Fluid Market Inc. and Fluid Fleet Services LLC (collectively, “Fluid Truck”), along with top current and former executives James Eberhard (former CEO, now board member), Jenifer Snyder (former general counsel), and Thomas Scott Avila (current interim CEO), orchestrated a systematic and brazen appropriation of funds that rightfully belonged to countless vehicle owners on Fluid Truck’s “investor platform.” The recently filed legal complaint says that Fluid Truck sold vehicles entrusted to them by small investors and simply pocketed the proceeds, repeatedly lying to owners about when—or if—they would ever receive their money. In sum, the lawsuit depicts a textbook example of alleged corporate greed and corporate corruption: a once-promising tech startup that rode the wave of neoliberal capitalism and “disrupted” vehicle rentals, only to engage in a pattern of behavior that, if proven true, exemplifies everything critics of unbridled capitalism warn about.
This corporate misconduct strikes at the heart of corporate ethics and could pose a serious danger to public health and well-being, insofar as small- and medium-sized vehicle owners (who placed their trust in Fluid Truck’s system) may now be financially devastated. The class action complaint sets out a damning chain of events: from Fluid Truck’s explicit assurances that owners would receive sales proceeds, to the company’s alleged decision simply to steal those proceeds to shore up its own operations. Even after an executive shakeup in July 2024—when Eberhard and Snyder “resigned” from their management roles but remained on the board—nothing changed. Interim CEO Avila reportedly admitted that Fluid Truck lacked funds to pay what it owed, and an investor at Bison Capital Asset Management allegedly confided that Fluid Truck had no intention of paying back the misappropriated money. The complaint says that, instead, the plan is to send Fluid Truck into bankruptcy, secure new investment, and funnel that capital into a separate entity called Kingbee Rentals—thus leaving the original owners with next to no recourse.
If accurate, these revelations demonstrate an unsettling truth about corporate accountability: namely, how even a flashy, well-funded startup can flout contractual obligations, string people along with false promises, and (so far) evade immediate sanctions. It is also a sobering reminder of how wealth disparity can be widened by large-scale schemes that take from smaller, more vulnerable parties. For many owners, investing in vehicles for Fluid Truck was presumably a path to a steady side income—an enticing idea under neoliberal capitalism, where gig-economy platforms promise everyday people the chance to become “micro-entrepreneurs.” Yet instead of fulfilling these promises, Fluid Truck used these owners’ titles, sold their vehicles, and retained the money. The alleged sum is staggering: more than $11 million from over 100 owners.
Below is a deep-dive investigative piece—organized into eight sections—that explores these explosive allegations, how they fit within the broader tapestry of economic fallout and corporate social responsibility, and why they might not be a one-off “accident,” but rather a byproduct of an economic system that prioritizes shareholder returns and “disruption” over all else. The discussion will then widen beyond the details of the Fluid Truck suit to situate these allegations in the bigger context of corporate influence, regulatory inaction, and the inherent vulnerabilities in our modern economy.
1. Introduction
It is, in many ways, a classic American story: A startup emerges with grand visions of a “platform-based” revolution. The pitch is disarmingly simple. Anyone can join; anyone can invest in vehicles—cargo vans, pickup trucks, box trucks—that will be rented out to local businesses and individuals needing on-demand mobility. Instead of letting these vehicles sit idle in a garage, owners can earn steady rental income through a platform that claims to handle everything from maintenance to insurance. The concept, championed by Denver-based Fluid Market Inc. and its affiliate, Fluid Fleet Services LLC, had the ring of the next big gig-economy phenomenon: “Let your money work for you,” said the marketing. “We’ll take care of the rest.”
Yet that marketing pitch concealed an entirely different reality—one that has allegedly culminated in a multi-million-dollar fiasco. The complaint, brought by Colorado-based Urban Interests LLC on behalf of a proposed nationwide class of similarly situated vehicle owners, accuses Fluid Truck of selling owner vehicles and then refusing to turn over the resulting proceeds, in direct violation of written policy and explicit promises.
Corpo cucks might say: “Isn’t this just a contract dispute? Maybe the platform has cash-flow problems or is behind in payments.” But the complaint paints a darker picture. First, there is the scale: Over $11 million in withheld sales proceeds from more than 100 participants, per the suit’s allegations. Second, there is the timeline: The complaint points out repeated false assurances from Fluid Truck, from emails acknowledging the debt to more recent updates from the interim CEO that the company simply cannot (or will not) pay up. Third, there is the alleged underlying intent: The complaint contends that the top leadership at Fluid Truck knew exactly what they were doing—using other people’s property to subsidize their own operational deficits.
Corporate watchers see this scenario as a representative of the 21st-century platform economy—full of promise, but rife with pitfalls. Under the banner of corporate social responsibility, many “sharing economy” platforms promise a more inclusive vision of commerce, claiming that everyday people can become entrepreneurs. However, the allegations in this lawsuit underscore how such promises can go awry. Critics argue that whenever corporate returns take precedence, platform participants—who, in some business models, are precariously reliant on these new forms of income—can be left high and dry. And there is a broader pattern here: in many corners of neoliberal capitalism, smaller independent owners or contractors cede control of their assets to centralized platforms that promise robust returns, only to discover that an opaque web of corporate decision-makers can easily shift the financial burdens onto them.
The complaint zeroes in on a handful of individuals behind the scenes. It names James Eberhard, the founder and erstwhile CEO, as the “mastermind” of the alleged scheme; his sister, Jenifer Snyder, served as Fluid Truck’s general counsel but also remains on the board. Both resigned from their executive roles in July 2024—shortly before the scandal became public. Nonetheless, they retain seats on the company’s board of directors, presumably maintaining significant influence. Meanwhile, in an email to investors dated August 21, 2024, newly minted interim CEO Thomas Scott Avila reportedly stated: “We are facing significant financial challenges … we are still unable to process arrears payments.” An investor at Bison Capital (a major Fluid Truck backer) disclosed a plan to simply hold on to the $11 million, push the company into bankruptcy, and move forward under a different legal entity. If true, it is a scenario that critics decry as the height of corporate greed: forcing outside investors to shoulder the losses while insiders salvage the essential technology and brand.
