Children usually reacted first.
"That looks disgusting."
Cole agreed.
One day a middle-school boy asked, "How did you know it would work?"
Cole gave the same answer he had given at Purdue.
"I didn't."
The boy frowned.
"But everybody says you knew."
"Everybody likes stories better after the ending."
"So you could've failed?"
"Absolutely."
The boy looked at the green field.
"Then why try?"
Cole crouched so they were closer to eye level.
"Because failing a measured experiment teaches you something. Doing nothing because people laugh teaches you almost nothing."
The boy nodded slowly.
Cole suspected Clara would have approved.
The five-acre origin story also attracted investors.
Most wanted scale.
One private-equity group proposed building regional residual-processing centers under the Evans name. Their presentation showed projected expansion across twelve states and revenue curves that climbed beautifully toward the right side of the screen.
Cole listened for forty minutes.
Then he asked who controlled feedstock acceptance.
The presenter said regional managers would optimize sourcing according to margin.
Cole asked who had authority to reject a profitable load that failed biological specifications.
The presenter said risk controls could be developed.
Cole closed the folder.
"No."
The lead investor looked stunned.
"You haven't seen the valuation."
"I saw the control structure."
"We're offering enough capital to make this the largest biological residual platform in North America."
"Then build one. Just don't put my name on it."
After they left, Lena stood in the doorway.
"Do you know how much money you just said no to?"
"Yes."
"Good. I wanted to make sure you were conscious."
Cole laughed.
"You agree with me?"
"Completely. Still hurts to watch."
Cole understood.