It was from Helvetic Agricultural Materials.
The message referred to an archived Walter Ashford sample and the distinctive appearance of the root sap.
It requested that she refrain from granting access or transferring samples until provenance and ownership could be verified.
It stated that a procurement team wished to contact her urgently.
Then came the sentence that made her heart stop.
Please tell us your commercial requirements. We believe your father's research may have substantial value.
Dileia stared.
She read the message three times.
Then looked toward the driveway.
A large pickup was parked near her gate.
Its windows were tinted.
The engine remained running.
For fifteen seconds, it sat there.
Then it drove away.
Dileia looked back at the message.
For the first time, she wondered whether the problem was no longer finding somebody who wanted the roots.
Maybe the real problem was that somebody already wanted them badly enough to make sure she couldn't sell them herself.
The morning of the auction confrontation, Dileia hadn't gone to the market expecting a miracle.
She went because she couldn't afford to waste another day.
The Nampa Produce Exchange was holding a seasonal agricultural auction, and several industrial crop buyers were expected to attend.
She loaded a selection of roots into large wooden crates.
Borrowed a trailer from the retired mechanic.
And left the farm before sunrise.
She had barely slept.
The encrypted message from Helvetic Agricultural Materials sat open on her phone.
She'd verified that the organization existed and contacted its published office number, but she still wasn't prepared to believe a company in Switzerland might solve her financial problems.
She'd been disappointed too many times.
She'd received letters that sounded promising.
Emails from researchers who wanted samples but had no funding.
And messages from buyers who disappeared as soon as she mentioned independent testing.
So she'd decided to keep her expectations low.
Then Harlon arrived.
He didn't need to be at the market.
His company didn't purchase root crops.
He owned land and equipment businesses, not a laboratory.
Yet he appeared almost immediately after Dileia unloaded the crates.
He walked straight toward her.
Smiling.
Pointing.
Mocking.
As though he'd been waiting for an audience.
Looking back later, Dileia would wonder whether the humiliation was part of his plan.
If he could make her feel ridiculous in front of every local buyer, perhaps she'd return home convinced that selling the farm to him was her only remaining option.
He underestimated her.
But more importantly, he'd underestimated the scientist traveling from Boise that morning.
Dr. Meier hadn't come to purchase roots blindly.