Before the pandemic, me and a few of my friends, including Zach and Mia, pooled our savings to launch a food truck business. We were all pretty excited, dropping around $5,000 each to get started. However, just as we were picking up steam, COVID-19 reared its ugly head, and our sales flatlined. Our locality was not into delivery services back then, and we struggled to keep the lights on, metaphorisch speaking.

With heavy hearts, our group—which was quite close-knit back then—convened to weigh our options. In the end, we agreed that selling the food truck, which by then was already decked out with our branding but looking a bit worn, wouldn't fetch us much. We were getting some pretty dismal offers for it, mere pennies on the dollar.

Despite having other jobs, we decided to hold onto the truck. Even though the potential $1,000 to $1,500 each from selling the truck might seem substantial, it wasn't a break-the-bank kind of loss for us given our other income sources. Eventually, a few of our group opted out, disheartened by the flop of what was once a shared dream. Their departure was so poignant; they cut off contact, leaving behind not just the business but our shared pastimes and jokes in our group chat, which went silent.

Fast forward to mid-2022, a subset of the original investors, myself included, decided to reignite the food truck venture. This time around, the dynamics in our area had shifted—people embraced delivery services, and the occasional event boosted our visibility. We approached Zach, Mia, and the other person who'd left, offering them a chance to rejoin. They all passed, having moved on to different things.

Our rebooted venture required minimal additional investment and actually began turning a noticeable profit. We even hired some staff to manage the daily operations as most of us were tied up with our day jobs; one even committed full time to managing our burgeoning business.

Surprisingly, last month, Zach and Mia reached out after years of silence. They demanded a cut of the company's ownership and profits—around 12.5% each—citing their initial investments. This felt unreasonable to us who had persisted through the tough times without their involvement or support. We thought reimbursing their initial $5,000 investment was fair, especially considering they would have pocketed much less had we offloaded the truck when the pandemic struck.

I know some might urge us to check the legalities, but honestly, when we restarted, we only formalized things among those of us actively involved. Neither Zach nor Mia were part of this new legal entity.

Picture if this were a reality show, the tension and drama around this financial dispute could be show-stopping! Conversations could become heated, accusations might fly, and viewers would be at the edge of their seats, wondering if friendships can withstand the strains of money issues. It'd be an emotional rollercoer, playing out in front of a live audience craving real-world conflicts and resolutions.

Given these circumstances, am I being unreasonable here?

Should former partners be paid out after quitting a startup?