“I’m still not finished.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. My wife, taking no prisoners.
She pulls out one more section. Not charts or timelines. Just a single page of notes.
“One more thing,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I’ve noticed some irregularities in our operational data over the past year. Delivery delays from specific vendors that don’t match historical patterns. Insurance rate adjustments that seem disconnected from our actual risk profile. Supply chain disruptions that feel... coordinated.”
Marlon’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes.
“I haven’t connected all the dots yet,” Delaney continues. “But I mention it only because I want you to know we’re not operating blindly. We see the landscape changing around us. We’re prepared to adapt and respond as needed.”
She closes the folder.
“We’re asking for fair consideration based on our actual financial position, Mr. Ennis. Our documented improvements. Our secured grant funding. And our commitment to this ranch and this community.”
The silence stretches.
Marlon shuffles papers. Puts his glasses back on. Takes them off again.
I hold my breath.
“Mrs. Sutton.” He finally looks up. “Your documentation is... thorough.”
“Thank you.”
“The grant approval does change the risk profile. Significantly.”
My pulse pounds. Delaney’s hand finds mine under the desk. Squeezes.
“I can offer a six-month conditional extension on existing terms.” Marlon’s voice is careful. Measured. “Contingent on the grant funds being disbursed as scheduled and your Q3 operational reports showing continued improvement along the trajectory you’ve outlined.”
Six months.
Not a complete victory. But not a loss either.
Breathing room. Time to build. Time to fight.
“We’ll take it,” I say.
Marlon nods. Slides papers across the desk. “Sign here. And here.”
I sign. Delaney signs.
Mrs. Delaney Sutton, in her careful handwriting, right next to mine.
“The formal documentation will be ready by the end of business tomorrow.” Marlon stands. Offers his hand. “I hope this works out for you both.”
“It will,” Delaney says.
And I believe her.
The sun hits my face as we step outside, and I’ve never been so grateful for fresh air.
For a moment, we stand on the sidewalk. Breathing. Processing.
We did it.
Delaney turns to me, her eyes bright. “We actually did it.”
