“Now you.”
“Employees?”
“No.”
Daniel leaned back.
Maya immediately became defensive.
“There’s nothing to announce yet.”
“I didn’t say there was.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking your grandfather would have told everyone too early and caused panic.”
Maya stared.
“That is not what I expected you to say.”
Daniel smiled.
“My father was excellent at many things.”
“Keeping uncertainty private until it became useful was not one.”
She looked toward Noah’s photograph.
“He would’ve called a meeting.”
“At six in the morning.”
“With charts.”
“Bad charts.”
Maya laughed despite herself.
Then became serious.
“We got another offer.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“For what?”
“You know what.”
The compost division.
Three years earlier, Westland Resource Systems had offered to buy a majority position in Cedar Creek’s organics business.
The board rejected it.
Now Westland was back.
Larger offer.
More sophisticated.
They wanted sixty percent.
Cedar Creek would retain land, flowers, crops, and minority ownership in the organics operations.
Westland would inject enough capital to eliminate equipment debt, finish the curing bays, expand transport coverage, and stabilize payroll.
The offer would also make Maya personally wealthy.
Not absurdly wealthy.
But enough that money would stop being a daily concern.
She hated that part.
It made every analysis feel contaminated.
Daniel asked:
“How much?”
She told him.
He whistled.
“I hate when people whistle at numbers.”
“That one deserved it.”
“They want control.”
“Yes.”
“Volume expansion?”
“Eventually.”
“How much?”
“Potentially double.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“There isn’t room.”
“They’d move some processing off-site.”
“Where?”
“Industrial parcel near Aberdeen.”
“So Cedar Creek becomes brand.”
“Partly.”
Daniel looked toward window.
Rain streaked black glass.
“What does board think?”
“Split.”
“Employees?”
“Haven’t seen full offer.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s confidential.”
Daniel nodded.
That was fair.
Then:
“What do you think?”
Maya closed the laptop.
“I don’t know.”
Her father smiled slightly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“You sound like Noah.”
She frowned.
“No, I don’t.”
“He said ‘I don’t know’ more as he got older.”
“When he was young, he had an answer to everything.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
Maya looked at the photograph again.
“I know what people expect.”
“Who?”
“Everybody.”
“Farm employees.”
“Harbor Point.”
“Local papers.”
“Family.”