I thought about it for a long time. In the end, I had no choice but to leave the group chat.

In the yard, my mother, Dora Ortiz, was directing the workers as they loaded the pears onto the truck.

"Douglas, someone from the state government is coming to pick up the order at 3:00 pm. I need you to keep an eye on things when they arrive. Make sure not a single pear goes missing, you hear?" she called out to me.

"Got it, Mom," I replied, stepping forward to help.

The State Department of Agriculture had reserved this batch of pears six months ago. Every single pear had a serial number, weight, and Brix reading on file. At pickup, every crate had to be verified against the records.

This was because these pears were going to be served at the state banquet.

That afternoon, I set off with the shipment.

My mind was entirely focused on these pears. As long as I could get them safely delivered to Windford, the rest could be dealt with slowly.

But just as the truck was traveling along the federal highway, the driver, Mike Seymour, suddenly slammed on the brakes.

"Are these people asking to get themselves killed?" he cursed.

I looked up and saw seven or eight cars parked up ahead, and more than a dozen people standing in the middle of the road with their hands outstretched, blocking the way.

And the person at the very front was none other than Mr. Dugan.

Jay was right behind him, followed by the parents from the kindergarten.

Every single one of them was holding up their phones, their expressions wild with excitement.

Jay led the charge, yelling, "So, you won't sell to us huh, Douglas? Then we'll just help ourselves! Don't worry, we'll make sure to pay you five dollars a pound!"

I frowned. But before I could get a word out, Mr. Dugan spoke up in that measured, insinuating tone of his.

"Folks, these pears were meant for the kindergarten all along. It was Mr. Miller who went back on his word, so there's no need to spare his feelings."

The moment those words left his mouth, the parents' emotions boiled over.

Someone took the lead and charged toward the truck, grabbing at the door handles of the cargo compartment.

Mike frantically blasted the horn, but it did nothing to deter them.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I got out of the truck and stood in front of the cargo hold.

"Are you people insane? This batch of pears was never meant for you! This is robbery! You're all committing a crime!"

But one of the parents, a woman, shoved me hard.

"Oh, give me a break. It's just a truckload of pears—how is that robbery?"

Mr. Dugan chortled. "Alright, alright, everyone. Let's just move the pears. We'll give him the money afterward."

At those words, several parents stepped forward quickly.

Two of them pulled me aside, while the rest swarmed in and yanked open the cargo doors. Some had already laid their hands on the pear crates.

"Don't touch them! You have no idea who these pears are meant for."

"What's the big deal? We're buying them first!

"Yeah! Ever heard of first-come, first-served?"

Mr. Dugan called out leisurely from behind, "Everyone, line up in an orderly fashion! Ten pounds per family—let's not be greedy."

He was as relaxed as if he were organizing a group purchase, when in reality it was nothing short of outright robbery.

I was pulled to the very edge of the crowd. No matter how much I pleaded, I couldn't stop their frenzied behavior.

Just as they were busy dividing up the pears among themselves, police sirens suddenly blared in the distance.

Two police cars cleared the way. The crowd that had just been frantically scrambling for the pears quickly scattered. Following behind the police cars were several black military-plated SUVs.

When the vehicles came to a stop, several state officials stepped out, their presence imposing and commanding even without a word. The moment they saw the pear crates scattered across the ground, their faces contorted with fury.

"These are pears specially ordered for this weekend's state banquet. Who said you could lay a finger on them?"