Terrified.
“They blended.”
Luke’s heart pounded.
“Blended what?”
Mason stepped toward his pickup.
“Ask your lawyer to subpoena K-17.”
“What is K-17?”
Mason opened the door.
Luke grabbed the edge before he could close it.
“Mason.”
The man looked at him.
“Was my grandfather lied to?”
Mason’s face broke.
For one second, Luke saw the man who gave him a baseball cap when he was twelve.
“Yes.”
Then he slammed the door.
Drove away.
Luke called Marisol from the parking lot.
She listened.
Then said:
“Write down every word now.”
“I remember.”
“Write it.”
He did.
“K-17.”
Marisol repeated.
“Yes.”
“Do not search company systems.”
“I don't have company systems.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying do not get cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“Stop using that.”
She hung up.
Three days later, Ashford filed suit.
Not against the state.
Against Harper Farms.
Breach of contract.
Interference with proprietary materials.
Defamation was not included.
Probably because Luke had barely spoken publicly.
The lawsuit claimed the farm had mishandled slag contrary to intended use, potentially contaminating material after delivery.
Earl read the complaint twice.
Then threw it across the kitchen.
“They are blaming us.”
Luke picked it up.
Marisol sat opposite.
“Predictable.”
Earl stared.
“You said that like it’s weather.”
“In my work it is.”
“They put it there.”
“They will argue the material was compliant when delivered.”
“And later contamination came from farm activities.”
“We have samples by age.”
“Yes.”
“Delivery records.”
“Yes.”
“Contract warranties.”
“Yes.”
“Then breathe.”
Earl looked toward her.
“You ever lose a farm?”
Marisol became quiet.
“No.”
“Then don't tell me breathe like you know how.”
Luke expected her to react.
She did not.
“You're right.”
Earl’s anger weakened.
Marisol continued.
“I have lost cases.”
“I've watched companies with better evidence lose because they got arrogant.”
“I've watched farmers with good facts destroy themselves by lying about one bad fact.”
“So I will not promise you this ends well.”
“What I can tell you is that your documentation is unusually good.”
Earl looked toward his filing cabinet.
“Because I don't throw things away.”
“Yes.”
Marisol smiled faintly.
“Your inability to clean an office may save you.”
Luke looked toward the pile.
“What’s K-17?”
Marisol opened another folder.
“We don't know yet.”
“But I requested Ashford’s waste profiles, process-change notices, baghouse records, and material classification documents.”
“Voluntarily?”
“They declined.”
“Of course.”
“So now we ask court.”
The state issued an interim order restricting disturbance of the site.
No removal.
No spreading.
Dust controls.
Runoff barriers.
Ashford publicly stated it was cooperating.
Privately, Roger called Marisol every day.
She enjoyed not answering immediately.
Then the second laboratory report arrived.
The state had taken independent samples.
Results broadly matched Dana’s.
The newest slag contained elevated chromium, nickel, lead, and other metals.
Some leach tests triggered hazardous-characteristic concerns depending on sample.
The older piles were much less problematic.
Three-year transition.
Exactly as Mason implied.
Marisol filed for emergency discovery.
The judge granted limited records.
Ashford produced thousands of pages.
Mostly useless.
Luke spent nights reading anyway.