The Potluck Scam: Twenty Times the "Compensation" Chapter 2

When I first started the job, I'd foolishly used my personal number for work. Kate had chewed me out for it, so I got a new number just for professional use. Everyone at work had contacted me on that number for years.

Why would she suddenly add my old, personal number to a group called "The Final Withdrawal"? I wasn't expecting any kind of deposit.

I figured maybe she'd forgotten I didn't use this number anymore and added me by mistake. I was about to message her privately when a file popped up in the chat.

It was a detailed spreadsheet documenting every single dinner party, the number of attendees, the cost of groceries for each meal, and screenshots of every single transfer they'd ever sent me.

I hadn't realized it, but over the past three years, my colleagues had come to my place for dinner more than forty times. There were holiday celebrations, promotion parties... every time, everyone had a blast and would always say, "Let's do this again soon!"

I felt a wave of nostalgia. Sometimes, workplace friendships could be truly heartwarming.

Then, Mandy started sending a flurry of voice messages.

"According to federal law, it's illegal to engage in food service operations without a license."

"If the total value of goods exceeds fifteen hundred dollars, the fine is twenty times that amount. That's the basis for our compensation claim against Clara."

Her voice was dripping with a smug, cruel satisfaction that made my mind go completely blank.

One sixty-second voice note after another kept popping up.

"Not only do we get back all the grocery money we ever gave her, but we'll each walk away with a few thousand dollars extra."

"Think about it. Fifteen hundred bucks in a savings account for three years earns you pocket change. But invested with Clara? We've hit the jackpot."

"You all should be thanking me. If it wasn't for my idea, you wouldn't be seeing any of this money."

She then coached them on how to pressure me into paying. She sent a barrage of links to food industry regulations.

"Familiarize yourselves with these. Don't mess this up when it counts. We even paid her extra on that last dinner just to push the total over the fifteen-hundred-dollar mark."

I numbly scrolled to the bottom of the spreadsheet. The grand total of all their contributions over three years.

$1,501. The number was so precise, so deliberate. It felt like a shard of ice piercing my heart.

"Don't worry, what she did is a clear violation. She's legally liable. The twenty-times compensation is just the start. If this goes to the Health Department, they could seize her home."

"She'll pay. She has to."

Soon, others started typing. These were the same colleagues who had always been so warm and friendly to my face.

"If it wasn't for this payout, I would've stopped chipping in ages ago. Twenty bucks a person? I can get a decent lunch for fifteen."

"Mandy, you're a genius. A true accountant, always looking out for our bottom line."

"Not like that snake Clara. Charging us so much for that last dinner? She was trying to rip us off. Well, she's about to regret it!"

I couldn't believe it. The kind, friendly people I thought I knew were hiding these ugly, twisted faces.

The most laughable part? They had been planning this from the very beginning. For three years.

They were now gleefully comparing how many dinners each of them had attended, calculating how much compensation they were owed.

Watching them celebrate their victory, a chilling cold spread through my limbs. My heart felt like it was bleeding.

They were the ones who had suggested the dinners. They were the ones who had offered to split the cost of groceries.

I had never cut corners. I always chose fresh, healthy ingredients. A meal like the ones I prepared would have cost a fortune at a restaurant, but I only ever charged them about twenty dollars each, just enough to cover the food. I never even charged for my labor.

Then they got bolder, making more and more demanding requests, and I did my best to accommodate them.

One colleague, who not only attended every single dinner but also always hitched a ride with me, spoke up.

"Mandy, are you sure we can get twenty times the amount? That's like, thirty thousand dollars."

Mandy's voice note was quick and confident.

"Don't worry. I've done my homework."

She posted screenshots of every single transfer.

"All we have to do is stick to the story: she was running a business for profit, and these were payments for her catering services."

"Besides, remember how I told you all to add a note to every transfer?"

"She can't deny it. Even if she takes this to court, we have the upper hand."

It hit me then. Every time they sent me money, they'd always added a little note: "Meal Payment" or "Catering."

I thought it was just to help me keep track of the money.

I never imagined it was another piece of their trap.

The chat went quiet for a moment. Then, someone asked hesitantly.

"Mandy, isn't this a little... harsh? Maybe we could ask for just a few times the amount. Twenty seems like a lot. We all used to be friends."

Mandy's reply was swift and vicious.

"Whose side are you on? This is for all of us!"

"You were all for it when I first brought it up."

"Trying to be the good guy now? A little late for that, don't you think? Anyone who backs out now will have to deal with me."

No one else objected.

The truth of their three-year deception was laid bare before me, bloody and raw.

A cruel joke mocking my own stupidity.