made the choice instant.

By noon, I had hundreds of boxed lunches sitting untouched.

Marcus strolled in, smirk plastered across his face. "Get it now? You don't close tomorrow, I'll show you what real pressure looks like."

I shook my head. I'd already prepaid a month's worth of ingredients to lock in fresh supplies.

And some workers had paid months of meal fees upfront. I owed them lunches.

The next day, I went about my usual routine getting the $8 construction-site boxed lunches ready inside the shop.

When Marcus saw I was still open, he glared at me resentfully and mouthed the word "trash."

There weren't many customers in the shop, so I pulled up Marcus's livestream.

I saw those familiar faces lining upDerek Lawrence from the rebar crew, workers who usually had a pretty good relationship with me.

Marcus looked sincere as he spoke to the camera: "Brothers, these are the heroes building our city! Does it hurt your heart?"

"If it hurts your heart, send the streamer a gift. Get it up to ten thousand sound waves, and tomorrow I'll keep raising the stakes on the menu!"

"We're doing this so working people can eat a good meal! But someone talks behind my back saying I'm putting on a show! Saying I'm selling meals at a loss as hype!!"

The livestream comments went crazy, flooding the screen:

[Streamer is generous! Marcus really lives up to his name!]

[Who's so heartless? If he's got the ability, let him go hype something up!]

[It's definitely that black-hearted boss across the streethe has no business, so he's panicking!]

Black-hearted boss? They were talking about me?

I was so mad I turned off the livestream. I'd done conscientious business for three years, and in the end I was being called a black-hearted merchant?

That afternoon, a group of workers came over aggressively, Derek Lawrence in front.

Derek's face was full of anger. "Alex, you're not decent. You talk bad about Marcus behind his back, and you even said we're idiots who got scammed?"

"He's doing a good thing and giving us benefits, and if you're jealous then you're jealouswhy do you have to spread rumors?"

My heart sank. "Derek, I never said that. You know what kind of person I am. That influencer deliberately made up rumors and stirred you guys up."

"Still arguing!" someone shouted. "Marcus said it on the livestreamyou cut corners in your business, and you bully honest people like us!"

"Yeah! You sell $8 boxed lunches, but the cost is only $3. If that isn't black-hearted, what is?"

"Marcus's $3 all-you-can-eat dishes are better than yourswhat right do you have to sell yours for $8?"

I took a deep breath. "Everyone, I have purchase invoices. I'll take them out right now and show you."

A voice came from behind the crowd. "Cut it out, you black-hearted businessman. You're feeling guilty so you prepared forged invoices ahead of time."

I looked up and saw Marcus holding up his phone, looking at me with a cold sneer.

His assistants all started shouting.

"It's this place that sells boxed lunches. I saw it with my own eyesthey use rotten vegetables and frozen meat, not fresh."

"We even took photos yesterday. In the back kitchen he was collecting gutter oilhe's definitely reusing it!"

"An $8 boxed lunchhe's definitely cutting corners, otherwise how could he be making a fortune? It's just pitiful for us working laborers!"

Marcus pulled out a photo. It was a shot taken yesterday when I was cleaning residue out of the kitchen drain.

"Everyone, I photographed the evidence of him scooping gutter oil. I've already contacted the health inspector, and I'm definitely going to give the worker brothers an explanation!"

I hurriedly waved my hands to deny it. "This isn't scooping gutter oil"

Before I could finish, Derek suddenly slammed a fist onto the table. "Damn, frozen meat is one thing, but you're fucking using gutter oil too?!"

"Is there anyone as black-hearted as you? Everyone trusted you, and that's why we ate at your shop for three years!"

The workers around us had already exploded into an uproar.

"You're way too black-hearted! Dragging you to jail wouldn't even be excessive!"

"We've eaten gutter oil for three yearswill we be okay?"

"If later on we end up with some kind of chronic illness, who are we supposed to hold responsible?"

Marcus held the photo up to the livestream camera. "Family, since the evidence is conclusive, then we definitely have to hold the boss who makes black-hearted money responsible!"

"Just because we're working-class people at the bottom doesn't mean you get to trample on our lives and health! We're gonna make this black-hearted boss pay up!"

I froze. They looked perfectly finewhat was I supposed to pay for?

I rushed forward and spoke directly into his phone camera: "That was a photo of me cleaning the kitchen before closing every night. He's making things up!"

Marcus's assistant shoved me back, and the whole group started cursing.

"Got the nerve to do it but not to admit ittypical. You're the one scooping gutter oil!"

"If we hadn't come to speak up for these workers, they'd still be getting scammed by a black-hearted boss like you!"

The workers Derek brought were already getting riled up. "Pay us! Refund all our meal money from the past three years!"

By then I'd already pulled out my purchase invoices. "Everything I use comes from the wholesale marketproduce and cooking oil, all of it. Here's the proof."