The Human Impact
While these are allegations that still need to be proven in court, one cannot ignore the enormous economic fallout for individuals who entrusted their vehicles to Fluid Truck. People bought fleets under the assumption that after a certain number of miles or after a fixed rental term, the vehicles could be “decommissioned” and sold, with net proceeds paid back to them. That “safety valve” was essential to the platform’s appeal: If your fleet investments proved less profitable than hoped or became too high-mileage to rent, you could recoup the residual vehicle value. Instead, if the complaint’s assertions are accurate, owners have lost not just rental income, but the actual net worth of the vehicles themselves. Such a blow has ripple effects: Some owners might struggle to pay off auto loans they took out to purchase these vehicles. Others might find themselves in precarious financial positions, forced to absorb tens of thousands of dollars in losses or legal fees to try to recoup their money.
From the vantage point of corporate accountability, this lawsuit raises major questions. Where were the internal safeguards? How did Fluid Truck’s leadership justify withholding funds from rightful owners? Did the promise of growth or the lure of further venture capital funding overshadow basic fiduciary obligations? More broadly, how do existing regulations or lack thereof enable these scenarios to unfold with little immediate check?
In the sections that follow, we will explore the intricacies of the alleged wrongdoing and place them in the context of bigger, systemic forces. We will also look at how the platform’s “heady startup culture” and the impetus to keep scaling might have contributed to the sort of fiasco described in the complaint. Lastly, we will close by examining whether the public and regulators can expect any real measure of accountability—or if, under the guiding star of neoliberal capitalism, the process will simply allow the alleged miscreants to move on with minimal repercussions.
2. Corporate Intent Exposed
From Public Image to Alleged Private Malfeasance
Fluid Truck burst onto the scene with a promise of convenient, flexible vehicle rentals for businesses of all sizes. The premise was that local entrepreneurs, contractors, and even everyday people could secure short-term use of cargo vans or trucks, all through a user-friendly mobile app. On the other side of this transaction stood the individuals and small businesses who owned the vehicles. Many of these owners joined Fluid Truck’s so-called “Fluid Vehicle Investor Platform” (FVIP). As described in the lawsuit, it was through the FVIP that owners purchased new fleets, turned their physical titles over to Fluid Truck, and entrusted the company to handle renting, upkeep, insurance, repairs, and eventually the final sale of the vehicles.
In many ways, this arrangement reflected a hallmark of neoliberal capitalism: an entrepreneurial frontier where everyday people can act as micro-investors in an efficient marketplace. But behind this shiny facade, the complaint alleges, lurked a “corrupt, unlawful, and unconscionable scheme” to keep the owners’ money. The lawsuit states that “Fluid Truck’s corrupt, unlawful, and unconscionable scheme proceeds as follows,” enumerating a process by which the company explicitly invited owners to let them sell vehicles on their behalf—only to commandeer the sale proceeds for themselves.
Fluid Truck’s Own Decommissioning Policy
The company’s written decommissioning policy promised that, once a vehicle met certain criteria (either age or mileage thresholds), Fluid Truck would orchestrate its sale via a third-party auction service. The net proceeds, after subtracting a decommissioning fee and certain repair costs, would belong to the vehicle owner. Allegedly, Fluid Truck initially followed this policy. The complaint mentions that for a time, some vehicles were indeed sold properly, and owners received their rightful proceeds. Then, in late 2023, something changed. Plaintiffs claim that as more vehicles entered the decommissioning funnel, Fluid Truck simply began holding onto that money.
It is this abrupt pivot that raises alarms about the company’s corporate ethics. The complaint identifies multiple times in which owners attempted to collect what was owed, only to be met with excuses or outright deception. Urban Interests LLC, the lead plaintiff, claims it discovered that 14 of its vehicles were sold but that it never received the proceeds, totaling over $415,000 in gross sales. The complaint says that Fluid Truck’s general counsel, Ms. Snyder, and CEO Eberhard were instrumental in continuing the ruse—until they suddenly announced their resignation from day-to-day management in July 2024. However, they remained on the board of directors, prompting cynics to question whether they truly abandoned control or were simply stepping out of the spotlight.
Allegations of Intention and Knowledge
The complaint does not mince words about intention. It states that the defendants “knowingly misappropriated more than $11 million in sales proceeds for [Fluid Truck’s] own use” and “then openly and intentionally lied to the owners about the status of paying those proceeds.” Such language is not typical of a routine contract dispute. Rather, it suggests a level of planning and premeditation on par with classic white-collar fraud—accusations that, if proven, would point to a fundamental breakdown in corporate accountability.
Further, the mention of Bison Capital’s alleged plan to force a strategic bankruptcy reveals a deeper layer of corporate intent. The complaint quotes an investor from Bison Capital indicating that neither the board nor the major investors planned to reimburse the owners, presumably so that the company and its technology could survive under a new brand (Kingbee Rentals). If that claim is supported by evidence, it reflects a kind of orchestrated end-run around legal liability, leaving the question: Was the entire structure of Fluid Truck’s FVIP program from the start a convenient way to raise capital from unsuspecting owners, with no real intention of honoring those obligations once financial pressures mounted?
Points of Possible Verification
While the complaint’s allegations remain to be tested in court, the existence of emails and recorded calls presumably offers a paper trail. The complaint specifically notes an August 21, 2024, email from interim CEO Avila, acknowledging that “we are still unable to process arrears payments, including insurance claim payouts and monies owed for vehicle sales.” The complaint also mentions September 27, 2024, emails from a Fluid Truck employee confirming amounts owed to Urban Interests. In that employee’s own words, they apparently admit that the net proceeds were never paid.
