"Good man. Pays slow sometimes."
"Paid on pickup."
Marcus nodded as though that annoyed him slightly.
He walked to the pasture with them but stopped at the permanent fence rather than crossing without invitation. The correction did not escape Norah.
"I came to make one final offer," he said.
Eli waited.
"Twelve thousand for Logs 1, 2, and 3. You keep everything else. I handle extraction."
Norah's pulse jumped.
Twelve thousand dollars in 1989 was not abstract to the Bells. It represented multiple years of property tax, farm repairs, feed, and enough breathing room to turn bad seasons into survivable ones.
Eli did not react.
"Why those three?"
Marcus looked at him as if they were past pretending.
"Because they're the best."
"How did you know the first morning?"
Marcus rubbed his jaw.
"My father used to buy sinker cypress farther south. I grew up seeing black logs come out of old sloughs. Tight end grain. Mineral skin. Tool marks. When I saw the size, I figured there was a chance."
Norah folded her notebook against her chest.
"You knew the mark?"
"Not Bellamy and Cross specifically. But I knew it was an old company mark, not something cut last year."
"And you called them junk."
Marcus looked at her.
"I was trying to buy timber."
"By making us think it wasn't timber."
He did not answer immediately.
"Yes," he said finally.
Eli's eyebrows rose slightly.
Marcus continued. "You want me to tell you I feel proud of that? No. You want me to pretend buyers don't try to buy under value? They do."
"Farmers do it at cattle auctions. Antique dealers do it at estate sales. Everybody wants margin."
Norah felt anger but also recognized the honesty.
"There's a difference between margin and lying."
Marcus nodded once. "Fair."
It was the closest he came to apology.
Eli looked toward the marked logs.
"We're not selling the three as a group."
Marcus exhaled. "You'll sit on them for years."
"Maybe."
Marcus laughed. "You really ruined that word for me."
"Norah did."
"I noticed."
He looked at her. "What do you want to do with them?"
Norah had not expected him to ask.
"Understand them."
"Wood doesn't care if you understand it."
"Maybe I do."
Marcus considered her answer.
Then nodded.
"Call me if you change your mind."
He walked back to the truck.