"I understand. But that's exactly why I'm not going to make you an offer until we know what we're proposing to build."
Kora was not used to people with money treating caution as a form of respect. She agreed to send the non-confidential health records once Leah approved them and noted Amelia's number beside the bank's deadline in her notebook. It was an interesting conversation, but interesting conversations did not pay the feed bill. She made herself keep both thoughts true at once.
The Harrington letter arrived six days later. It was delivered by courier in a thick envelope with an embossed logo, accompanied by a demand that she surrender the entire flock within twenty-four hours. It claimed the eggs had been removed without authorization, that Copper Crest was proprietary research stock, and that she posed a significant biosecurity risk by rearing birds outside an approved corporate facility. It also demanded that she preserve all records, cease public discussion of the batch, and acknowledge that any value generated by the birds belonged to Harrington Poultry Holdings.
Kora called Janet Vale before she had finished the second page. Janet asked whether she had signed any agreement with Harrington. She had not. Then Janet told her not to surrender a single bird, make any public accusation, or agree to an interview until they had examined the disposal documents and the company's actual legal interests. She also told Kora to put the flock's health first regardless of the dispute.
"I don't want to tell the wrong person they can take my birds because I'm frightened," Kora said.
"Then don't," Janet answered. "But I also don't want you assuming that abandoned physical property automatically settles every question about genetic research. We need to find out what the university agreement says."
Kora spread the papers across the kitchen table. She had been thinking of the dispute as a simple question of who had picked up something somebody else threw away. Janet was explaining that contracts and research funding could complicate that question in ways her signed transfer slip might not resolve alone. The fact did not make her want to give up; it made her want more facts.
Genevieve Harrington arrived two days later in a cream-colored coat that looked unsuitable for a working farm. A black SUV followed her through the gate, and a man carrying a leather portfolio stepped out beside her. Kora met them in the yard in jeans and work boots, her hair tied back and a clipboard under her arm, because she had no reason to pretend to be anything other than the person who had raised the birds.
"Mrs. Halstead," Genevieve said, extending a hand. "I'm pleased we can handle this personally."
Kora shook it once. "I assume you're here about the letter."
"A legal department can make a simple matter sound worse than it is. I prefer practical solutions."