Soon everyone dispered from the shop.
Ethan took the sack of gold and looked at Harold.
"Old man," Ethan called out.
Harold looked up, still not used to being addressed that way. "Yes?"
Ethan was holding the sack of gold Henry had paid earlier. He tossed it lightly, and Harold caught it instinctively, nearly dropping it when he felt the weight.
"What... what is this?" Harold stammered, his eyes wide.
"One hundred gold. Take it."
Harold's hands shook as he untied the drawstring. Gold coins glinted back at him, more wealth than he had seen in the past decade combined. "B-but this is yours. You earned it. I can't—"
"You can, and you will," Ethan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This shop needs to change. The sign outside is old and falling apart. The interior is dusty and cramped. If we're going to do business with the kind of people who will show up soon, we need a proper establishment."
