Chapter 4

The seventh complaint was not through a call but a trending clip from an old video. It was a video of me when I first started the food truck, and a small-time influencer asked me, "What are you trying to achieve by selling $2 takeaway meals?"

In the video, my head was lowered as I was filling up a bowl of soup while telling the influencer about how my father could not bear to spend what little money he had on hot meals when he was hospitalized.

However, the video had been edited into two parts. The first half showed me talking about my father, while the second half was a video of patients' families queuing up at my food truck. The headline in the middle blared brightly: [Using his dead father and patients to gain sympathy and followers.]

Comments exploded below the headline overnight.

[The most disgusting thing is using dead people to do business.]

[He made a big show about his father in the beginning and wrote the for his $2 meals.]

Someone managed to find my father's medical record and posted it online. Laney snatched my phone from my hands as she trembled. "Don't read them."

However, I caught sight of a new notification of a complaint against me: [Owner has been reported for malicious marketing. Suspected of using patients' privacy for self-profiting.]

It was the seventh time.

I was asked to bring all my documents and give an explanation of all profits from the live stream and the copyright of my live stream.

Laney brought out the plastic box with all the receipts, which had gotten crumpled badly from being checked through multiple times. "Are you going again?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to explain to them again this time?"

I placed my father's old medical bills at the very bottom of the box. "I've shown all the documents I have for the investigations. Besides that, I won't be explaining anything."

When the authorities arrived, only a few people were left in front of my food truck. Some people were recording what was happening to me from afar, while others raised their voices at me. "Don't buy anything from that truck. Who knows if they hid cameras in their takeaway boxes."

Laney wanted to go after them, but I held her back. "Don't."

"They're too much."

"I know."

When this happened the first six times, I convinced myself that the complaints against me were just concerns about safety, hygiene, and public order, but this time, they refused to let a dead man rest in peace.

After the authorities were done with the investigation, they came back to me with the same conclusion. There were no issues with the ingredients or price, and I did not invade the privacy of any patients.

I gave them a signed statement. Everyone who had been shot had their faces pixelated, while those whose faces could be clearly seen were happy to be shot by the camera and voluntarily gave their permission.

The streaming platform I used also gave its feedback. [We have taken action against all content that had been maliciously edited to provide false information.]

All the evidence was there, but netizens continued to hurl abuse at me. The truth was slow to reveal itself. All rumors required only one word to be spread.

That afternoon, a middle-aged man who was a regular came to the truck, but suddenly stopped. Someone behind him mumbled, "Do you really want to buy what they're serving?"

He put the box down and said, "It's not that I don't believe you, Mr. Curtis, but my family saw videos about your food truck and wouldn't let me buy anything from you."

After that, he left, leaving me staring at the empty takeaway box.

I used to think that as long as I focused on my good deed, others would see that I was trying my best to give back to the community, but it was only now that I understood that some people were not willing to believe what I was doing despite seeing the truth.

Laney stood by my side and asked softly, "Can you still go on?"

I stared at the remaining food in my truck. Out of the 160 portions I had prepared, only 48 portions were sold today. I was suddenly reminded of the day my father passed away.

My father did not want to be a burden to me, and he refused to say anything even though he was in pain. I could not let others make use of his name and turn this into a source of entertainment for others.

I took a deep breath and removed the dusty cloth from the tripod mount I used for livestreaming on my phone, and packed it into a cardboard box.

At 4:00 pm, I printed a notice and stuck it in front of my food truck: [This will be the last day of business. I will not be selling any more meals from tomorrow onward.]

The alleyway turned silent, and someone asked, "Are you mad, Mr. Curtis?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why are you stopping the food truck?"

I looked at him. "Everyone will have the freedom to choose healthy meals more suitable for them from now on."

The last pot of soup was given out for free, and when Laney was putting away all the takeaway boxes, she could not stop crying. I parked the food truck in a corner and turned off the live stream. The lights in the alley were turned off, and I stared blankly into the darkness.