Max wasn't stupid. He looked at Harris, then at Martin, and recalled the ridiculous antics of that mean bear costume. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together.
"You set me up?" His voice was sharp, anger lacing every word.
Martin, calm as ever, didn't even flinch. "You hit someone and now want to dodge responsibility?" He lifted his phone, dialing 911. "Harris, do you need me to call the cops?"
Max's face darkened. The pretense of politeness was gone. "You've messed with the wrong person. You're dead."
Martin continued, unfazed. "DUI with serious bodily injury... I remember a case just like this. The guy lost everything and ended up—how many years in prison was it?"
Max leaned against his car, jaw tight.
Martin mused, "Well, we'll find out soon enough."
Harris, ever the eager actor, added fuel to the fire. "Drug driving? Ha! That means I'm getting rich! A hundred percent chance!" He turned to Martin. "You must sell me that tape! I'll give you a thousand bucks for it!"
Max's glare could've burned a hole through Martin.
Martin simply smiled. "Mr. Max, you're a great husband and a loving father. A man with a beautiful wife and adorable kids. I admire that. I'd hate to see you caught up in a criminal case."
"You bastard!" Max erupted. "You're a shameless snake! You don't deserve to be human!"
Martin shrugged. "I'm just a concerned citizen. If I report this and submit the footage, maybe I'll even get an honorary citizen medal from Marietta."
Max was losing control. "Don't act so noble, you slum rat! I know what you're after. Just name your price and hand over the tape."
Martin smirked. "Five grand."
"You insane?" Max spat. "The damn fine isn't even that much!"
Martin tapped his chin. "Oh, but that's just the fine. Add in bail, legal fees... assuming you don't want to rely on some overworked public defender. And of course, my boss's journalist friend will make sure Channel 3 runs a nice little segment about this mess. Think your clients will love seeing your face all over the news?"
Max's face twisted in fury.
Martin pressed on. "Then there's your wife. You do know how expensive a divorce is, right? She takes the house, the cars, the kids… finds a new man while you rot in jail."
"Enough!" Max shouted, spinning around and kicking his car's wheel. "Martin Davis, you're vicious! You don't deserve to be human!"
He stormed to his car, yanked out a checkbook, and scribbled furiously. "Three thousand. That's it! You push me further, I'll make your life hell. And I want that tape."
Martin glanced at the check, then casually raised an eyebrow. "I'm a cautious man. Let's cash this first. There's a Bank of America just down the road."
Max clenched his teeth. "No tricks."
Martin grinned. "Honesty is my policy."
A short walk later, they arrived at the bank. Harris, still pretending to be weak, trailed behind. Max, muttering curses under his breath, pushed open the doors.
While setting up their accounts, Martin stepped outside for a moment, retrieving the tape from Elena.
When the funds transferred, Max took the camera and checked the footage. The angle was perfect—just enough to show the "accident," not enough to reveal the setup.
"Are there any copies?" Max asked, suspicion thick in his voice.
Martin gave him an innocent look. "This thing records?"
Max studied his face, but found no obvious tells. With a final glare, he snapped, "Don't ever let me see you again."
Martin smirked. "Trust me, I have no interest in seeing you either."
Max stormed out, climbed into his Cadillac, and sped off. A few blocks away, he pulled over, took out the tape, and lit it on fire. The plastic curled and melted, turning to useless ash.
Tomorrow, he'd get a driver. No way he'd risk running into those scumbags again.
Back at the bank, Harris turned to Martin. "How was my acting? Think I could win Best Actor at a film festival?"
Martin didn't even hesitate. "Too exaggerated. Superficial."
Harris scowled, but Martin was already dialing Elena. "Got the copy? Good. Bring it to the bank."
After the hospital visit, they regrouped. Elena, grinning, suggested, "We should celebrate."
Martin stretched. "Sure. My treat."
Harris, still milking his injury, said, "I want funnel cake and a Monte Cristo sandwich."
Elena smirked. "A poor guy offering to pay? I'll take sweet water beer and oxtail rice."
Loaded with food and drinks, they drove home, laughing.
The scam worked. Harris' arm would heal. And now, they had real money in their pockets.
Martin grinned, watching the city lights blur past.
This was just the beginning.