My Cousin Took Kickbacks and Blamed Me for Being Too Calculating — I Swapped the Ingredients and Cost Him Two Million

I tossed the purchase order onto the table and looked at my cousin. “This batch of beef.

Market price is 320 yuan a case, and you quoted me 480.” He was sitting in the office chair scrolling on his phone.

When he heard me, he didn’t even look up. “Why the hell are you calculating that? It’s tax and delivery included.

How can that be the same as you going straight to the market for it from the kitchen?” I stared at him. His name was George Walker, and he was three years older than me.

He grew up in my house. My mom was his aunt, and she treated him like her own son. Two years ago, we started this hot pot restaurant together.

I put in 500,000 yuan, he put in 300,000, and we agreed on a 5050 profit split. He handled frontofhouse operations, and I handled the kitchen and supply chain.

Business was booming the first year. By the end of the year, each of us took home 400,000 yuan in profit.

In the second year, he said we should open a branch, and he put procurement under unified management. I figured we were family, so no problem.

Six months later, I noticed something was off. The flagship restaurant wasn’t seeing fewer customers, but the monthly profit kept dropping. I ran the numbers.

Based on the current table turnover rate, we were making at least a third less profit. So I started secretly checking the inventory records.

I didn’t know there was a problem until I checked. Beef, beef tripe, beef aorta—every key ingredient’s purchase price was 30% to 50% higher than market price.

Just last month alone, we’d spent 80,000 yuan more than normal on procurement. Eighty thousand yuan. I slammed the bill down in front of him. “Look at this yourself.

Over the past six months, beef alone cost us over 200,000 yuan extra. Where did the money go?” He finally looked up and tossed his phone onto the table. “What are you getting at?

You think I’m taking kickbacks?” I said nothing. He shot to his feet, his face flushing red. “Fine, Ethan.

You’ve really grown wings, huh?” “I bust my ass out there running procurement, grinding prices down with suppliers, and you sit in the kitchen and tally up my accounts?” “I asked where the money went.” I repeated the same thing. “It’s with the suppliers!

They’re giving us quality goods! You think those cheap market vegetables can compare to what we use?” “I went to the market last week.

Same brand, same size—beef is 320 yuan a case.” He choked for a second, then flew into a rage. “You don’t know shit!

You’ve been stuck in the kitchen so long you have no idea how things work outside!” “Suppliers don’t need to make money?

Delivery doesn’t cost anything?” “I’m telling you, if you think I skimmed off the top, fine. Let’s reconcile the books right now!” He froze.

I went on, “Call every supplier over and ask them face to face how much this batch of beef actually costs.” His expression changed. “You’re insane.

If we do this, who’s still going to work with us?” “Don’t dare?” We just stared at each other.

Five seconds later, he looked away and flopped back into his chair. “Ethan, I don’t want to fight with you.

If you really don’t trust me, then let’s just split this place up.” I laughed. “George, that’s all?

And you’re already talking about splitting up?” He thought I was backing down, so his tone softened too. “Alright, alright, let’s put this behind us.

I’ll have the suppliers lower the prices later, okay?” I said nothing else. I turned and left the office.

There was only one thought in my head: George Walker, since you don’t treat me like family, then don’t blame me for not treating you like my brother.

Over the next few days, I kept going to work as usual.

Every morning at seven, I was at the restaurant checking deliveries, watching the kitchen prep ingredients, and leaving at ten at night. Just like always.

George thought it was over.

He started going out drinking more often, saying he was “entertaining suppliers.” Sometimes he wouldn’t show up at the restaurant for three days, and on the phone he’d always say he was discussing the branch.

The branch really was under renovation. He took 400,000 yuan over there and said it was for renovation and equipment. I didn’t say a word and let him do it.

But I started doing something else. In the kitchen, there was a big freezer, and it held all the key ingredients.

Every night before closing, I’d take inventory again and lock it with my own lock. George didn’t know about this habit. Or rather, he simply didn’t care about the kitchen.

What he cared about was whether the suppliers could “show some appreciation” before the branch opened.

A month before opening, he asked me out for drinks. “Ethan, I’ve thought about the branch’s procurement.

We’ll still use the flagship restaurant’s suppliers.” “Longterm cooperation means we can drive the prices down.” I held my glass and said nothing. “How about your side?

The recipe and all that—no problems, right?” “No problems,” I said. He nodded in satisfaction and drained his glass.

What he didn’t know was that that afternoon, I had just come back from a food factory in the suburbs. I’d found the small factory myself.

They specialized in making the key components for hot pot base mix. I swapped out the three most important ingredients in the recipe for their product.

The price was only half of what we’d paid before, but the taste was exactly the same. No—exactly the same isn’t the right way to put it.

It was that only I knew how to make it taste exactly the same.

I left my number with the factory owner and told him: “From now on, this batch of ingredients only goes to my flagship restaurant.

Nobody else gets it.” The owner was an old man in his fifties, and the way he looked at me was a little strange. “Kid, this is—” “To protect myself.” He didn’t ask anything else.

That was how the flagship restaurant kept the same flavor. But every batch of broth base mix sent to the branch had already been quietly swapped out. I’d done the math.

Based on the branch’s stock levels, in their first month of opening, they’d be using the new recipe’s broth base mix.

On the surface, it would seem the same as the flagship restaurant. But in your mouth, it would be slightly off. Just slightly. But regular customers could taste it right away.

George knew nothing. A week before opening, the suppliers took him out to eat. He got wasted and sent a voice message in the group chat: “Brothers, after we open, work hard.

Our chance to get rich is here!” I looked at that voice message and muted my phone. George, if you want to get rich, I’m not stopping you. But don’t use my money to do it.

