"Stop! Hand over all your money."
Suddenly, four or five young men emerged from the nearby grasslands. Their faces were covered with black cloth, and each brandished a gleaming dagger.
Nia Mitchell jumped, startled. She clenched her fists, her eyes wide with fear as she looked at them.
"We don't have any money," Father Mitchell said. He hadn't anticipated something like this. A robbery?
"No money? How can you have no money? We've been following you for a long time! Give us the money you've got stashed," one of them demanded, accurately pinpointing where Father Mitchell kept his cash.
How could he give it to them? This money was for Aldy Mitchell's treatment.
"Dad, just give it to them," Nia urged.
She knew it was a lot of money, but right now, there didn't seem to be a better solution. Maxwell Peary would handle Aldy's medical expenses. After all, they were family; there was no such thing as 'your money' or 'his money.' To Maxwell, this amount was negligible.
