“Oh, I'm beginning to understand yours.”
Harlon's face hardened.
“Don't get excited. An expensive research proposal doesn't mean those roots are worth twelve million dollars.”
Dr. Meier adjusted his glasses.
“That's correct.”
Harlon smiled triumphantly.
But the scientist wasn't finished.
“It also doesn't explain why your company submitted the proposal while claiming control of material it apparently did not own.”
The smile vanished.
Dr. Meier looked toward Dileia.
“Your father documented a remarkable root-derived biopolymer. Our laboratory has preserved samples from his early research for years.”
Her heart began pounding.
“You knew my father?”
“Not personally. But I know his work.”
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, “He sent you samples?”
The scientist nodded.
“Eight years ago.”
Dileia felt tears rising.
Her father had talked about Switzerland.
About laboratories.
About somebody eventually recognizing the unusual behavior of the crop.
She'd believed those stories were little more than hope.
Dr. Meier continued.
“His samples were cataloged under his name. When your recent photographs appeared on the research procurement platform, our scientists compared the visible characteristics with the archived material.”
He looked toward the cut roots.
“The resemblance was strong enough to justify immediate contact, though proper identification and testing are still required.”
Dileia swallowed.
Then asked the question that mattered more than any number.
“Did my father discover something real?”
The scientist looked at her.
His expression became gentle.
“Yes.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Something useful?”
He nodded.
“Potentially very useful.”
She covered her mouth.
For a moment, the market disappeared.
The laughter.
The insults.
The debt.
The staring farmers.
Everything faded beneath one overwhelming thought.
Her father hadn't been crazy.
He hadn't spent twenty years chasing a fantasy.
He had seen something inside those strange roots that other people had refused to examine.
And now, two years after his death, somebody had finally come to tell his daughter that his work mattered.
Then Harlon stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous! That crop is practically abandoned. She can't even afford to harvest it!”
Dileia turned.
Something inside her snapped.
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
The words exploded across the market.
Harlon froze.
She pointed toward his chest.
“You stood in front of everybody and called my father a fool. You told me to sell my land before the bank took it. You laughed while I carried two tons of roots into this market.”
Her voice shook with fury.
“And all this time, you knew there was something valuable buried beneath my fields!”
Harlon opened his mouth.
She didn't let him speak.
“Don't you dare tell me what I understand!”
A few farmers stepped backward.