The following Monday, the bikers returned, their presence as intimidating as ever. But this time, I was ready. Armed with the information I had gathered and the support of my father’s friend, I felt a new sense of confidence.
“We need more time,” I told their leader, my voice steady despite the fear that still lingered beneath the surface.
He regarded me with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, as if trying to gauge my resolve.
“You’ve got a week,” he said finally, the words both a reprieve and a challenge.
As they left, I knew that the clock was ticking, but I also felt a renewed determination to protect my family.
With the deadline looming, I threw myself into finding a solution, spending every spare moment researching and reaching out to anyone who might be able to help.
The days passed in a blur of phone calls, meetings, and late nights poring over documents.
But slowly, piece by piece, a plan began to take shape—a way to pay off the debt and free my family from the shadows of my father’s past.
And with each step forward, the weight on my shoulders grew a little lighter, the path ahead a little clearer.
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