Landlord Tripled My Rent I Built a Mall Opposite

My landlord, Myron Whitney, showed up with a crew and blocked the front door, insisting the rent get tripled.

Mr. Perez, this supermarket only does such good business because it sits on my lucky spot of land. A young man ought to know some gratitude!

And another thing. My son here's got no degree, but he's sharp. Just find him some VP title to sit in, would you?

I answered him without hurry.

"Mr. Whitney, Westhill Shopping Plaza runs on product quality and service. Everybody knows our reputation."

"And under the lease, the rent can only go up five percent a year for five years."

He barked back at me.

"Fine, worst case I pay a penalty and be done with it. But have you added up how much you'll lose when this store can't keep its doors open?"

"Landon Perez, if you still won't agree, then get out right now! Plenty of people are lined up to take this spot!"

I turned and walked away.

The next day, he cut off the water and power, claiming I was behind on rent.

The store lost more than a million in a single day.

I looked at that smug face of his and announced the closure that same day.

Myron was thrilled with himself, certain he had me cornered, and went around telling everyone I'd gone bankrupt and was looking to sublet.

I looked at the twenty acres of empty lot across the street.

"Leah Simmons, change the planned project to a large shopping center."

...

"Do a full inventory tonight. Every high-value item gets loaded and hauled out."

"Leave the shelving and the cold-chain equipment. Myron can keep it for scrap."

A dozen-odd trucks were parked at the back door.

Box after box of goods went up onto the beds.

That was when Myron came swaggering in with his son, Wayne Whitney.

"I'd like to see who dares touch anything!"

"Landon Perez, you owe me a breach penalty. All this stock stays here to cover the debt!"

He planted himself right in the workers' path.

"Myron, so now you're robbing me in broad daylight?"

He spat back, arrogant as ever.

"This is called reasonable compensation. You cut off my income, so I'm taking your goods to make up for it."

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

"Hello, Officer. Someone's causing trouble at Westhill Shopping Plaza and trying to rob the place."

Under ten minutes later, two patrol cars came screaming up.

The officers came in to get the picture.

I brought out the lease and my proof from yesterday's water and power cutoff.

"Officer, the lease isn't up and he's forcing a rent hike. He maliciously cut my water and power too."

"Now he's brought people to stop me from moving my own private property."

The officers read through the evidence and warned Myron in no uncertain terms.

"Take financial disputes to court. Gather a mob to cause trouble again and you go straight into a cell!"

Myron ate it.

"Fine. You win this one!"

Right there in front of the officers, he ripped his copy of the lease to shreds.

"Tomorrow I'll open my own supermarket and take over every last one of your customers!"

"Let's see where a stray dog like you runs to!"

"Let's go," I said.

My employees stood there with their heads down.

"Mr. Perez, what do we do now?"

"I just paid my rent. If I'm out of work, I'm finished."

I made them a serious promise.

"Don't worry, everyone. Landon Perez never shortchanges his own people."

"Anyone willing to stay on with me gets three months of paid leave starting tomorrow."

"Come back in three months, and your base pay doubles."

A stunned cheer broke out from the crowd.

Then I placed a call.

"Director Barrett, the permits for that Westhill lot can go through now."

"And do me a favor, pull together the best construction crew in the city. I want them on-site tonight."

Three hours later.

Dozens of bulldozers and excavators rolled onto the empty lot across the street, engines roaring.

Floodlights turned the night bright as day.

Myron saw the commotion across the road.

He grabbed a bullhorn and yelled at me.

"Landon Perez, gone bankrupt so now you're hauling bricks on the site over there?"

"Want me to spare you a bite to eat?"

I paid no mind to his barking.

Leah handed me a document.

The development permit for the state-level commercial complex, Stellar Century.

I gave a cold smile.

"Myron, your good days are over."

Three days later.

Myron Whitney's "Whitney Plaza" threw open its doors, half-finished and thrown together.

Wayne Whitney strutted around the store like he owned the world.

"You there. The floor's still filthy. That's two hundred bucks off your pay!"

"If you can't handle it, get out. Plenty of people would kill to work in my superstore!"

The floor staff took the abuse and didn't dare say a word.

Meanwhile, across the street.

On the twenty acres of empty lot, construction ran full tilt, twenty-four hours a day.