This place is half mine. When you were taking kickbacks, you never once thought about that.

On the day the branch opened, George invited more than twenty tables of people. Firecrackers, floral stands, ribboncutting—it was lively all morning.

He invited all the flagship restaurant’s regular customers over too, saying, “New store opening, welcome everyone to come support us.” I went too.

Standing in the crowd, I watched him talk onstage, all “brothers united” and “grateful to have you.” After he finished, he threw an arm around my shoulder for a photo and posted on social feed: “Biological brothers starting a business together.

Grateful!” The comments were all likes. My mom left a comment below: “Both kids have made it now. Aunt is so happy.” I looked at that comment and didn’t like it.

At noon, the first round of guests sat down. I stood by the kitchen door for half an hour, watching the servers carry dish after dish out.

Broth base went out, dipping sauce went out, meat slices went out. Everything looked perfectly normal. But I knew the problem had already been planted.

And sure enough, three days later— The branch manager sent a message in the group chat: Mr. Walker, a customer is complaining that the flavor is off.

George didn’t take it seriously. “Some picky people.

Normal.” Two days later, the manager sent a string of screenshots, all bad reviews from Dianping. “Totally different from the flagship restaurant.

Did they change the chef?” “The broth base is bland, not fragrant, and there’s no aftertaste.” “I’m a regular customer of the flagship restaurant.

This branch is such a disappointment.” That’s when George finally panicked. He tagged the kitchen supervisor in the group chat: What’s going on? The kitchen supervisor replied: “Mr.

Walker, the recipe was made exactly according to what you gave us.” George: “Impossible! The recipe is the same as the flagship restaurant.

How could the taste be off?” The supervisor didn’t reply again. My phone buzzed. It was a private message from the supervisor: Ethan, what the hell is going on? I didn’t answer.

That night, George called me. “Ethan, come to the branch tomorrow and see if there’s a problem with the kitchen operations.” “Okay.” The next day I got to the branch and walked through the kitchen.

The equipment, process, and staff were all up to the flagship restaurant’s standards. Nothing looked wrong. In front of George, I had the cook make a pot of broth base mix.

When it was served, George tasted it himself. His face changed. “The flavor’s off.” I said nothing.

He tasted it again, then looked up at me. “Ethan, is there something wrong with the recipe?” “The recipe’s fine,” I said. “The ingredients are the problem.” “The ingredients are the problem?

Aren’t they all transferred over from the flagship restaurant?” I looked at him and didn’t answer.

He froze for a few seconds, then shot up out of his seat. “Did you fucking switch the ingredients?”

I neither admitted it nor denied it. George panicked and grabbed my arm. “Ethan, what the hell do you mean? This is our own family’s place.

Why would you switch the ingredients?” I shoved his hand away. “George, don’t you think that sounds ridiculous?” “What’s ridiculous?” “Your own family’s place?” He froze.

I went on, “This place belongs to both of us, not just you.” “When I switched the ingredients, when did you see yourself asking me?” I turned and walked out. “Fine, you can keep checking on your own.

I’ve got things to do.” He chased after me. “Ethan, stop right there! We’re clearing this up today!” I stopped. Then I nodded. “Fine.

Then let me ask you—who handled this batch of beef for the branch’s opening?” His face changed. “Who handled the beef tripe?

Who handled the beef aorta?” He went silent. “You found the suppliers, you negotiated the prices, you took the kickbacks.” “What does whether I switch the ingredients have to do with you?” He was so choked up he couldn’t say a word.

I looked at him. “George, you think I didn’t know?” “Starting in the second half of last year, you’ve been taking at least 20,000 yuan a month in kickbacks from the suppliers.” “You also took 100,000 yuan for the branch renovation.” “I never brought this up because I thought you’d stop on your own.” “And what happened?

You didn’t stop. You only got worse.” “You say I switched the ingredients to screw you over?

Then let me ask you—when you were taking kickbacks, did you ever think this place was half mine?” His face went deathly pale, his lips trembling. “Ethan, you can’t calculate it like that—” “Then how should I calculate it?

Give me your formula.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I turned to leave. After two steps, I stopped again. “Oh, right.

The broth base mix recipe the branch is using now was remixed by me.” “The ingredients came from the small factory I found myself.” “That factory only supplies the flagship restaurant.

Nobody else.” “If you want to switch it back to the original taste, fine.” “But in the original recipe, there are a few ingredients that only I know where to buy.” “If you want to find them, go find them yourself.” Then I left.

Behind me, everything went dead silent. At four in the afternoon, my phone exploded. George called over and over again, and I didn’t pick up a single one.

My WeChat blew up with 99+ messages. In the last voice message, his voice was shaking. “Ethan!

The branch had over a hundred tables at lunch today, and every one of them was a bad review!” “Dianping’s already dropped us to 3.5 stars!

What the hell are you trying to do!” I muted my phone. What was I trying to do? Nothing. I just wanted him to understand that this place wasn’t his alone.

That night, at eight, my mom called. “Ethan, what’s going on between you and your cousin?

He called me crying, saying you’re messing with him at the restaurant.” I leaned back on the sofa and looked at the ceiling. “Mom, he’s been taking kickbacks for over half a year.

I’ve checked everything. It’s at least 300,000 yuan.” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. “He’s still your cousin.

Don’t be too—” “Mom, because he’s my cousin, I put up with it for six months. If it were anyone else, I would’ve called the police long ago.” My mom said nothing. “Don’t worry.

I’m not going to make him pay back the losses.” “But from today on, I’m in charge of this place.” I hung up. The sky outside was already dark.

I knew that starting tomorrow, it would be a different kind of fight.