in the winter of 1990 I was working in real estate in London with my business partner, Steve Collins. One of our clients, a wealthy Indian named Jamal, told us selling new houses in Hampstead, and some weeks we have worked hard to show the properties. Finally, we sold the houses and after the operation was over, we went to see Jamal in his office to organize our commission payment. Times were very hard for us then, and say that we really need the money would be a huge understatement. We sat in front of Jamal office and waited anxiously what. He was to us the equivalent of about US $ 60,000 and all our problems were solved.
Finally, Jamal arrived, resplendent in a suit and silk tie, and took his place in the huge chair behind his desk. We smiled at him, waiting to pay her praise on us for the sale of its houses so quickly in adverse economic conditions, but his words open us stunned. "I will not waste your time gentlemen," he said. "I'm not going to pay."
Steve and I looked. "Why not?" Steve asked when he had recovered sufficiently from the shock.
"Because I do not have to," he said.
We looked at again. "But we have a contract ..." I stuttered.
Jamal smiled smugly. "I know all about the contract. Get yourself a good lawyer and sue me if you can afford it."
The next thing I knew we were on the street outside in the freezing cold without even enough money for cab fare home. Many and varied expletives escaped our lips we came forward with what had happened. We watched Jamal Bentley parked in the street. I wanted to break windows and set fire, but Steve calmed me. "You have yourself arrested. Let him pay in another way," he said sadly, and produced a handful of letters inside of his jacket. "We know where he lives." I take the letters and watched them. somehow, at some point in our eject Jamal office, Steve had found time and presence of mind to grab the stack of letters that had been sitting on his desk. " We will have the last word, "he said." I do not know how, but we will look at the end. " I took some comfort in the thought of revenge as we bow our heads in the howling wind and began the long cold walk to the subway station.
As a result of the refusal of Jamal to pay us, we were forced to leave our beautiful home rented Uxbridge four rooms in north London and the price boards outside Steve windows already returned home ownership two bedrooms in the East End. We moved and officially became squatters, with no electricity, no gas, no telephone and no hope. We sold our cars many months to buy food and pay the bills and now we were stuck in a wet house and neglected, wrapped in blankets against the cold and eat nothing fierce, but baked beans on toast cooked on a camp stove borrowed outside the back door.
One day we woke up around noon and Steve, engineering, had developed a plan of revenge as he slept. Using the letters he had taken on the spur of Jamal office as proof of identity, we would all utilities - electricity, gas, telephone - turned on his behalf and accumulate huge bills for him until everything eventually got cut. It would not get us all the money we had, but at least we will know that his cheating us had cost him a considerable sum of money, more than we would have a warm place to stay until we returned on our feet.
Everything went well, and a few days later, we had all the lights in the house around the clock, an electric bar fire way into the living room, central heating max each burner on the gas stove brilliantly over the gas oven and open oven door full. He was like a sauna in the house for weeks. As expected, everything ended up cut for non-payment, and the final blow fat every night for a week before we left the house we called gay sex chat lines to US and left the phone of the hook all night. I do not know if we cost him nearly US $ 60,000, but I bet it was close. I wish I could say that I hope the thing "gay" only cost him his marriage, but I can not. It is Karma baby, and he deserved everything he got. It almost cost us everything.