Juliette wrapped both hands around the mug, inhaled once, then looked out over the valley. “What’s the ROI on a place like this?”
That was the kind of question people asked when they intended to change things.
“The what?”
“ROI. Return on Investment.” She said it slowly, like I might need a translator for the language of the C-suite.
“I know what it means. I just don't usually hear it applied to dirt.”
The mug came down on the table. I looked at her.
“You’re the head of security for a patch of dirt that tries to kill you every Tuesday. I want to know what the 'win' looks like for you. Is it a day without a shot fired? Or is it just seeing that calf survive another night?”
My jaw shifted once.
“A win is quieter than that. No cut fences. No injured animals. No ranger’s family getting a phone call because someone decided horn was worth more than a human life.”
She wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were on the valley like she was trying to decide if the place was worth the cost.
“No,” I said. “That wasn't a question. That was you testing the load-bearing walls.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine. No flinch. “If I wanted weak points, Nick, I’d have started with your perimeter. I'm just trying to understand the foundation.”
The answer landed clean.
A muscle in my jaw shifted.
She lifted the mug and drank. “Relax. I’m not here to buy your bush.”
I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck. “You might want to workshop that sentence,” I said. “I’ve arrested people for less.”
That got a flash from her mouth. Brief. Gone.
“I’m asking because people pay obscene money to stare at animals while claiming they’re seeking clarity. I’m curious whether the math is honest or just expensive branding.”
The tea had gone just warm enough to drink. I took a sip. Strong. Bitter. Better than coffee after heat.
“The math’s honest if the management is.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Then you get lodges built too close to migration paths, waste pits where they shouldn’t be, staff underpaid, fences patched instead of repaired, and tourists who think conservation means posting a photo with a caption about gratitude.”
Juliette rested her forearms on the table. “There you are.”
“What?”
“The real answer.”
I said nothing.
Wind moved across the deck, carrying the smell of warm canvas from the awning and the distant, mineral scent of the dam. Her hair shifted again. She ignored it.
“Wilder’s looking at experiential travel,” she said. “High-end, low-volume. Places that still have a soul left.”
“Congratulations.”
“That wasn’t a pitch.”
