The girl did not look up.
“Morning.”
“How are the calves?”
“Alive.”
“Most?”
“All.”
The dealer’s expression changed.
“All ninety?”
“Yes.”
“Any serious illness?”
“None currently.”
He looked toward the distant isolation pasture.
“University still testing?”
“Yes.”
He rocked on his heels.
Then:
“I heard those vaccine tags make them worth money.”
The teenager tightened the valve.
“They were worth money before.”
He smiled.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Want to sell?”
“No.”
“You didn’t ask price.”
“No.”
“Two thousand.”
She looked up.
“For ninety?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
He frowned.
“You paid seven.”
“That was your problem.”
Her father hid a smile.
The dealer said:
“Five thousand.”
“No.”
“Ten.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“You know normal feeder calves aren’t worth what people are saying these are.”
“What are people saying?”
“Research value.”
“Breeding value.”
“Disease resistance.”
She stood.
“Disease resistance has not been proven genetically.”
The dealer looked irritated.
“Fine.”
“Vaccine value.”
“You can vaccinate any calves.”
“Not with that exact protocol right now.”
“Exactly.”
The teenage farmer wiped her hands.
“So you want to buy the paperwork attached to them.”
The dealer smiled.
“Twenty thousand.”
Her father looked up.
The girl did not answer immediately.
Twenty thousand dollars would matter.
A lot.
Their operating line was strained.
The loader needed tires.
The barn roof had a leak near the feed room.
Her father’s medical bills had eaten through most of their cash reserve.
Twenty thousand was real money.
The dealer saw the hesitation.
“Cash transfer today.”
Her father said nothing.
That mattered.
He was making her decide.
The teenager looked toward the north pasture.
Then:
“No.”
The dealer’s smile disappeared.
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe.”
“Thirty.”
Her father inhaled.
The girl looked at him.
He shrugged carefully with one shoulder.
“Your cattle.”
Not technically.
The farm owned them.
But he meant the decision.
The dealer said:
“Thirty thousand for calves you bought for seven dollars.”
“No.”
“Why?”
The teenager stared.
Because selling felt wrong.
That was not enough.
Feelings did not pay feed bills.
She needed a reason.
Then she found it.
“You’re paying for uncertainty.”
The dealer frowned.
“What?”
“You don’t know what they’re worth either.”
“You’re hoping the university data makes them special.”
“So am I.”
“Why should I sell you the uncertainty cheaply?”
The dealer stared.