"I'll be direct."
Cole waited.
"The European consortium responsible for the heirloom trial batches has a problem."
"What kind?"
"Fire."
Marcus opened the binder.
"A storage facility associated with one of their seed laboratories in France experienced a major fire."
Cole's expression changed.
"Seed stock?"
"Destroyed."
"All of it?"
"Not all varieties."
Marcus turned several pages.
"But baseline mother stock for seven of the lines processed at our facility has been severely compromised."
Cole understood before the executive finished.
Marcus continued.
"The consortium reconstructed the chain of custody."
"They traced remaining material."
"Some research samples exist."
"Some grow-outs exist."
"But the strongest viable field population connected to those specific processed batches is here."
Cole looked toward the rows.
The late-season vines rustled in warm wind.
Marcus pushed the binder closer.
"Your field."
For several seconds, Cole said nothing.
He thought about the trucks.
The smell.
Arthur laughing.
The county citation.
Clara's notebooks.
All those seeds suspended inside something the factory wanted gone.
Marcus opened to a marked page.
"The board authorized me to make you an offer."
Cole read.
Five-year exclusive master agreement.
He slowed.
Funding for a two-acre climate-controlled seed-processing and preservation facility.
Laboratory equipment.
Storage infrastructure.
Contracted logistics.
Crop-production support.
A guaranteed annual retainer:
$350,000.
Cole looked up.
"Why me?"
Marcus appeared surprised.
"Because you have the genetics."
"That's not what I mean."
Cole closed the binder.
"You could buy the seed."
"Contract somebody bigger."
"Move it somewhere else."
Marcus considered.
"The consortium doesn't simply want seed."
"They want preservation under field conditions."
"They want documented regeneration."
"Isolation."
"Selection."
"Soil-management work."
"And frankly, your season attracted attention."
"You took material we classified as waste and produced a functioning genetic reservoir."
Cole smiled faintly.
"That's a generous way of saying you dumped it here."
Marcus laughed.
"Fair."
Cole opened the contract again.
He read carefully.
Every page.
Marcus waited.
Finally Cole said:
"I'll consider it."
Marcus leaned forward.
"What do you need changed?"
"One condition."
"Name it."
Cole pointed across the ridge.
Beyond the original five acres was another parcel he had recently leased.
"Next spring, when Midwest Canning cleans out the seasonal organic processing residue, I want first refusal on compatible tomato waste suitable for agricultural reuse."
Marcus blinked.
"The waste?"
"Yes."
"You want more?"
"Properly documented."
"Tested."
"Delivered."
Marcus stared for a second.