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“That’s the point, honey,” I said, piling another scoop onto the growing mountain.
“Think of it as a reverse Christmas miracle.”
By mid-morning, Dickinson’s driveway was buried under a fortress of snow.
It was higher than the hood of Dickinson’s sleek black car.
I dusted off my gloves, stepping back to admire our handiwork.
“That,” I said, “is a job well done.”
It wasn’t long before he noticed. Soon, Dickinson stormed over, his face as red as the Christmas lights on his roof.
“What the hell have you done to my driveway?” he bellowed.
I stepped outside, brushing off my gloves like I had all the time in the world. “Oh, Mr.
Dickinson, this is a little something called quantum meruit.”
“It’s a legal concept,” I explained with a smile. “It means if you refuse to pay for someone’s labor, you lose the right to enjoy the benefit of it. Since you didn’t pay Ben, we simply undid his work.
Fair’s fair, wouldn’t you agree?”
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