Page 11 of Whiskey's Redemption

“Ninety-three.”

I’m aghast, and disgusted.

“What! Almost a hundred boards destroyed?” Looking at the pile, I can’t believe there’s that many. “You have got to be kidding me?”

Pushing a few out of the way, I pick a board like the one I ride. I know it’s worth five thousand dollars alone. It’s garbage now. The board is warped, the core is swelled beyond repair, and the edge is peeled off. Seeing the varnish bubbled off the meticulous design, I feel a bit of my heart flake off. These are as important to me as my own arm. Boards have been my life for longer than I can remember, so seeing one—hundreds, in the same stage of decay hurts my soul.

Garnering a level of cool I didn’t think I possessed, I lay the board down and turn back to Gruber. “How much of the other merchandise was wrecked?”

Thinking about his answer before giving me more bad news, Gruber picks up a clip board. “There were nine boxes of Rip, six of Burton, three of NeverSummer, two SuP board covers, three snowboard covers stained, and the roof. I’m told we’re over 50k just to fix the roof. It’s 10k for the merch, and at least 85k for the boards, not including the signed ones.”

“There were signed ones back here? Why the fuck...No. You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. There’s damage of over a hundred thousand, and I haven’t even fixed the inside of the building.” Pacing the floor, walking back and forth between the damaged merchandise, Gruber stays quiet. Walking toward the exit, Gru says nothing as I pop the lock and step outside.

“Not fucking great,” I say as the heavy fire door clunks behind me. I’m exhausted thinking of the time and money this will cost me. “I can’t handle one more fucking thing going wrong today.”

The back of Powder Kings is in a tight, fenced-in area. With high walls on all sides, there’s no way to get in here without a fireman’s ladder. Looking up the side of the building, I see the ladder that gives us roof access stowed up high. Unlatching the lower half, I bring it down, wanting to see the damage myself.

Hitting that first rung is heavy—like a weight on my shoulders I didn’t need—but by the time I reach the top, I feel like a mountain is covering every inch of me.

Looking at the damage, it’s hard to imagine. Cali has been in a drought for years. And yeah, it’s been dry for a week, but the excessive rain we had for the last month almost lifted the whole roof. Gingerly walking around, I pad across the sides, staying away from the soft area where the leak was.

“Fourteen thousand square feet of roof. This is going to be a fucking fortune.” It’s not that I don’t have the cash for it, but it’s not what I had in mind when I bought this rundown shop. Gruber was barely afloat with his costs mounting, and no one with any business sense would back him. I’ve learned. I’ve had more financial education than most. I’m not Wall Street smart, but I’m good enough to make back a profit on a failing business.

Bending down, I lift a roof tile that’s loose and curse loudly. I’m sure they can hear me inside, as well as the adjacent buildings, too.

“Fucking money pit.”

Yeah, that’s what I bought. Now I either suck it up and fix it, then turn a profit after insurance covers all the damage, or sell the sinking ship and run like hell. Problem is, I have a hard time giving up when there’s a chance I can see the potential and worth of something. There’s a profit to be made here. I know it.

Backing down the stairs and coming to the bottom, Gru is waiting for me. “Saw it, did ya?”

I nod, unhappy at the result. “Yeah. Not much worth saving. We’ll need a whole new roof. Get a contractor out and get it appraised. I’ll contact insurance.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Pulling out my phone, I say, “I’m off to do a few things for family. You need me, you call.”

“Got it, Boss.”

Fuck..

---