Such direct admissions, if proven, might make a compelling case that the company’s leadership was fully aware of its failure to disburse money that belonged to the owners—and was continuing to promise or imply that payment would be made “eventually,” all while allegedly planning otherwise behind closed doors. This behavior highlights a broader phenomenon: corporate corruption can be carried out in the open when a company presumes there will be little to no immediate intervention by authorities or regulators. Indeed, in many large-scale financial disputes, civil lawsuits can stretch on for years, providing corporate wrongdoers with ample time to reorganize or declare bankruptcy before restitution can be forced.
Broader Implications for Ordinary Investors
In an era where individuals can use apps to buy fractional shares of real estate, rent out second homes, or invest in short-term securities, the situation with Fluid Truck stands as a cautionary tale. The “disruption” promised by tech companies may offer new ways for everyday people to earn passive income, but it can also multiply the risk of unscrupulous behavior. Because these structures are new, the legal frameworks—and the capacity of regulators to oversee them—often lag behind. Meanwhile, the ambitions of corporate founders can lead them to burn through cash in pursuit of scale. By the time red flags emerge, the “investors” (in this case, vehicle owners) might already be left holding the bag.
Within this context, the complaint’s portrayal of an intentional scheme is particularly troubling. If the court deems these allegations valid, then it is not simply a matter of a struggling business that fell behind on payments. Rather, it becomes a case study in how the pursuit of profit maximization at all costs—fueled by a brand of capitalism that rewards rapid growth and overlooks caution—can lead to morally dubious or outright illegal acts. The transitional leadership under Avila has done nothing to change course, which may further undermine any claims that the wrongdoing was limited to a few “bad apples.”
3. The Cost of Doing Buisiness
At first glance, it might seem baffling that a company could sell $11 million worth of third-party property, refuse to disburse those funds to the rightful owners, and not face immediate legal or regulatory action. But a closer look at the common “corporate playbook” for dealing with mounting internal crises offers some insight. In short, if the allegations are correct, Fluid Truck and its leadership have followed a not-uncommon pattern in today’s “move fast and break things” environment:
- Overpromise and Underdeliver: By outwardly marketing the FVIP program as safe and reliable, Fluid Truck secured the trust and participation of owners. The complaint notes how these owners willingly gave Fluid Truck possession of their titles—an extraordinary gesture of faith. The promise was simple: once the vehicles were sold, the owners would get the proceeds. That initial vow is crucial, because many owners, including the named plaintiff, Urban Interests LLC, said they never would have handed over titles otherwise.
- Delay, Distract, and Deceive: As the complaint details, once the vehicles were sold, Fluid Truck allegedly provided a series of excuses for why owners had not been paid. The complaint calls it “months of delays, deception, and obfuscation about the status of payment.” In corporate crises, stringing along stakeholders with excuses—lack of liquidity, accounting issues, “the check is in the mail”—is a time-tested tactic to keep them from taking immediate legal action or drawing public attention.
- Resignation, but Not Really: When the complaints intensified, top executives Eberhard (CEO) and Snyder (general counsel) stepped down from their managerial roles—yet they remained on the board. This too is a common corporate corruption tactic: create the appearance of accountability or change at the top while preserving the individuals’ control and shareholdings. Shareholders and outside observers might be initially mollified by the “leadership shakeup,” but the real power structure remains intact.
- Blame the Market Conditions: While the complaint does not go into detail about how Fluid Truck explained its finances to the owners, the August 21, 2024, email from interim CEO Avila references “significant financial challenges.” This hints at another standard move: attributing a cash crunch to external factors, such as inflation, recession, or interest-rate hikes. In so doing, the corporate entity positions itself as a victim of broader economic headwinds rather than an intentional wrongdoer.
- Potential Bankruptcy “Solution”: Major investors are allegedly plotting to shield themselves from liability by driving the company into bankruptcy, then funneling assets into a new entity named Kingbee Rentals. This is reminiscent of the notorious “Texas two-step” used by some large companies to isolate liabilities in a separate entity, then bankrupt that entity. The upshot: the brand or technology endures, but the rightful claimants have to queue in bankruptcy court, where they often receive pennies on the dollar.
- Weaponize Complexity: Finally, the complaint suggests that the company’s top brass rely on the sheer complexity of ownership structures, membership agreements, and the intangible nature of “on-demand” technology to evade immediate detection. Unless owners keep meticulous records, it can be hard to discover that a specific vehicle was sold—and even harder to figure out the timeline for missing funds.
All of these tactics fit neatly into the broader theory that under neoliberal capitalism, deregulation and corporate-friendly policies have emboldened businesses to prioritize profit maximization over legal or ethical obligations. When regulators are absent or slow to respond, companies have wide latitude to shuffle assets, spin up new entities, or hide behind shell companies. The lawsuit lays out a blueprint for how smaller-scale investors can wind up victimized by the cunning of corporate insiders.
How They “Got Away with It,” At Least for a While
The reason these tactics frequently succeed, at least in the short run, is that it takes time, money, and legal expertise for victims to pursue remedies. Not every aggrieved party can afford attorneys, and not every attorney has the resources to mount a complex civil action. Fluid Truck’s alleged misdeeds could have flown under the radar longer had it not been for Urban Interests LLC, which apparently had both the means and the will to file a federal class action.
Moreover, in many states, consumer-protection agencies and attorneys general have limited bandwidth, focusing on clear-cut consumer fraud or heavily publicized events. A complicated dispute involving rental fleet ownership might not initially trigger wide-scale official intervention, especially if the corporate entity’s wrongdoing is masked by complex contractual disclaimers. Plus, private arbitration clauses can further hamper individuals from joining together in a class—though in this instance, the plaintiffs appear to have avoided that pitfall.
Corporate Pollution? The “Invisible” Spillage
While typically we associate corporate pollution with environmental damage, one can also see intangible “pollution” here: the infiltration of the business environment with unscrupulous financial practices that degrade the entire ecosystem of trust. Fluid Truck’s alleged appropriation of $11 million might not poison rivers or fill the air with smog, but it corrodes the marketplace. Honest operators lose out when unscrupulous tactics flourish unchecked. This “pollution” also ultimately hurts local communities, who might have benefited from the vehicles if owners could continue to reinvest in better services or philanthropic endeavors. Instead, the allegations suggest the funds were siphoned up the chain, leaving owners with nothing.
