"Then stay and be disrespectful in person."
The second order was larger.
A private lake manager in Virginia wanted certified stock for a long-term sport-fishing program. They requested growth records and health data before agreeing.
For the first time, Ethan's charts became part of a commercial proposal.
He pretended not to care when Tom praised them.
He cared deeply.
The third customer found us through the trust registry.
A small hatchery wanted access to a limited group of certified breeding fish under a supervised transfer arrangement.
That sale required Martin's approval and more paperwork than both earlier orders combined.
It also paid enough to make me understand what Tom had meant by specialized breeding value.
By midsummer, the business had a name.
Hayes Riverstone Aquatics.
I resisted using Riverstone at first.
"Sounds like I am pretending I own their history."
Martin disagreed.
"The trust approved it."
"Still sounds grand."
"You are seventy acres away from an HOA that spent six months trying to erase the name. Use it."
So we did.
The logo was Ethan's idea.
A simple outline of a trout over two curved water lines.
I hated the first four versions.
He told me that was because I had no taste.
The fifth looked clean enough that I stopped complaining.
The website came next.
Nothing fancy.
About page.
Available stock.
Management practices.
Contact form.
A section explaining the Riverstone line without making exaggerated claims.
Tom reviewed every technical statement.
Martin reviewed every historical statement.
Daniel reviewed everything that could become a legal statement.
By the time the website went live, three adults and one teenager had removed nearly every adjective from Ethan's original copy.
"This sounds boring," he complained.
"Good," Daniel said. "Boring websites get sued less."
"You people ruin everything."
The business did not explode overnight.
That part matters.
One week there would be three inquiries.
Then nothing for ten days.
A customer would ask for a quote and disappear.
Another would request hundreds of fish before discovering transport costs.
One resort owner wanted us to guarantee a particular trophy size within a year.
Tom told me to decline.
"Never promise biology a deadline."
Another buyer wanted undocumented stock at a discount.
I declined that too.
The entire value of the operation depended on records, traceability, and doing things correctly.
Selling around the rules would have turned Karen's mistake into ours.
By August, we had crossed our first meaningful revenue milestone.
Not one hundred thousand.
Not even close.
But enough that the business account no longer looked like a one-way drain.
I began paying Ethan for actual work.
He protested because he thought being family meant volunteering.
I told him being family was exactly why he needed to learn that work had value.