You Can’t Afford to Compensate for This Volkswagen

1
On my way to the airport, a Porsche tried to cut me off. I didnt let him. In response, he gunned it, swerved in front of me, and started brake-checking me.
I was in a hurry and had no time for road rage, so I decided to let it go.
I never imagined my patience would only make him bolder.
He brake-checked me five times in less than a hundred yards.
That was it. I called the police.
But as I was reading his license plate to the dispatcher, a surge of adrenaline hit me, and I stomped on the gas.
Because as I looked closer at the plate, I realized this Porsche was the exact birthday present my wife had asked me for last week.
...
CRUNCH!
My Volkswagen Phaeton slammed squarely into the Porsche's rear end.
A man in sunglasses with a cigarette dangling from his lips jumped out of the Porsche. He stormed over to my car and kicked my driver-side door. "You broke-ass punk! Did you see the logo? It's a P-O-R-S-C-H-E!"
"You dare hit a Porsche in that piece of junk VW? You got a death wish or something?"
Seeing a man climb out of the driver's seat sent a cold dread through me. Things were exactly as bad as I had feared.
I rolled down my window and studied him, searching his every word and gesture for clues.
"Three million!" he yelled, jabbing three fingers at me through the window. "Not a penny less, or I'll make you wish you were never born!"
I fought the urge to get out and slap him silly. Instead, I decided to wait and see. I needed to know what his relationship with my wife was.
A collision between two luxury cars in a busy downtown street quickly drew a crowd of onlookers.
"This is gonna be good. That Porsche is worth millions. The guy in the VW is screwed."
"That's what you get for being impulsive. Should've just let it go. Now he's going to lose everything."
Fueled by the crowd's comments, the man in sunglasses grew even more arrogant. He kicked my door again, his eyes filled with menace.
"Driving a crappy VW, you should know to get out of the way of a Porsche! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Scared now, are you? Hiding in your car like a coward? Too late!"
"This is the new car my wife bought me! Three million dollars! Pay up now, or I'll have you thrown in jail!"
His wife?
So there it was. That damned woman. Let's see how you get out of this one.
After a moment's thought, I slowly pushed my door open and stared at his arrogant, boyish face. "If anyone's paying, it's you," I said coolly. "I was driving straight. You were changing lanes illegally and brake-checking me. You're 100% at fault."
"And as for jail," I added, "those two kicks to my door count as willful destruction of property. That alone is enough to get you locked up."
"I don't give a damn about the law, so don't you dare quote it to me! All I know is I'm in a Porsche, and you're supposed to get out of my way!" he sneered. "Jail? The jail that can hold Kyle Chen hasn't been built yet!"
Seeing his clueless arrogance, I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.
Some of the onlookers, seeing his expensive car and hearing his domineering talk, assumed he was some rich young master and tried to curry favor.
"That VW driver has some nerve. He hits someone's car and demands they pay him? Then threatens to send the guy to jail for kicking his door? He must think the kid's an easy target."
"Don't be scared, son. Take my number. I can be a witness for you if you need it!"
"Yeah, bro, I've studied some law. Property damage is only a crime if it's over five thousand dollars. That kick probably just chipped some paint. No way a paint chip on that old VW is worth five grand."
Kyle, already full of himself, puffed up even more at their encouragement. He slammed his hand on the hood of my car. "Today, you're not just paying for my car, you're getting on your knees and apologizing. Otherwise, you're not walking away from this!"
I scoffed and pointed to the approaching traffic police. "Why don't you ask them who should be paying? As for getting on your knees, you'd better start looking for a good spot for yourself."
"I'll f"
Enraged, Kyle lunged at me. I sent him sprawling with a single kick. He scrambled up, ready to come at me again, but the police officers intervened.
"Stop it, or you're both coming down to the station!"
"Officer! This broke-ass loser hit my car and then assaulted me! Arrest him!" Kyle whined, clutching his side.