Public Health and Worker Well-Being
Though this alleged scandal primarily involves stolen assets rather than physical harm, it’s important not to overlook how financial devastation can affect the public health—particularly mental health. Small business owners who were counting on these funds for personal or business finances may find themselves in dire straits. The stress can manifest in everything from anxiety and depression to an inability to meet payroll or pay personal medical expenses. Such cascading consequences highlight how alleged corporate greed can harm the very fabric of community life, reinforcing wealth disparity and diminishing the well-being of everyday people.
The next section delves into how the pursuit of profit, at any cost, can create a situation in which, ironically, “crime pays.” Allegedly, Fluid Truck’s leadership simply took money from owners to keep the lights on, an act that not only underscores the fragility of so-called “disruptive” startups but also reveals how unscrupulous behavior might be rationalized in a system that prizes growth over accountability.
4. Crime Pays / The Corporate Profit Equation
One of the most disconcerting realities that emerges from this case is the notion that alleged criminal or near-criminal activity can be immensely profitable—at least in the short term. It is no secret that under the relentless logic of neoliberal capitalism, companies are often incentivized to take on risky, even unethical measures to improve cash flow, push up valuations, or appease investors. If they get caught, there might be a manageable settlement. If they don’t, they reap windfall gains. In the eyes of some corporate strategists, the risk is worth it.
Fluid Truck’s Alleged Calculation
The complaint’s facts suggest that Fluid Truck was desperate for cash. Even though the company had grown quickly, the overhead associated with an on-demand vehicle fleet business can be punishing: insurance premiums, maintenance expenses, staff salaries, technology costs, and so on. Rather than scaling back or securing additional equity at a less favorable valuation, the complaint contends the leadership made a calculated decision: keep the owners’ money. By the time the owners discovered the missing funds, the company hoped it might have stabilized its finances or found a more permanent fix.
Short-Term Gains, Long-Term Consequences
Fluid Truck’s leadership likely saw an immediate benefit—$11 million is a significant sum, especially for a mid-stage startup. The complaint references phone calls and emails suggesting that the money is being used to “fund [Fluid Truck’s] ongoing operations.” But the cost will be measured not just in lost trust but in the potential for triple damages under Colorado’s civil theft statute (C.R.S. § 18-4-405). The complaint specifically asks for triple the amount stolen, plus attorneys’ fees and related costs. That means the total liability, if the plaintiffs prevail, could spiral well beyond the stolen $11 million.
However even the possibility of a large verdict may not be a deterrent if the plan is to declare bankruptcy. In that scenario, the individuals who orchestrated the scheme might still come out with minimal personal financial damage, while the owners are left chasing an empty corporate shell. This is a systemic flaw in how U.S. bankruptcy laws and corporate liability structures can be manipulated—another hallmark of the capitalist architecture that critics call “rigged.”
Familiar Patterns in Corporate Accountability
We have seen analogous cases in other industries: from financial services to pharmaceuticals, companies have engaged in questionable or overtly illegal conduct, found it profitable, and then faced fines that were smaller than the total ill-gotten gains. Such outcomes breed cynicism and undermine faith in corporate social responsibility initiatives. It is one thing for a company to tout an ethics code or corporate responsibility report; it is quite another to uphold those principles when the going gets tough. Indeed, some scholars and activists argue that a system rooted in the relentless pursuit of profit maximization inevitably spawns episodes of corporate misconduct, which are all but guaranteed to reoccur.
Neoliberal Capitalism’s “Arbitrage”
In strictly economic terms, if a market economy does not effectively penalize wrongdoing, then wrongdoing becomes another form of market “arbitrage.” Companies that cut corners or break laws can gain a competitive edge unless regulators intervene swiftly and impose costs that exceed the benefits of the wrongdoing. This is effectively a moral hazard. The complaint against Fluid Truck outlines a scenario in which, for months, if not longer, the company gleaned substantial “benefits” from owners’ funds, with no immediate check on that behavior. Only once a critical mass of owners realized the situation did the complaint become a possibility. Even then, filing a lawsuit is far from a guarantee of success or swift justice.
Human Cost: A Deeper “Profit and Loss”
While “profit” might be easily measured on a company’s balance sheet, the losses for real people can be far more acute. The complaint’s named plaintiff, Urban Interests LLC, is based in Colorado. Its sole member, Tim Urban, presumably poured significant resources into acquiring and maintaining a 47-vehicle fleet. With 14 of those vehicles sold but no proceeds disbursed, Urban Interests is allegedly out over $400,000 in raw sales alone. That number does not include the potential damage to Tim Urban’s credit, the lost opportunity costs, or the stress and mental toll inflicted by months of trying to track down basic answers from Fluid Truck. Multiply that scenario by more than 100 class members, and the human toll grows exponentially.
In terms of wealth disparity, such episodes only accentuate inequalities. Many small business owners might only have a modest safety net. If they lose tens (or hundreds) of thousands of dollars, they may have to lay off employees or delay personal goals like buying a home or paying for education. In contrast, a well-heeled investor or corporate executive might feel inconvenienced by a lawsuit but ultimately maintain their lifestyle and financial security. This disparity is woven into the complaint itself: the “masterminds” behind the alleged scheme remain on the board, presumably continuing to control large sums of money, while the rightful owners of the $11 million must wage a lengthy legal battle to recover what is theirs.
Undermining Trust, Undermining the Market
The intangible ramifications are also significant. Incidents like these diminish trust in not just one company but in the entire notion of marketplace fairness. Prospective innovators or smaller entrepreneurs who might have joined the next platform or purchased additional vehicles may think twice. This wariness can stifle growth in local communities and create an environment where only the largest corporations—often with deeper legal pockets and robust lobbying arms—can operate at scale. Ironically, the same environment that fosters agile startups can also facilitate predatory behavior, turning the concept of “disruption” into a double-edged sword.
