CHAPTER 5 – NELLIE #2
She sent a formal survey data update to Alburn’s legal office at two in the afternoon, as required by the access agreement.
She included her coordinates for the day, her species list, and, because the terms required disclosure of any findings of potential ecological significance, a single line noting the presence of Botrychium multifidum in the eastern riparian zone.
She kept the entry precise and dry and revealed nothing of the fact that she’d had to sit very still for ten minutes after finding it before she could write accurate field notes.
At seven-thirty that evening, she called Paloma again from the porch, long before eleven and therefore a personal record.
“You’re calling way earlier than usual, which means you found something,” Paloma answered without bothering with hello. “Or did you run into a certain couture-clad CEO?”
“I found Botrychium multifidum in the eastern riparian seep zone.”
Paloma sighed deeply. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Leathery grapefern. It’s not listed at the federal level, but it qualifies under the state’s Priority Habitats list if I can document associated species meeting the co-occurrence threshold.”
“Which means?”
“Which means if I find two or three more things on that Priority Habitats list in the same zone—and I think I might—the whole riparian corridor becomes eligible for state designation as a priority habitat area. Which would trigger a mandatory review of the development proposal.” Nellie pulled her knees to her chest and looked out at the tree line.
The last light was moving through the canopy in glittering bands, the kind that made the forest look like it was made of something other than trees.
“I’ve been doing this for eight years and this might be the cleanest case I’ve ever walked into. ”
“Nellie… don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I’m not ahead of myself! I’m exactly parallel to myself.”
“You found one plant.”
“One plant is the tenth thing I’ve found, Pal. Not the first.”
“Okay,” Paloma conceded. “Okay, that’s—that does sound like something. Sorry, I’m just nervous about the chances of you actually winning against the big, rich folk.”
“I hear you. But what I have sounds like more than just something.” Nellie said it carefully.
Triumph before the data was solid was how you ended up overexposed in front of a county board.
Hope before the data was solid, though, was just how you got out of bed.
“Greater access to the northern zone would help, but Marsh’s restriction is holding so—”
Nellie’s phone pinged against her ear. Pulling it away from her head, she spotted an email notification from none other than Gina Marsh.
“Speak of the devil,” she muttered.
“What is it?” Paloma whispered, as if she was suddenly nervous her house was bugged.
“She’s just emailed me. ‘Reaching out to check in and ask if there were any concerns I could address proactively.’ Blah blah blah…
Oh…” Nellie found herself gritting her teeth.
“And she specifically mentions that he hopes the access arrangement was meeting my expectations, given that adjustments had been made to ensure ‘appropriate surveying protocols’ were followed.”
Nellie looked at the tree line and thought about Gina Marsh’s face and eyes that were warm and communicated precisely nothing. “She’s rattled.”
“Or she’s watching.” Paloma was still whispering like a damsel in a spy movie.
“Both aren’t mutually exclusive.” Nellie picked a loose thread on her sleeve. “I reported the Botrychium in my data submission today. If she’s monitoring what I send to the legal office—”
“Then she knows you’ve found something in the zone that bothers her.”
“Good.” Rattled people made mistakes. She’d seen it in county boards, in legal teams, and in development heads who’d been certain the case was locked and then discovered someone in rain pants had been methodically undermining every assumption they’d built it on.
Comfortable people missed things. Uncomfortable people got sloppy.
“I’ll let you know if she tries to pull anything. ”
“Nellie—”
“I’ll be careful.” She said it before Paloma could. “I’m always careful.”
“You once chained yourself to a tree for nineteen hours on four hours of sleep and a packet of rice crackers, Nellie Fuller.”
“You always take that story wildly out of context. I had my reasons. Good night, Pal.”
“Wait! Has she—? Actually, never mind.”
Nellie’s hand tightened on the phone. “Has she what?”
“Nothing. Go do your science.”
“Paloma.”
“It’s nothing. Sleep well.” The line clicked off.
Nellie sat on the porch for another twenty minutes, listening to the stream, and she did not think about what Paloma had been about to ask because the answer, in all likelihood, would have been no.
Then she went inside. She made tea. She opened her laptop to enter the day’s field data, and yet another inbox notification appeared at the top of the screen from Gina Marsh.
She read the subject line: Revised Site Access Permissions – Action Required.
She read the body. Then she read it again, more slowly.
The email contained a two-page attachment: a revised access permission form, neatly formatted, citing operational safety requirements.
It restricted her survey zones to exclude the upper eastern riparian corridor above the second survey boulder, the area immediately adjacent to the northern sector boundary, and—she read this sentence three times before she believed it—any area within a hundred meters of an active water feature without a company representative present.
Without a company representative present.
Nellie had documented eleven species in active water features today alone. The seep zone where she’d found the Botrychium was, by the form’s own proposed definition, off-limits unless Gina Marsh or one of her people stood at her elbow while she worked.
She sat back in her chair.
She picked up her tea and read the attachment again from the top, slowly,analyzing the exact words and the specific references cited.
Clause three. Gina had cited clause three of the original access agreement in support of the restriction. Standard operational survey parameters, as outlined in clause three of the Agreement dated—
Nellie pulled up the original contract.
She read clause three. Then she pulled the original agreement’s definition schedule, which was appended to the back, and read the definition of active water feature as the agreement’s authors had actually written it.
Then she read clause seven, which Gina had not cited, presumably because Gina had not read clause seven or had read it and concluded, incorrectly, that it didn’t apply.
“Gotcha,” she muttered to herself. “Better luck next time, Gina.”
Clause seven said, in language that was dense and specific and absolutely unambiguous, that any access restriction implemented after the agreement’s execution date required fourteen days’ written notice and written consent from both parties before taking effect.
Gina had given her forty-eight hours.
Nellie chuckled quietly, then cracked her neck like she was gearing up for a fight. The woodstove ticked softly behind her. She pulled the original contract into the markup tool and started highlighting.
It brought her a grim sort of satisfaction to imagine the look on the famous Sawyer Alburn’s face when she told her that her Head of Development wasn’t at all the sly fox she thought she was.
Then she wondered why she was thinking about Sawyer Alburn at all.