Rogan raises an eyebrow. "You going to take it?"
"I don't know." I pull out the business card. Study it under the parking lot light. "Maybe if I understand what he's actually planning, I can find a way to stop it."
"Or maybe he'll convince you he's right."
"He's not right."
"No," Rogan agrees. "But he's not exactly wrong either. Those farmers are hurting. If we can't offer them something real, what are we asking them to sacrifice?"
The question sits heavy between us.
I don't have an answer. Just a pocket full of seeds and a notebook full of plans that don't add up to the kind of money that pays for hip surgery or tiller parts or another season.
"I need to think," I say.
Rogan nods. Doesn't push. Just stands there in the cold parking lot like a fixed point while everything else tilts.
"Let me know if you need backup," he says finally.
"For what?"
"Whatever comes next."
He walks to his car. I watch him go, then climb into my truck and sit in the dark cab with Marcus Webb's business card in my hand and three weeks press down on my chest.
End of month. That's when Jensen closes.
Three weeks to find an answer I don't have.
Mayor Elsie's office smells like cinnamon rolls and old coffee. She sits behind a desk piled with papers, reading glasses perched on her nose, a half-eaten pastry on a napkin beside her keyboard.
"Come in, come in." She waves me toward the chair. "I've been expecting you."
I sit. My notebook feels heavy in my lap.
"You saw the meeting," I say.
"I did." She takes off her glasses. Rubs the bridge of her nose. "Marcus Webb is very persuasive."
"Too persuasive."
"Maybe." She picks up her coffee mug. Takes a sip. Grimaces at the cold liquid. "But he's offering something real, Ivy. Cash. Security. Things people need."
"Things that destroy what makes this town worth saving."
"I know." Her voice is tired. "Believe me, I know."
I lean forward. "There has to be another option. A cooperative model. Something that keeps the land in production while supporting the farmers."
"Like what?"
"Community-supported agriculture. A land trust. Collective ownership with profit-sharing." I flip open my notebook. Show her the sketches I made last night at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep. "If we pool resources, negotiate bulk contracts with restaurants and institutions, create a distribution network?—"
"Ivy." She holds up a hand. "How long would that take to set up?"
I pause. "Six months. Maybe a year."
"Jensen closes in three weeks."
