Sabrina
Curled up on my childhood bed, I dug deep for the will to eat.
A crash on the other end of the phone line startled me, and when it was followed by a high-pitched voice whining, “he took my waffle.” I stifled a laugh.
“Give your brother the waffle,” Meg commanded. “You have two hands. Give one to him and keep one for yourself.”
The epic insanity of Meg’s house was comedic.
She could have a reality show. Her kids were cute, but God, they were a handful.
The kind of handful I’d never have to manage.
Years ago, I’d realized that kids weren’t for me.
Not only because I worked too much, but because I’d yet to find even one single man I’d be interested in procreating with.
My childhood had been difficult. That was a factor too.
Being an introverted only child, losing my dad young, and watching my mom struggle. It had been rough.
There was nothing magical about it.
Even so, I respected the hell out of Meg’s decision. She’d seen some shit in her career; I understood why she’d chosen to walk away. A life revolving around music classes and potty training couldn’t be more different from intelligence work, but if anyone deserved joy, it was her.
“I’m here,” she said. “And I’ve got intel.”
“Mom,” another voice asked. “Are you doing your spy job? You said when you work, we get to watch Dora.”
“I’m retired,” Meg said to her daughter. “I’m talking to Auntie Sabrina. And yes, you can watch TV. Just eat your waffle and make sure Jackson doesn’t shove it up his nose.”
A door thumped shut, and then my friend sighed into the phone.
“Okay,” she said, her voice all business again. “I hacked a Canadian agricultural database.”
I pulled up short. “What?”
“Don’t get too excited,” she groused. “It was barely protected. Honestly, I was a bit offended.”
“Meg. Focus.”
“Okay, okay. So. Arcadian Biotech.”
I huffed. “That means nothing to me.”
“They are the parent company of AgriNova. Registered in Delaware. American owned and operated but have a big presence in Canada.”
“So they make our maple tree supplement. BGX-9?”
My stomach clenched. Shit. I really should eat something. But I didn’t have the energy to get up.
“Hate these fuckers. They settled a lawsuit in Manitoba two years ago, then went to great lengths to cover it up. They destroyed data and doled out a lot of hush money to keep things quiet.”
I frowned up at the ceiling. “What kind of lawsuit?”
“Ninety-five percent of Canadian maple syrup comes from Quebec and Ontario. But a couple of years ago, Manitoban farmers got ambitious and agreed to a ‘green partnership’ with Arcadian.”
“Okay.”
“It was a total catastrophe. Year one, the yields were incredible. Not just volume of sap but sugar content too. And then in year two, trees started getting sick.”
Breath held, I gripped the phone tighter.
“Yield collapse. Soil degradation. Trace metal accumulation,” she listed. “All the greatest hits of agricultural Armageddon.” She tapped at her keyboard. “Farmers went bust after betting big in the first year. And guess who came in and bought up land?”
“Arcadian?” I said, my stomach dropping.
“Yes. For pennies on the dollar. Put these farmers out of business. Then collapsed the local economy. It was done on a somewhat small scale, since Manitoba is not peak maple country, but there seems to be a pattern here.”
“The supplement was called Evergreen-9. But when I borrowed the formula specs from Arcadian—”
“Borrowed?” I questioned, a brow arching.
“Choose peace, Sabrina.”
I groaned. That catchphrase was an inside joke between the two of us.
Over the years, when Meg acquired information using ethically murky methods or straight-up illegal shit, she’d tell me to “choose peace.” It was a signal to stop that line of questioning.
That way I could protect my plausible deniability and prevent future subpoenas.
She hadn’t said that to me since… Shit. Since Eastgate.
And now I was nauseated again.
All the people I’d trusted had either betrayed me or ghosted me after the scandal. But not Meg. She’d stuck by me always.
“Okay. Choosing peace,” I said. “What did you find?”
“The chemical makeup is identical to BGX-9. After this incident, they just changed the name. And Arcadian is working in the background, having AgriNova selling it instead. Better reputation, more legitimate agricultural products, and bigger US sales force.”
I sighed. “A rebrand.”
“Yup. New language, new packaging, new distribution.”
“And now AgriNova is selling this in Vermont. After buying up distressed Canadian farms.”
“Gold star for you,” she said. “And not just Vermont. I’ve tracked sales in New Hampshire and Ontario too.”
A lump formed in my throat. “And Sugar Moon Maple is pushing this.”
She hummed. “No idea why. They boil, package, and distribute the syrup. And with CostMart as their biggest customer and with their demand for organics, I don’t get it,” she said. “Unless they’re unaware or being lied to. The marketing copy was basically lifted from Arcadian’s internal language.”
“You’re kidding.” I sighed again. I’d done a lot of that on this call.
We’d both been down this road before. Many, many times. I knew all too well the corporate playbook for making information disappear and pivoting to maximize profits regardless of the cost.
An ear-piercing scream on the other end of the phone startled me out of my thoughts, and I nearly dropped my phone.
“Mom, he poured syrup on the dog.”
“Fuck.” Meg whispered the curse, then raised her voice. “Why would you do that?”
“He looked hungry.”
“Go get a towel,” she growled, then said, “Okay, Sabrina. Gotta run.”
“Go,” I replied, my brain already mapping this new information. “I’m going to think about this. Let’s connect tomorrow. I’ve got a town meeting to prep for tonight.”
“Good luck.”