In the next section, we will look more closely at the ecosystem that enables such misconduct. How do regulators fit in—or fail to fit in? Why might they have overlooked or failed to prevent this fiasco? The short answer, critics would say, is that deregulation and regulatory capture are features of the current system, not bugs. Corporations whose business models hinge on pushing boundaries know how to exploit these gaps. Fluid Truck’s alleged malfeasance, if proven, would be a cautionary tale for how easily a high-tech “sharing economy” startup can overshadow legal norms, at least temporarily. And if the owners’ money was used to keep the platform afloat—thereby generating more revenue for corporate insiders—then the conclusion is as obvious as it is unsettling: sometimes, crime pays.
5. System Failure / Why Regulators Did Nothing
Every so often, an alleged fraud or scheme bursts onto the public stage with an obvious question: “Where were the regulators?” If corporations are supposedly accountable under the law, how do they manage to commit brazen acts without fear of immediate government intervention? The answer, critics argue, can be traced to fundamental aspects of neoliberal capitalism: the dismantling of consumer protections, the undermining of oversight agencies, and the phenomenon of regulatory capture, where agencies become dominated by the industries they are meant to police.
The Gaps in the Legal Landscape
Fluid Truck’s business model straddles multiple regulatory domains: automotive transactions, consumer protection, insurance, and more. No single federal entity has a clear mandate to oversee an on-demand vehicle rental platform that also manages an “investor fleet.” This fragmentation can produce blind spots. The Federal Trade Commission (FTC) handles consumer fraud but is notoriously under-resourced relative to the volume of complaints. State attorneys general focus on consumer protection within their jurisdiction, but might not have been aware of the alleged misappropriation until many owners came forward. Plus, if Fluid Truck’s investor agreements included arbitration clauses or other disclaimers, owners might have delayed seeking help from public agencies.
Regulatory Capture
Another aspect is “regulatory capture”—the idea that big players can influence regulators through lobbying, donations, or the promise of future employment. Startups, especially those heralded as high-tech innovators, might win over local or state authorities that see them as engines of economic growth and job creation. By the time serious allegations surface, the startup has built a protective moat of political goodwill. While Fluid Truck itself may not have waged a significant lobbying campaign, the broader environment of the gig or sharing economy has historically enjoyed strong support from politicians eager to promote “innovation.” In such an ecosystem, red flags may be dismissed as growing pains.
The Illusion of Self-Policing
Sometimes, regulators assume that self-policing in the corporate world—through private audits, professional ethics, or market discipline—will suffice. But the complaint suggests that the governance mechanisms within Fluid Truck failed spectacularly. The board members (including founder Eberhard and former general counsel Snyder) allegedly orchestrated or condoned the misappropriation for months. Typically, a board might be expected to notice large sums unaccounted for in monthly financial statements, but if the entire board (or a dominant faction) was complicit, there would have been no internal impetus to blow the whistle.
Financial Complexity and Legal Loopholes
One reason the alleged misdeeds could continue is the basic complexity of financial transactions. Selling a vehicle at an auction, especially under a corporate umbrella, can involve multiple steps: signing over titles, receiving wire transfers, reconciling net proceeds, ensuring all fees are paid, etc. These processes occur behind closed doors, with owners receiving minimal, if any, real-time insight. Fluid Truck, by controlling both the pipeline of information and the distribution of funds, apparently enjoyed near-total autonomy. Without a direct complaint to a regulator or a concurrent investigation, there was no impetus for outside scrutiny.
Who Is Protecting the Owners?
In principle, owners would look to the civil court system for redress—hence the lawsuit. But litigation is expensive, especially in federal court. The complaint underscores that many owners suffered smaller-scale losses, maybe in the tens of thousands of dollars each. Not everyone can afford to hire an attorney to go after a fraction of that sum. As with many alleged corporate wrongs, it is only when an aggregator—like a class action—pulls multiple victims’ claims together that it becomes financially viable to mount a legal challenge.
This structural dependence on private enforcement suits underscores a key system failure: the reliance on civil litigation as the main check on wrongdoing. If unscrupulous executives factor in that only a portion of owners will sue, that settlement negotiations might slash the total liability, and that bankruptcy can cap or eliminate many claims, it becomes a rational (albeit unethical) strategy to pocket millions. Meanwhile, owners face years of legal battles and the possibility of meager returns.
Could Another Regulator Step In?
If the allegations are proven, one might expect state or federal authorities to eventually open investigations. States have consumer or securities laws that might apply. The Colorado Attorney General’s Office, for instance, could, in theory, investigate Fluid Truck for unfair trade practices. If a pattern of mail or wire fraud is established, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) might also become interested. Yet such interventions often lag behind the initial lawsuits and public outcry.
Critics argue that the United States needs a more robust, proactive approach—one that can clamp down on questionable business practices before they balloon into multi-million-dollar fiascos. But in an era of budget cuts and laissez-faire economic ideology, consumer and investor protection agencies struggle for resources, while companies with venture funding can hire top legal teams and create new corporate structures overnight. The mismatch is profound.
Ties to Broader Trends
In the bigger picture, the Fluid Truck saga exemplifies why some commentators see an urgent need for stronger corporate accountability mechanisms. When a company can, per the complaint, brazenly “pocket the money—knowingly misappropriating more than $11 million” and continue operations, it signals that the deterrent systems have broken down. The owners’ only recourse is a class action. The threat of such a suit, while serious, is not as imminent or certain as, say, a criminal investigation. Indeed, the complaint cites possible strategic bankruptcy as a get-out-of-jail-free card for the responsible parties.
Moreover, the prospect of tens of thousands of small owners collectively defrauded (in the complaint’s telling) resonates far beyond Colorado. The economy is rife with similarly structured platforms, from peer-to-peer lodging to rideshares to short-term rentals for everything from e-scooters to heavy machinery. Each new platform might tout convenience and “community sharing,” but once the money flows, the temptation for unscrupulous leaders to funnel that money into personal or corporate coffers can be immense, especially under precarious business conditions.