Marcus snatched the invoices with one hand and tore them to pieces without even glancing at them.

"Just a photoshopped list you printed to cover your ass. What's there to see? Still trying to scam people?"

I grabbed his hand. "What gives you the right to destroy my invoices? Give them back!"

He tossed the shredded paper into the air and turned to the workers. "Why do I give out free boxed meals? Because I can't stand these black-hearted vendors!"

"They wave the 'cheap' flag around, but they're using the worst ingredients to screw over honest people!"

He spun back to face the camera. "I'm here to crack down on businesses like this. That's why I'm out here livestreaming, even risking my life. Family, don't forget to send those gifts!"

From his excitement, I could tell donations were already pouring in.

The workers' stares grew harder, their muttered curses sharper.

"Thank God for Marcus standing up for us!"

"Call the cops. Get this bastard thrown in jail."

Derek glared at me, hand outstretched. "Enough talk. Refund us. If something happens to our health later, you're not walking away."

"Three years of eating your poisonwe deserve compensation! Five thousand each, minimum! Don't pay, and you're done around here!"

I looked at these same coworkers I'd made tangyuan for, the ones I'd given extra portions to for free.

My heart went cold.

When I didn't move, Marcus shoved me hard. "Stop playing dead. Refund the money today, or we trash your shop!"

The chaos erupted. I don't know who threw the first punch.

Someone flipped the insulated bucketscalding soup splashed across the floor. Someone knocked over the dining tabledozens of boxed meals crashed everywhere.

"Refund it! Give back every cent you made off us!"

I staggered back. My head hit something, and my vision blurred. I struggled to shout "Everybody stop!" but no one listened.

When I came to, the shop was destroyed.

Derek and Marcus's whole crew still blocked the entrance, but they'd gone quiet. Just watching me.

I stared at the red mark on my thumb. I couldn't remember what it was from.

A bitter laugh escaped me. If this was how it was going to be, my eight-dollar boxed-meal stand might as well close for good.

I was about to leave when Market Supervision Bureau staff arrived.

Their section chief, a man named Chen, walked in with a deep frown. "We received a report. Who's the owner?"

I started to answer, but Derek suddenly pushed through the crowd, waving a document.

"Him! This is the compensation agreement. He already signed and admitted to using gutter oilagreed to pay each worker five thousand dollars!"

My head buzzedwhat agreement? When did I sign anything?

Chief Inspector Dickerson took the paper, studied it carefully, then looked at me. "Did you sign this?"

I leaned in. The agreement was covered in dense clauses, and at the very bottom, there it wasmy name, with a bright red fingerprint beside it.

The position matched the red mark on my thumb exactly.

"No!" My scalp went numb. "I didn't sign this! I got hit on the head, and while I was unconscious they"

"What nonsense." Derek cut me off. "You admitted you used gutter oil. Said you'd pay compensation. Now you're backing out?"

Marcus held his phone high, shouting at the camera. "Family, did you see that? The black-hearted boss wants to weasel out!"

He turned, pulled the photo from his pocket, and handed it straight to the inspectors.

"Evidencehim scooping gutter oil in the kitchen!"

Chief Inspector Dickerson studied the photo. His expression darkened. "We need an on-site inspection."

They walked straight into the kitchen. I followed.

I cleaned that kitchen spotless every day. They wouldn't find anything.

But when I saw the black plastic bucket in the corner, I froze.

That wasn't mine.

Chief Inspector Dickerson walked over and shined his flashlight into the liquid. A sour, rotten stench hit the air.

"What is this?" He turned to me.

"This isn't mine!" My voice came out hoarse. "I've never seen this bucket! They must have snuck it in!"

Derek sneered. "Still arguing? Caught red-handed and you want to deny it?"

Marcus stepped closer to Chief Inspector Dickerson, lowering his voice. "Sir, this is the evidence. These workers trusted himate gutter oil for three years. Ruined their health."

Chief Inspector Dickerson photographed the bucket, then collected a sample in a test tube. "This is serious. You'll need to come with us for an investigation."

My legs went weak.

Derek fanned the flames. "Sir, you've got to investigate thoroughly. This kind of black-hearted vendor deserves the harshest punishment! The agreement says five thousand per person. He's backing out, and we won't accept it!"

The workers' voices rose and fell. "Yeah! He has to pay!"

Chief Inspector Dickerson raised his hand for silence. "We'll handle this according to the law. Everyone calm down."

I watched Marcus secretly flip me off. Every word stuck in my throat.

He'd set up this trap long ago. Calculated every step.

Then Derek's expression changed. He clutched his stomach, doubling over. "Ow my stomach"

Several workers grabbed their stomachs too, cold sweat breaking out on their faces.

"Mine too! Like knives twisting inside!"

Someone vomited. Someone collapsed.