Chapter 9 #2
This meeting was unlike others I’d attended at Sugar Moon.
In addition to the CEO, Louisa Meyers, Ethan Calloway, the CFO was here.
Leaning back in his seat like he didn’t have a care in the world.
He looked like he’d been born in a dress shirt and cuff links.
While our paths crossed a fair amount in town, I generally stayed away. Too slick and too smart to trust.
We went through the usual overview of timelines and yields, then reviewed recent weather patterns and quality testing. Every word felt more measured than usual, the murder and the fire sitting between us like an elephant at the table.
“I have no plans to sell elsewhere.” Sitting back, I crossed my arms.
Sure, I’d been approached by other manufacturers, but this partnership with Sugar Moon was necessary in order to secure financial stability for myself as well as other farmers in the area.
Ethan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Joshua,” he said slowly.
He was deliberately calling me by my full name as an intimidation tactic. It only had the opposite effect. I sat up a bit straighter and met his eye.
“It would be bad business not to consider other offers. And although you and I have had our differences, you’ve never been bad at business.”
“The Fitzgeralds didn’t sign the contract.” Alex said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt.
Interesting. The Fitzgerald Farm was on the south side of town and produced almost as much sap annually as we did. They’d fought off bankruptcy, lawsuits and developers to keep their farm from going corporate. Mary Fitzgerald was in her eighties and was known as a shrewd negotiator.
“And others are grumbling,” Louisa added. She sat at the head of the table, back straight, suit immaculate, and expression cool. She hadn’t joined a meeting with my farm in the last five years. Not until things caught fire. Literally.
The tension thickened as her words rang out. I didn’t have patience for posturing.
“Once I’m paid for last season, I will sign next year’s contract,” I reminded them.
“Thank you for bearing with us through the payment delays,” she said, clasping her manicured hands.
I only dipped my chin. While I understood that the murder, her arrest, and the fire had done a number on them, at the end of the day, I needed to be paid. That sap had already been sugared, bottled, and shipped across the country to be consumed. Sympathy wouldn’t fund my payroll.
“We’re working on it,” Ethan said flatly, clearly bothered that he owed me and not the other way around.
“Accounting will reach out,” Alex said, scribbling a note on the legal pad in front of him.
“But in the meantime, it would do us all good if you signed next year’s exclusive distribution contract. So we’re all on the same page,” Ethan drawled, spinning his expensive pen in his fingers.
Irritation crawled through me, making me shift in my seat. “No.”
The word landed hard. Alex grimaced while Ethan’s eyes went hard.
I sat straighter. “I’m not signing a contract guaranteeing to sell you my sap at this lower price without payment for last season. And it’s too early to make predictions about demand, weather, and yields. Locking in at this rate is not good business. I won’t gamble my family’s livelihood.”
Louisa’s lacquered red lips pursed in frustration.
“We’re renewing our commitment to organics,” Ethan said, his expression stony. “Maybe we should do another round of environmental audits.”
There it was.
A threat.
An empty one, but it sent a ripple of anger through me anyway.
“My farm was federally certified two years ago,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“Which means we’re exempt from company audits.
Only the department of agriculture has jurisdiction.
And I’d welcome them. Our upgrades are best in class.
” Lacing my fingers on the tabletop, I shifted forward and looked at Alex.
“Your compliance team has all my consultant reports and certification paperwork, correct?”
He nodded, keeping his eyes down.
I felt for the guy. He was in a tough spot. But strong-arming me into a shitty contract was not going to save their business.
“And it seems you rejected the suggested implementation of BGX-9 for this season,” Ethan said, flipping through his phone as if he was already bored of this conversation.
“Don’t need some untested fertilizer,” I said. Those damn sales reps had been relentless, but we had our systems, and my root nutrition was already optimized. But they knew all of this because I filed annual reports with Alex and the state department of agriculture.
“It’s not a fertilizer,” he said. “It’s a bioorganic enhancer. And we’re seeing excellent results from other farms.”
“My trees are my concern,” I said with a grin. “You guys should be more worried about paying my invoices.” I ran my hand through my hair. Five more minutes in this airless room and I’d lose my mind. “And I’m happy to involve my legal counsel,” I added, “if you have more questions.”
Louisa shot me a disgusted look and gathered up her files. “We just want to make sure next season is unaffected.”
I nodded. “Things are stable on my end.”
Without another word, she left the room. Ethan followed, shooting me a smug look on his way out and leaving me with Alex, who looked defeated.
“What’s really going on?” I asked Alex.
“Wish I could say.” He sighed. “But I’m just trying to hold it all together.”
I studied his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the restless energy. When systems broke down, good people always paid the price.
“Should I be looking for other buyers?” I asked point-blank.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “Give me another month.”
After we said goodbye, I walked back to my car, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and cursing the time I’d lost to this bullshit meeting.
I was leaving with more questions than answers, and this wasn’t the first time.
It was as if the world had stopped moving. Pausing to watch and wait.
For the sap to run.
For the bills to be paid.
Or for something else to break.