Ultimately, the alleged fiasco with Fluid Truck is not just about one company’s wrongdoing, but about the conditions that allow such wrongdoing to happen. The system did not break down in a vacuum; it failed systematically, with multiple guardrails either missing or ineffective. That is the essence of neoliberal capitalism: a belief that less regulation fosters innovation—until the innovation morphs into exploitation, and by then, the damage is already done.
6. This Pattern of Predation Is a Feature, Not a Bug
Episodes of corporate misconduct—particularly where companies intentionally exploit smaller parties—are not isolated mishaps. Instead, they argue these events are part of a broader systemic feature, deeply woven into a logic that prizes shareholder returns, deregulation, and the relentless pursuit of growth. To put it bluntly, repeated lawsuits accusing “innovative” corporations of theft, fraud, or exploitation do not represent momentary lapses or unfortunate accidents. They are the natural outgrowth of an economic model that encourages executives to push every boundary to stay afloat or get ahead.
Incentives for Corner-Cutting
The allegations against Fluid Truck neatly illustrate how the system’s incentives can guide corporate decision-making. A newly minted “tech disruptor” in the mobility space often raises funds from venture capitalists who expect rapid growth, market expansion, and, ultimately, profitability. If sales are not meeting projections or if the business model is more expensive than originally pitched, executives are faced with a simple choice: pivot or cheat. They might attempt to cut costs by any means necessary—perhaps by skimping on vehicle maintenance or staff pay. Or, if that proves insufficient, they may allegedly decide to seize investors’ property and redirect those funds into daily operations, as the complaint claims Fluid Truck has done.
It is easy to frame such actions as isolated wrongdoing, but from the vantage point of the system, they can appear rational. Indeed, if the penalty for wrongdoing is uncertain, and if regulators are slow or toothless, it becomes a calculated risk. The complaint asserts that leadership at Fluid Truck was fully aware of their shortfall and actively chose to keep owners’ money. If that money could buy the company another six to twelve months of runway, allowing them to either secure new investments or reorganize, then from a purely amoral perspective, the scheme might be “worth it.”
Beyond One Startup
Zooming out, the broader economy brims with examples of corporate malfeasance. From major car manufacturers fudging emissions data to social media giants misleading users about privacy, the theme is consistent: The pursuit of profit maximization can override honesty and corporate ethics. Many of these controversies revolve around the same “playbook” used by alleged bad actors at Fluid Truck: a façade of compliance, delaying tactics, strategic resignations, possible bankruptcies, and eventually rebranding or the formation of a new corporate entity. For the public and smaller stakeholders—employees, contractors, local communities, or platform investors—the result is often shattered finances or broken promises, with little recourse beyond drawn-out litigation.
Wealth Disparity Amplifier
When corporate wrongdoing becomes widespread, it has a corrosive effect on wealth disparity. Larger corporations and well-capitalized individuals can survive or even thrive in an environment where short-term exploitation pays off. They can afford legal teams and exploit financial engineering strategies. Meanwhile, smaller participants—whether they are the gig drivers, the rental hosts, or, as in this case, the vehicle owners—bear the brunt of the risk. In the event of bankruptcy, these smaller claimants often find themselves at the back of the line, overshadowed by secured creditors or large institutional investors. This dynamic systematically transfers wealth upward: unscrupulous executives might walk away unscathed, while ordinary participants are left empty-handed.
The complaint underscores that many owners poured their personal or small-business capital into acquiring fleets of vehicles for Fluid Truck’s platform. They were lured by the promise of stable rental income and a final safety net: the eventual sale proceeds. But now, if the allegations are accurate, they have lost both, effectively shattering that dream of micro-entrepreneurship. This is corporate greed in action, and it poses a danger to public health in a less direct but no less real way: The stress and financial insecurity that follow can lead to worsened mental health, potential job losses, and even increased reliance on public assistance. The burdens of these negative outcomes ripple across families and communities.
“Feature, Not a Bug”
To call this pattern of predation a “feature” of neoliberal capitalism is to say that exploitation is not an anomaly but is hardwired into a competition-driven system absent strong enforcement. When a system consistently rewards unscrupulous behaviors and only occasionally imposes penalties—often smaller than the gains from wrongdoing—such behaviors recur. The complaint specifically invokes civil theft statutes that allow triple damages, suggesting some measure of a deterrent. However, if the alleged corporate plan is to declare bankruptcy, the real deterrent value might be close to nil for the individuals orchestrating it.
Regulatory Mechanisms Are Lacking
Another reason these predatory patterns recur is the absence of robust regulatory or legislative guardrails. In many cases, laws were written in an era that did not anticipate the complexities of platform-based business. The complaint is replete with references to how owners had minimal oversight of how their vehicles were sold or at what price. They had to simply trust that Fluid Truck would act in good faith. In a more heavily regulated sector—say, securities—custodial rules might prohibit a broker from simply taking a client’s capital. But in the realm of “vehicle investor platforms,” no such stringent rulebook or immediate oversight apparently existed.
Potential Paths for Reform
While beyond the scope of the lawsuit, the scandal points to potential areas for policy reform. One idea might be requiring escrow arrangements for any platform that sells property on behalf of third parties. If Fluid Truck had been obligated to deposit proceeds into a segregated escrow account—similar to real estate transactions—the alleged theft would have been far more difficult. Alternatively, states could require licensing for corporations that handle large sums of money or property owned by third parties. But implementing such measures would likely face resistance from tech companies and venture capitalists who worry that regulation stifles innovation.
Thus, the fluid nature of “disruption” markets has made them prone to exploitation. Without robust checks and accountability measures in place, unscrupulous leaders can take advantage of the gap between the old regulatory frameworks and the new business models.
7. The PR Playbook of Damage Control
In parallel to the “corporate playbook” that allegedly allowed Fluid Truck to withhold $11 million in owner proceeds, there is the closely related public relations (PR) playbook companies use to manage fallout once the allegations bubble to the surface. While not all the details of Fluid Truck’s public-facing statements appear in the complaint, the general patterns from other corporate scandals can shed light on how the company might proceed or is likely proceeding.