Steel framing climbed straight out of the ground.

The speed of it was staggering.

Myron rounded up a few local thugs and marched over to the site gates to make trouble.

"Shut it down! I want you off this job!"

"You're making a racket. You've scared off every customer I had!"

The head of security didn't waste breath. He just grabbed Myron by the collar.

And tossed him into the mud pit beside the gate like a bag of trash.

Myron clawed his way out of the mud, jabbing a finger at the site and cursing at the top of his lungs.

Then, pleased with himself, he pulled up his suppliers on the phone.

"This is Myron Whitney of Whitney Superstore. From now on, you supply me and only me."

"Anyone who dares deliver to Landon Perez is picking a fight with Myron Whitney!"

But not ten minutes later.

Every one of those recorded calls landed on my phone.

Leah was fuming. "Mr. Perez, that old crook has some nerve."

"Let him jump around. A grasshopper in the fall doesn't have many days left to hop."

To pull in a crowd, his son had bought up a big load of cheap, near-expired junk.

Eggs at twenty cents apiece, low-grade cooking oil at five bucks a jug.

It drew a swarm of bargain-hunting women in no time.

The store was packed shoulder to shoulder, the women fighting over the deals like their lives depended on it.

Wayne snapped a photo of the jammed store and posted it online.

Caption:

"I'm the real business genius. Certain washed-up strays only belong on a construction site, eating dust."

I laughed and turned to Leah.

"Go order the two biggest flower baskets you can find. Have them sent to his storefront."

"Wish him a booming business and money rolling in."

Leah stared at me, completely lost.

Half an hour later, two enormous congratulatory flower baskets stood at the door of Whitney Superstore.

Myron read the name on the ribbon, planted himself in front of the neighbors, and started bragging at the top of his voice.

"See that! Perez, that little punk, has caved!"

"He knows he can't beat me on my turf, so this is his roundabout way of apologizing!"

"I'm telling you, as long as Myron Whitney says the word, he'll never get back up as long as he lives!"

I stood in the makeshift office on the second floor of the site.

Watching the smug father and son across the street.

It was like watching a sitcom.

The outline of the giant superstore was taking shape.

Myron finally panicked.

He'd noticed the crowds at his own store were thinning by the day.

Word about his cheap, low-grade goods had started to bite back.

Wayne saw which way things were going.

So he paid a handful of idle older women to spread rumors like wildfire.

"That construction site across the way severed our neighborhood's luck line. From now on we're all cursed!"

"That building material is nothing but cheap junk, formaldehyde way over the limit. Once it's up, it's a poison den!"

The rumors flew fast.

The nearby residents grew jittery and afraid.

Myron reeled in a livestreaming influencer who worked as a community dispute mediator, a man who went by "Graham Perry the Peacemaker."

That morning.

Graham showed up with his livestream gear, dozens of neighborhood elders trailing behind him.

They blocked the front gate of my site.

Myron wept and wailed for the camera.

"Folks, I've got it so hard."

"I'm just a local old-timer, getting crushed by some out-of-town capitalist until I can't even survive!"

"He's not only stealing my business, he's cutting the feng shui out from under our whole street!"

Graham took the moral high ground.

"Mr. Perez, come out here and say something."

"A young man should have some vision. You can't make money by any means necessary."

"Take a step back. Stop the construction."

"Or sell half your shares to Uncle Myron here. Call it making a friend, everybody profits in peace."

Then the relatives and neighbors took turns guilt-tripping me too.

"A widowed old man raising a boy on his own, it's not easy. You've got all this money, why do you have to hound him to death?"

"That's right, would splitting half your turf with old Myron cost you a limb?"

"Rich people are just black-hearted. Can't stand to see a poor man do well!"

Leah reached out to shut off Graham's livestream camera.

"You people are spreading slander. Turn it off, now!"

I stopped her.

I walked up to the camera and smiled.

"Mr. Whitney, you really think this turf is yours to rule?"

Myron thought I'd caved.

In an instant his true face came out.

"On this patch of Westhill, I am the rules!"

"You don't sign those shares over today, and not one more brick moves on this site!"

"I don't give the nod, you couldn't build so much as a toilet here!"

Graham was still chiming in from the side.

"Mr. Perez, a wise man listens to good advice. Uncle Myron's asking for isn't unreasonable."