"But not the final agreement."
"Correct."
The technician continued.
"Your father didn't want to commit you to something before you understood it."
The daughter became quiet.
That sounded like him.
Stubborn.
Careful.
And determined that nobody should be pressured into signing a contract they didn't understand.
Then the technician added, "He said you were good with records and logistics."
The daughter looked up.
"What?"
The man smiled.
"He told us about your job."
She stared.
"At the supply company?"
He nodded.
"All the time."
Her eyes filled.
She had assumed her father barely understood what she did in Des Moines.
He rarely asked about her promotions.
Didn't know the names of her coworkers.
And sometimes called her computer work office stuff.
But apparently, he'd been telling hatchery employees about her experience coordinating deliveries, managing inventory, and finding errors in complicated supply records.
The technician continued.
"He thought you might be able to help run the business side."
The daughter looked down.
For a moment, she didn't trust herself to speak.
Then she asked quietly, "Did he really say that?"
The technician nodded.
"He was proud of you."
The words hurt more than she expected.
She closed her eyes.
She wished he'd told her directly.
Wished she'd asked more questions.
Wished their last conversation hadn't ended with both of them pretending they weren't disappointed.
But she couldn't change those things.
What she could do was examine the opportunity he'd left behind.
She asked the technician to send the proposed management agreement.
Then she contacted the attorney.
And for the first time since returning to Hollow Creek Farm, she began building a financial plan instead of merely counting the days until the next bill arrived.
By the time the three hatchery trucks arrived, the young woman had already begun understanding why her father refused to abandon the ponds.
But she still didn't know that the final water certification had been approved.
The last round of independent sampling had been completed before his death, with a follow-up confirmation scheduled to ensure the results remained acceptable after changes in weather.
She knew the hatchery agreement existed.
She knew the fish had been reserved.
But she assumed the final delivery would take place months later, after additional repairs and after she formally approved the schedule.
The hatchery had attempted to contact her using information held in the original contract.
One message went to an old address.
Another arrived through the estate administration process.
The final notice was included in a packet the attorney sent while the daughter was dealing with a broken water line in the farmhouse.
She hadn't yet reviewed it.
The hatchery also believed an authorized estate representative would be present to approve the delivery, as provided in the agreement.
That misunderstanding could have become a serious problem.