"How many fish?" he asked.
"I couldn't tell you. Thousands, I think. The eastern cove is packed."
"And you didn't authorize the transfer?"
"I didn't even know it was happening."
"Did she give you transport records or a health certificate?"
"She gave me an invoice."
There was a pause, followed by the faint rustle of paper. "Robert, I want you to do two things. First, don't pay a cent or sign anything. Second, don't allow anybody to remove those fish until we establish what they are and whether moving them again would make a bad situation worse."
I told him I had photographed some of the tags. He asked me to send the pictures and keep the originals on my phone. Then he said something that made me look toward the pond again. "We need a fisheries specialist out there quickly. Forget the money for now. If that many animals were put into your pond at once, water quality could become an emergency before a court has time to do anything."
That was a point I hadn't considered clearly enough. I had spent the morning thinking about trespassing, invoices, and the nerve of a woman who treated my land like a spare closet. The fish were alive, and whatever Karen had done to me, I was now responsible for the place where they were struggling to breathe. I called Claire and asked her to bring the portable aerator from the equipment shed while I checked the main unit.
Claire arrived in forty minutes, still wearing the navy scrubs from the veterinary clinic where she worked. Ethan climbed out behind her, seventeen and all elbows, carrying a notebook and the expression of a boy who had heard the words thousands of fish and believed somebody had finally invented his idea of heaven. That expression vanished when he reached the bank.
"Grandpa," he said quietly, "they don't look right."
"No, son. They don't."
Claire knelt beside the shallow water and watched a trout roll near the surface. "They're crowding for oxygen," she said. "Or reacting to handling stress. Maybe both. Have you called somebody who deals with fish?"
I nodded. "Daniel is arranging it. In the meantime we're giving them the best chance we can."
We worked until sunset, checking the aeration equipment, moving the portable unit into position, and keeping clear of the crowded fish. Ethan wrote down what he saw instead of trying to catch one, which made me proud of him in a way I didn't say aloud. When we finished, Claire stood beside me on the bank with her hands in her pockets.
"Did Karen really send you a bill?" she asked.
I handed her the invoice. She read the amount and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. Then she looked across the darkening water, where the aerator's soft disturbance had become the only ordinary sound. "Dad, this isn't funny," she said.
"I know."
"Whatever those fish are worth, please don't let this become another fight you think you have to handle alone."