The officer ignored his wild accusations and asked for our dashcam footage. I pulled up the video on my phone and showed it to him.
After watching it, the officer shot Kyle a cold look. "It's clearly your fault. How do you have the audacity to demand compensation?"
"You'd better resolve the damages with the other driver immediately," the officer warned. "Otherwise, we'll have to take you in for reckless driving."
"Are you cops blind? Can't you see I'm driving a Porsche? And my wife is a very important person. You can't afford to offend us"
"I don't care what car you drive or whose husband you are. We enforce the law impartially. I'm warning you, if you refuse to comply, you're coming with us."
Kyle grumbled but, seeing the officer's stern expression, finally backed down and made a phone call.
I glanced at the number. Of course. He was calling my wife, Isabella Reed.
I couldn't hear their conversation, but from the simpering smile on his face and his intimate tone, I knew they were doing more than just solving a problem; they were flirting.
After the call, Kyle's arrogance returned. He pointed at his car and sneered, "So what if I have to pay? Big deal!"
"My Porsche is insured for three million. That's more than enough to cover your piece-of-junk VW. I won't short you a single penny, you broke-ass punk!"
I laughed to myself. His insurance wouldn't even cover my limited-edition Phaeton, let alone the fact that insurance companies don't pay out for claims caused by the driver's own malicious acts.
Today, I was going to expose both of them for the frauds they were.
Soon, the insurance adjuster arrived. He clearly knew his cars. One look at my Phaeton and his face went pale. But when he saw the accident report in Kyle's hand, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Sir," he said calmly, "this accident was caused by your intentional and malicious driving. It is not covered by our policy. Please negotiate a settlement directly with the other party. Thank you." He turned and walked away, ignoring Kyle's sputtering protests.
"Well?" I said, my voice flat. "Are you going to pay up, or are you going to jail?"
The tide in the crowd had turned. Hearing the truth, many of them started to rebuke him.
"You think driving a Porsche makes you king of the road? You can just endanger people because they didn't get out of your way?"
"And then you expect your insurance to pay for your own stupidity? What a joke."
His attempt to flex had backfired spectacularly. The mockery from the crowd sent him into a rage. He stormed to his car, pulled out a baseball bat, and started smashing my Phaeton to pieces, screaming curses as he swung.
"You want me to pay? Fine! I'll smash your car to bits right in front of you, and then I'll just buy you a new one!"
He was completely unhinged. This was perfect.
I simply stood to the side and watched the show.
After venting his fury, he threw a stack of cash onto the hood of my carwhat was left of it. "Here's fifty grand, you scumbag. More than enough to buy this wreck. The rest is a charity donation. Take it and get the hell out of my sight!"
I laughed. "Fifty grand wouldn't even cover one of my headlights. You'd better start figuring out how to get some real money, or you're going to rot in a cell."
He sneered. "Are you crazy? You see I have money and now you're trying to extort me? Everyone knows this piece-of-shit VW is worth thirty grand, tops. I'm giving you fifty and you're still running your mouth? That's extortion, and that's a crime. Don't think I don't know the law."
Some of the onlookers chimed in. "Hey buddy, just take the money. Fifty grand for a thirty-grand car is a good deal. Don't get greedy."
Just then, the appraiser from the VW dealership arrived.
"Who said this car is only worth thirty thousand?" he announced. "This is a ten-million-dollar, top-of-the-line luxury vehicle. A single headlight costs over half a million."
Hearing this, Kyle's face turned white, but he tried to maintain his arrogant facade. The crowd gasped.
"Whoa, so this guy is the real millionaire. So low-key!"
"The truly wealthy don't need to show off. Not like some kid who thinks a Porsche makes him a king."
"Yeah, he probably rented that car anyway. Now he's smashed a ten-million-dollar vehicle. He's finished."
The appraiser finished his assessment and reported to me. "Mr. Blackwood, the damage is catastrophic. The repair costs would be close to the price of a new vehicle. It's not worth fixing."
