After They Framed Me for Murder on the Highway, My Convoy Arrived

If I paid them off, what would happen to the kids?

Besides, none of this was my fault. Why should I pay a single cent?

The man didn't bother acknowledging me. He climbed straight into the cargo bed and started unloading.

Riiip!

He tore through the packing tape the women from the charity had carefully sealed, shredding it like it was nothing.

When he saw the cheap cotton jackets inside, the disappointment on his face was impossible to miss.

"The hell is this? You couldn't haul anything worth a damn?"

He tossed the box off the truck in disgust, then cracked open another. And another.

Every single one held the same kind of thing—clothes, quilts, and several boxes of secondhand books.

"Are you kidding me? You some kind of junk collector? Everything on this truck is garbage nobody wants!"

He hurled the boxes off the truck one after another. They tumbled over the edge of the road, bouncing down the cliff face until they vanished into the ravine below.

My chest ached so badly I could barely breathe.

That wasn't junk. Those were donations—love and goodwill from people all across my hometown, given to the children at the orphanage.

I tried to climb onto the truck to stop him, but the other drivers thought I was making a run for it. They tackled me to the ground and pinned my shoulders down so hard I couldn't move an inch.

Someone spoke up, voice low and casual.

"You know how truckers are. Crafty. They always stash the valuable stuff up front and pack the worthless crap in the back."

"Why don't you check the cab?"

My eyes went wide.

There were valuables up front—several specimens of wild ginseng.

But those weren't cargo. I'd promised to deliver them to the agricultural research institute on behalf of my town. They were rare seedlings with enormous scientific value.

If that animal got his hands on them—

I couldn't finish the thought. My breath locked in my throat and I wrenched free of the men holding me down, scrambling toward the truck on all fours.

I didn't make it. Hands grabbed me from below and yanked me back. Palms cracked across my face, left and right, one slap after another.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Listen up! Even if you ran to the ends of the earth, you're paying for our damages first!"

Blood streamed down my face, but I kept my neck stiff and my voice steady.

"This is my truck. You have no right to touch anything on it!"

"Get down from there right now! Or I'm calling the cops and reporting every last one of you for robbery!"

My eyes burned with a ferocity that could kill. I wanted to rip the man off that truck with my bare hands.

He wasn't the least bit intimidated. He hopped down, walked over, and patted my cheek with an open palm.

"Oh, look at that—he's panicking. That means I was right. There is something valuable up front."

He turned to the crowd. "Boys, quit standing around. Get up there and give me a hand. We find a few boxes of the good stuff and we'll have our money back just like that."

The promise of money was all it took. Several drivers climbed into the cargo bed alongside him and began tearing through everything without a shred of restraint.

I watched, helpless, as box after box—each one filled with hope meant for those orphans—was flung off the truck and tossed over the cliff like garbage.

Every single one felt like a piece of my heart being ripped out.

Looking at these people, no better than a pack of thieves, I knew the truth: even though the accident wasn't my fault, I had no choice but to back down.

"Stop! I'll pay! I'll pay, alright?!"

The man clapped his hands and jumped off the truck. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Five hundred thousand. Wire transfer or cash?"

My hand froze halfway to my pocket.

I'd braced myself for a steep number, but his demand still knocked the wind out of me.

I glanced at his SUV—some beat-up domestic model that had clearly changed hands more times than anyone could count. A new one would've run maybe fifteen grand, tops. I tried to reason with him.

"That car cost maybe ten, fifteen thousand new. Don't you think five hundred thousand is a little excessive?"

He answered with a boot to my chest.

"You almost killed me, you piece of shit! You think half a million is too much?"