She smiled faintly.
“That's what you keep saying.”
He looked toward the pallets.
Then the equipment.
Then the workers moving through the loading area.
His companion stood beside him, visibly uncomfortable.
Finally, the heavyset farmer turned toward the young woman.
“How much are you making?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That's a business question.”
He frowned.
“I'm asking.”
“And I'm telling you that contract revenue and profit aren't the same thing.”
The lean farmer glanced toward his friend.
Then spoke quietly.
“She knows what she's doing.”
The heavyset farmer turned sharply.
“What?”
His companion looked toward the processing shed.
“I toured the facility. It's a real operation.”
The older man's face reddened.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
The lean farmer took a breath.
“I tried.”
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.
Then the heavyset farmer looked toward the young woman.
His expression became bitter.
“So you made everybody think you were piling up garbage while you were building a factory?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice was steady.
“I told you exactly what I was building.”
He opened his mouth.
She continued.
“You laughed every time.”
The words settled between them.
For the first time, the older farmer had nothing to say.
Then she stepped closer.
“Your company pays somebody to haul away eggshells every week.”
He frowned.
“Of course.”
She gestured toward the trucks.
“Mine processes suitable material into products customers agree to purchase.”
The man stared.
She continued.
“That doesn't mean every shell is valuable. It doesn't mean every shipment meets specifications. And it doesn't mean the business is easy.”
She looked toward the enormous pile.
“But it means the material deserves more thought than simply calling it trash.”
The heavyset farmer looked toward his companion.
Then slowly lowered his eyes.
The manufacturer's representative glanced at his watch.
“We should begin loading.”
The young woman nodded.
“Go ahead.”
The forklift moved.
A pallet rolled toward the first trailer.
Employees checked the shipment labels against the release documentation.
And the young woman stood beside the loading dock watching the first contracted deliveries begin.
Her father had dreamed of this moment.
Not the dollar amount.
Not the attention.
The sight of useful material leaving the farm because somebody had finally built a process worth paying for.
She felt tears rising.
Then she heard the heavyset farmer speak.
“Wait.”
She turned.
His expression was different now.
No longer mocking.
No longer triumphant.
He looked uncertain.
“What would it cost for you to take my shells?”
For a moment, she stared.
Then she smiled faintly.
“That depends.”