My eyes nearly pop out of my head in disbelief. “What?”
“We need her.” Donner places his hands on his hips. “Everyone will chip in. If that’s not enough, we can go to sixty.”
Pane squeezes my hand as he walks past me and speaks to the valuator. “There are communities all over the country who want something like this. There are private homes that would pay, too. I predict that by the end of the week, we’ll be sold out of piggycorns. The demand for them will only continue to grow, and we”—he drapes an arm over my shoulders—“can supply piggycorns to people all over the world.”
Luke’s face is beet red, his cheeks puffed out. He glares at me. Stares at Pane. Watches the valuator worriedly.
The valuator cocks his head back and forth. “This is an interesting business. What do you think, Mrs. Maddox?”
Fascination sparks in her green eyes. “Pane, this is your competition entry?”
“This is it.”
She nods to the valuator. “Estimate the worth.”
My stomach does flip-flops. The crowd is silent while the valuator gets to work plugging numbers into a calculator that’s attached to his clipboard, then writing down whatever it is he’s penning onto sheets and sheets of paper. After a while Tallulah becomes restless, and I set her on the ground.
After about ten minutes of pure agony, he gives a final nod and whispers something into Sylvia’s ear.
She listens intently. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Then Sylvia Maddox, current president and CEO of the Maddox Group, fixes her penetrating gaze on her son. “Pane.”
“Yes?”
The air buzzes with intensity. I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed, praying that he wins.
A slow smile breaks across her face. “Congratulations, son. You’ve won.”