I nodded and turned to Kyle. "Pay up. Ten million. Every last cent."
His bravado faltered, but he still tried to bluff. "Just because you say it's worth ten million? You hired some actor to back you up so you can scam me? This is fraud! I'll sue you!"
To crush his last bit of hope, I pulled out the vehicle purchase receipt and shoved it in his face. "Does this look like fraud to you?"
He glanced at the receipt, his expression flickering for a second before his arrogance returned. He pulled a black credit card from his pocket and waved it in my face.
"So what if it's ten million? I've got thirty million on this card. I'll pay you."
Someone in the crowd gasped. "Wow, that's a Centurion Black Card! You need to be a billionaire to even qualify for one of those. This kid really is loaded."
The praise went to his head. He flaunted the card, beaming. He had no idea it was a supplementary card I had given to my wife. All I had to do was make one call, and it would be a useless piece of plastic.
After calling the bank, I looked at him coldly. "Don't wave that thing around like you own the world. I bet you can't even get ten thousand out of that card."
He flew into a rage. "Give me your account number! I'll transfer the money right now! And when I do, I'm going to break your face!"
I gave him the account details. He tried to make the transfer. Again and again, the transaction was declined. Card disabled.
The crowd started jeering.
"Another fake rich kid. A black card that can't even handle ten grand."
"Why pretend? If you can't afford it, just say so."
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He ducked behind his car to make another call. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Isabella.
"Damian, what happened to my card? Why is it blocked? Call the bank and reactivate it. And have them raise the limit to a hundred million. I need it urgently."
"Why do you suddenly need so much money?" I asked, my voice flat.
"I have my reasons. Don't ask so many questions, just do it!"
I clenched my jaw and hung up. I had been far too lenient with her. For ten years, I had been away on... business of a sensitive nature, leaving her to manage Apex Corporation. I never imagined she would be keeping a boy toy on the side with my money. She thought that just because I let her guard the gate, the entire kingdom now belonged to her.
She sent a flurry of texts, which I ignored.
A few minutes later, Kyle strutted back over, holding up his phone to show a transfer confirmation for ten million dollars. "I told you, my wife is a billionaire! A measly ten million is nothing to her!"
He shoved the phone in my face. "There. The money's been sent. Now you can piss off!"
I let out a cold laugh. "You've only paid for one car. What about the other one?"
The entire crowd fell silent.
Kyle looked like he was about to explode. "Are you insane, or just addicted to scamming people? When did I hit two of your cars?"
I pointed to the Porsche. "This car is mine too. It's worth three million. Pay up."
Everyone was stunned.
"Has this guy lost his mind?"
"He must have hit his head in the crash. He doesn't even know which car is his."
"You psycho!" Kyle screamed. "Are you ever going to stop?"
Ignoring his tantrum, I pulled out the Porsche's registration and threw it at him. "See for yourself. Is this car mine or not?"
He snatched it, saw my photo, and froze in disbelief, which quickly morphed into pure rage. "This is impossible! My wife bought this for me for my birthday! This is your car? You must have faked this to extort me!"
"Do I look like someone you can mess with? My wife is Isabella Reed, the head of Apex Corporation! She's on her way here right now. Just you wait and see what she does to you!"
At the mention of Apex Corporation, the crowd's demeanor shifted again.
"His wife is Isabella Reed? The 'Iron Lady' of Apex? No one in Sterling City dares to cross her."
"Hey man, you should just take the win and go. You might have some money, but Apex Corporation is on another level. You don't want that kind of trouble."
Seeing my silence, Kyle thought he had intimidated me. "Scared now, are you?" he taunted. "Too late! When my wife gets here, she'll crush your company. We'll see how arrogant you are then!"
I just smiled. "We'll see."
Just then, a convoy of black cars pulled up. A regal, elegantly dressed woman stepped out of a Range Rover, flanked by several bodyguards.
Kyle's face lit up. "My wife is here! You're dead!"

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