The Board Sent A Lawyer Who Had Never Opened The Blue Binder

Chika played Blake's message once, then saved a copy with the date and time.

“Don't answer him alone,” she said.

I had brought my thermometer to her office. It stood in a pencil cup while we worked. Seventy-one degrees, though my fingers still felt cold.

“Do you carry that everywhere?” she asked.

“Every meeting.”

“Good. We both bring instruments.”

Hers was a yellow pad with three short questions on it.

Who owned the records? What permission existed? What had actually happened?

Prairie Relay's lawyer joined our video call at ten. His name was Kent Mercer, and he began by calling me a disgruntled former employee.

Chika did not look at me.

“My client on this call is the cooperative,” she said. “Can we start with the receipt?”

Kent said the Red Acre package fell within normal product testing.

“Under which section?”

“The technical-agent provision.”

“Please read the next sentence.”

We heard pages move.

The next sentence required agents to be named in Schedule C, bound to specific work, and barred from using records for their own products.

Red Acre was not in Schedule C.

Kent cleared his throat.

“There was an understanding at management level.”

“Whose understanding?”

“We'll need time to review that.”

“Then stop making new deliveries while you review it.”

He would not agree.

After the call, I opened the folder Prairie Relay had packed with my mug. Behind my field notes sat an old meeting agenda.

Seven years earlier, I had brought the cooperative's first license to the company's board. I had kept the agenda because Blake had written something funny beside my name.

FARM WHISPERER.

Below that, in the approved minutes, was a less funny entry.

Board acknowledged that producer records remained under independent cooperative control. Any wider rights would require separate written approval.

Martin had signed those minutes.

I sent Chika a scan.

“Keep the original flat,” she said.

That afternoon, Prairie Relay sent a letter to members. It said my actions might delay support and warned that unauthorized interference could harm a pending sale.

Dale called from beside a grain bin.

“Is this saying they won't answer my alarm?”

“Your support contract is still active,” I said. “Send the letter to Chika. Keep calling the normal support line.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Just checking you weren't missing something.”

He stayed on the phone until I laughed.

I wanted to log into Prairie Relay and look for the export myself. I knew where the job would run. I knew which log would show the file size.

My account was closed. The system was theirs.

I wrote the locations on paper for Chika instead.

“Ask for these,” I said. “And the account that created the download link.”

She added them to a formal demand under the license's audit clause.

By Friday, Kent had produced a thin packet.

It contained a confidentiality agreement signed by Red Acre, an invoice, and a one-page certificate from Blake.

The certificate said the cooperative had approved access by telephone.

The box for a resolution number was blank.

“A phone call can't replace a vote,” I said.

“We'll prove the missing vote,” Chika said. “I want the secretary's declaration and the full resolution register.”

Our secretary, Alma Ruiz, brought both that evening. Every motion had a number. None concerned Red Acre.

Alma wore her reading glasses on a red cord. She laid her hand on the register before signing her statement.

“I don't lose pages,” she said.

My father arrived with takeout after she left. He watched me make copies at his dining table.

“Can they sue you personally?” he asked.

“They can file something.”

“And your next employer sees that.”

“Maybe.”

He sat down slowly.

“I spent thirty years taking bad instructions from men with clean shoes. I wanted your work to be different.”

“It was different when I was in the barns.”

He took a folder and began checking page numbers.

On Monday, Kent finally sent part of the access log. It showed thirty-one farm sites, covering all twenty-eight members. Red Acre had downloaded the full package twice.

The log also showed a new export scheduled for Wednesday morning.

Chika called him. He described it as a routine refresh and declined to stop it without management approval.

She filed for an urgent court order that afternoon. The cooperative named Prairie Relay and Red Acre and asked to freeze outside use, preserve the records, and allow a proper audit.

I signed a statement under oath. My signature looked smaller than usual.

At six, Chika forwarded the court notice.

Our hearing was set for Wednesday at eight-thirty.

The next export was scheduled for nine.