- Minimize & Deflect
Companies often begin by framing the crisis as a misunderstanding or a temporary liquidity problem, rather than deliberate wrongdoing. Fluid Truck’s interim CEO Avila, in the August 21, 2024, email, referenced “significant financial challenges,” implying that the issue was external or environmental rather than the product of an orchestrated scheme. The complaint, of course, calls it “outright theft.” This rhetorical difference—“We can’t pay right now” vs. “We refuse to pay even though we owe you”—is a critical step in a corporate PR strategy. - Reframe the Narrative
A typical corporate PR move is to highlight external achievements or philanthropic endeavors to distract from negative press. Fluid Truck might promote, for instance, how they are “greening” the rental market or investing in local communities. Even if these claims are tangential or minimal in scope, they serve to pivot attention away from the swirling allegations. The lawsuit, however, cuts through such tactics by explicitly focusing on the alleged misappropriation. - Blame Shifting
When cornered, companies might shift responsibility to a “rogue executive” or “compliance flaw.” The complaint suggests that Eberhard and Snyder stepped down, presumably to let Avila reshape the leadership narrative. Meanwhile, those individuals remain on the board, raising questions about how genuine that leadership shakeup really is. If public inquiries grow, the company might attempt to cast Eberhard and Snyder’s actions as personal misconduct, hoping that the brand’s reputation remains salvageable. But as the complaint states, Avila and the current leadership have continued the same pattern, undermining any claim that the wrongdoing was isolated. - Promises of Reform
Another common approach is to promise internal reforms. A typical corporate statement might vow to “strengthen compliance” or “enhance oversight,” providing no real specifics. Meanwhile, actual restitution to alleged victims remains in limbo. The complaint references Avila’s statement that they “expect that moving forward, insurance claims payouts and monies owed for vehicle sales will be paid in a timely manner,” which addresses future transactions, not the owners already shorted. The owners left in the lurch remain stuck with the class action as their only recourse. - Legal Maneuvering
Fluid Truck’s PR strategy likely works hand in hand with its legal approach. The complaint suggests a plan to shift assets to a new entity, Kingbee Rentals, potentially leaving the old corporate shell to face the legal claims. If that plan proceeds, any public or media inquiries might be met with claims that “Fluid Truck is under new management,” or “We can’t comment on pending litigation,” while the real objective is to evade paying back the owners. - Media Silence vs. Controlled Statements
If the lawsuit gains public attention, Fluid Truck might also attempt to limit coverage by refusing interviews and controlling the narrative through carefully written press releases. In large-scale corporate scandals, controlling the story is crucial. By restricting information, companies can reduce the risk of contradictory or incriminating statements. But in this instance, the complaint and attachments (including Avila’s emails) provide direct evidence of the company’s awareness and posture. That makes the typical “official silence” strategy more challenging to maintain.
Empathy or Lip Service?
One might ask: Could Fluid Truck adopt a more empathetic approach, acknowledging harm and offering a timeline for restitution? Possibly, but historically, many companies implicated in alleged large-scale wrongdoing have opted for damage control rather than genuine amends. The complaint quotes Avila as offering transparency, but simultaneously acknowledges that the company cannot pay “arrears payments … owed for vehicle sales.” This incongruity—transparency on the problem but no solution—might be an attempt to elicit patience from owners while the corporate board orchestrates its next move.
Lingering Effects on Local Communities
PR strategies often gloss over the negative real-world impact on local communities, especially in technology-based ventures that gather owners from various regions. Some of the owners in the proposed class likely financed their vehicles with loans. If they are not receiving proceeds, they might default or incur new debts. This can have a ripple effect in their towns and cities, from lost jobs (if they had employees who helped manage the vehicles) to reduced spending power. PR spin rarely addresses these very tangible effects, focusing instead on abstract corporate improvements or future-forward claims of “evolution.” By overshadowing these local hardships, the company attempts to preserve a veneer of corporate social responsibility, even as it remains entangled in allegations of unethical conduct.
Exploiting Public Confusion
Fluid Truck, like many companies in hot water, might also leverage the public’s limited grasp of the intricate legal and financial details. By describing the complaint as “baseless” or “lacking merit” (a common corporate line), it can sow doubt about the lawsuit’s legitimacy. Unless journalists or analysts dive into the details, the public may assume it is a typical business dispute or short-term liquidity crisis. Meanwhile, owners lacking a voice in mainstream media might struggle to get their side of the story heard. This is why robust investigative reporting is critical. It takes time and resources for journalists to parse through court filings and verify details. Without that, the corporate narrative could overshadow the owners’ allegations.
In the final section, we will explore how these PR moves interact with the broader question of corporate power vs. public interest, examining the structural forces that allow large organizations to protect themselves at the expense of smaller investors or community members.
8. Corporate Power vs. Public Interest
The story thus far is disheartening, but not surprising: a platform-based business that accrued significant venture backing, made sweeping promises to individual investors, and then seized investor assets for its own ends. Even the revelation of these alleged misdeeds has not sparked immediate regulatory or legal redress, leaving the aggrieved owners to seek recourse through a challenging and protracted lawsuit.
At the core of this fiasco lies a fundamental tension between corporate power and the public interest. On the one side, corporations enjoy legal structures that shield executives from personal liability, especially if the plan to declare bankruptcy or rebrand pans out. On the other side, individuals and small businesses who trusted the corporation’s offerings are left footing the bill. These people lack the same structural advantages and must fight for years in court. When a system consistently enables such outcomes, it is worth asking whether it is truly designed to serve the public or whether it primarily benefits well-capitalized insiders.
