“On what?”
“Your existing contract, the condition of the material, the volumes, transportation, and whether we can handle it without disrupting our current obligations.”
He frowned.
“Can't you just give me a number?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The man looked irritated.
Then she added, “That's how your waste contractor got you into an arrangement you don't fully understand.”
His expression changed.
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he asked whether he could visit the facility.
She considered it.
He had insulted her father.
Mocked her work.
And spent months treating her like an embarrassment.
She had every reason to refuse.
But she wasn't building a business to punish people who had underestimated her.
She was building it because there was a legitimate need.
And a customer who became willing to learn deserved a chance to ask questions.
“You can schedule a visit,” she answered.
He looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“But you'll treat my employees respectfully.”
The man nodded slowly.
“And you'll stop calling their work garbage.”
He lowered his eyes.
Then nodded again.
“Fair enough.”
She stepped back toward the loading dock.
The heavyset farmer watched her go.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that the woman he'd spent a year laughing at no longer needed his approval.
She had customers.
Employees.
A contract.
And an operation that existed whether he believed in it or not.
Three weeks later, he returned.
This time, he didn't bring an audience.
Didn't make jokes.
Didn't point at the eggshells.
He wore clean work clothes and carried a folder containing his current disposal agreement.
Dileia met him inside the small office beside the processing area.
She invited him to sit.
Then introduced him to the company's operations manager.
For nearly an hour, they discussed practical details.
Volumes.
Material quality.
Handling procedures.
Collection schedules.
Costs.
Contractual obligations.
And the possibility of a future supply arrangement.
The older farmer listened carefully.
At the end of the meeting, he closed his folder.
Then looked toward the young woman.
“I owe you an apology.”
She became still.
He swallowed.
“I was cruel about your father.”
She didn't answer.
He continued.
“And I treated you like you didn't know anything because you were younger than me.”
His eyes moved toward the processing equipment beyond the office window.
“I was wrong.”
For several seconds, Dileia remained silent.
Then she nodded.
“Thank you.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I should've asked what you were doing.”
“Yes,” she replied.
He lowered his head.
Then she added, “You don't have to understand every new idea immediately.”
He looked up.