Corporate Power in the Neoliberal Age
Neoliberal capitalism champions deregulation, free markets, and globalized capital flows, premised on the idea that private enterprise can spur innovation and deliver prosperity. Yet critics argue that, in practice, it has also consolidated corporate power to a disturbing degree. As the Fluid Truck case exemplifies, well-connected or well-financed firms can navigate or manipulate legal systems, sometimes simply ignoring what they owe to smaller participants until forced otherwise. Indeed, the complaint repeatedly emphasizes that the largest decision-makers at Fluid Truck remain on the board, continuing to pull strings. If a strategic bankruptcy is indeed in the offing, it could effectively absolve them of returning the $11 million owed.
Rather than being a glitch, it can be seen as the system functioning as intended. Corporate attorneys, bankers, and investors know how to deploy special-purpose entities, shell companies, or rebranding strategies to slip out of liabilities. The risk is that this entire apparatus is used to the detriment of public welfare. When the dust settles, the technology behind Fluid Truck might persist, offered under a new name with a fresh wave of marketing. Meanwhile, the original owners—those who contributed the capital necessary for the fleet—could be left with nothing but legal bills.
The Cost to Local Communities and Workers
The economic fallout from such misconduct is not confined to abstract numbers on a balance sheet. For many owners in the proposed class, these vehicles were a significant investment. Some might even have structured small businesses around the FVIP arrangement, employing local mechanics or staff to handle routine checks. Without the promised funds, these local businesses can go under, or at the very least shrink, exacerbating unemployment in their areas. The owners themselves might default on loans, see their credit ruined, or be forced to liquidate personal assets to cover the missing capital.
Public health can suffer in a more indirect but real way. Financial stress is one of the primary drivers of mental health struggles, and the ripple effects can include increased reliance on social services or strained family relationships. At the broader societal level, ongoing examples of corporate misconduct can lead to widespread disillusionment, as people question whether the legal system genuinely protects them or is designed to favor corporate insiders.
Could Corporate Social Responsibility Play a Role?
One might wonder: “Don’t corporations tout corporate social responsibility (CSR) programs to ensure they act ethically?” Indeed, many do. But skeptics of CSR argue that such programs can be mere PR. If the allegations in this lawsuit are validated, the presence of a glossy CSR strategy at Fluid Truck would not have deterred the company’s leadership from taking owners’ sales proceeds. Indeed, some of the worst corporate scandals in recent memory unfolded at companies that simultaneously issued feel-good press releases about sustainability, community outreach, or philanthropic giving. Ultimately, CSR only matters if it meaningfully constrains corporate actions. In a system that prioritizes profits above all, philanthropic gestures can be overshadowed by the real question: do executives do the right thing when it’s costly to do so?
The Necessity for Consumer Advocacy and Structural Reform
In the face of these recurring patterns, consumer advocacy organizations and social-justice advocates have a crucial role to play. They can provide resources, amplify stories like that of Urban Interests LLC, and lobby for stronger regulations. They might, for instance, demand that states impose escrow requirements for any entity selling third-party property, or require surety bonds to cover potential losses. But in the broader neoliberal environment, implementing such protective measures often faces stiff resistance from industry groups who argue that regulations hamper innovation and raise costs for consumers.
Still, the stakes are too high to rely on corporate goodwill alone. The alleged $11 million stolen from owners in this case is just the tip of the iceberg when one considers how many other under-regulated sectors could spawn similar wrongdoing. The prevalence of intangible or “virtual” transactions—where app-based business is less transparent—only heightens the need for robust oversight.
Advocacy for Social Justice and the Skepticism of True Reform
Social justice advocates view lawsuits like this as emblematic of a deeper moral crisis. A system that permits a corporate entity to separate small owners from their property, or their rightful proceeds, with minimal immediate consequence is fundamentally imbalanced. For these advocates, the issue is not just recouping the $11 million; it is addressing a structure that makes it too easy for capital and legal acrobatics to overshadow the rights of ordinary people.
Yet, there is also reason to be skeptical about whether large corporations—or even smaller but well-funded startups—will truly change. In a system that rewards growth at any cost, wrongdoing can be explained away as “unfortunate necessity,” “financial challenge,” or “honest mistakes,” especially if the company emerges from bankruptcy or reorganization relatively unscathed. By the time any penalty arrives, it can be dwarfed by the proceeds gleaned from the misconduct. Without a fundamental shift in how society enforces corporate liability, critics fear that the cycle of exploitative practices will simply repeat.
Conclusion
Ultimately, the allegations against Fluid Truck tell a cautionary tale about the pitfalls of trusting in corporate goodwill when corporate greed can so easily override contractual promises. It also raises deeper questions about how we structure and regulate business in a digital age. The repeated references in the complaint to months of obfuscation, top-level resignations that weren’t really resignations, and a looming plan for strategic bankruptcy read like a blueprint for how any unscrupulous company might operate in the shadows of neoliberal economics.
What can be done? From a legal perspective, class actions like this one can force at least some measure of redress—and shine a spotlight on corporate transgressions. But these lawsuits do not address root causes, such as the ease with which companies can rebrand, reincorporate, or shield assets through complex corporate structures. More robust legislation and proactive enforcement are necessary if society wants to prevent the next iteration of this alleged scheme from harming innocent investors. A community of journalists, activists, and conscientious businesses must also keep watch, ensuring these stories come to light quickly, rather than being brushed off as isolated incidents.
From a broader perspective, the lawsuit stands as an illustration of how corporations’ dangers to public health and welfare can transcend the usual metrics of pollution or consumer safety. Financial exploitation can be just as destructive, particularly when it erodes livelihoods and fosters despair. That is why it is essential to remain vigilant and engaged, refusing to cede the public interest to the “invisible hand” of the marketplace, which too often leaves the vulnerable unprotected.
In the end, whether or not justice is served in the Fluid Truck case will hinge on the courts—and possibly on regulators, if they choose to intervene. Whatever the outcome, the deeper lessons about corporate power vs. public interest will remain. In a world where new platforms rise and fall by the day, consumers and small-scale investors alike would be wise to approach them with caution, demand greater transparency, and push for real legal safeguards. Because as the complaint and countless other cases show, if we do not insist on corporate accountability, the system all but guarantees that those with power will find ways to exploit those without it.
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