The Judge Asked Blake To Find The Vote He Claimed Existed

We reached the Buffalo County courthouse before the morning traffic had thickened.

My father drove. He had polished his shoes and brought quarters for parking, though the lot where we stopped did not need them.

“Old habit,” he said.

I understood. The thermometer was in my coat pocket.

Outside the courtroom, Blake greeted me as if we had run into each other at a banquet.

“We could have settled this over coffee.”

“You had the preservation letter,” I said.

“You know how many letters I get?”

Chika stepped between us with no hurry.

“All conversation through counsel, please.”

Blake turned the smile toward her. It did not find a place to land.

Both companies had lawyers present. Red Acre had agreed overnight to hold its copies untouched while the judge heard us. Prairie Relay had paused that morning's export after receiving notice of the hearing.

For the first time in days, I knew nothing new was leaving while we spoke.

Judge Alana Wren explained that she was considering temporary limits. She was not deciding every claim that morning.

Chika began with the signed license.

Kent began with the sale.

“A transaction of this size employs forty-two people, Your Honor. A delay would cause substantial harm.”

The judge looked down at the papers.

“Which provision permits this particular delivery?”

Kent returned to the technical-agent clause.

Chika placed Schedule C in front of him.

“Please show the court Red Acre's name.”

He could not.

Red Acre's lawyer said his client had relied on Prairie Relay's written assurance that all permissions were secured.

“We paid fair value,” she said.

“To whom?” the judge asked.

“Prairie Relay.”

Ruth sat behind me. I could hear the small click of her wedding ring against the wooden bench.

Blake took the witness stand. Under oath, his voice sounded much like it did in the office.

“Nadine managed those relationships,” he said. “I understood she had handled the approvals.”

Chika rose.

“You certified telephone approval from the cooperative. Who gave it?”

“We had many conversations over the years.”

“About Red Acre?”

“About making the product stronger.”

“Did you ask the cooperative for a vote?”

He shifted.

“I believed our employee had authority.”

“Then why didn't your certificate name her?”

Kent objected. Chika moved to the next document.

It was the old board minute with Martin's signature.

Blake studied it.

“I don't remember every meeting.”

“Do you dispute that your board acknowledged the cooperative's control?”

“No.”

There was no sharp sound. Nobody gasped. The clerk kept typing.

I had expected the truth to feel louder.

When I testified, Kent asked whether I had a personal reason to damage Prairie Relay.

“I wanted my job,” I said. “I still wanted the company to succeed. That didn't give it rights the farms hadn't granted.”

He held up a graph.

“A collection of numbers. No producer name. Correct?”

“That one came from Ruth Jensen's east barn.”

“You recognize it because you worked there.”

“Red Acre recognized enough to contact her.”

Chika asked me to explain the note about the pulley. I told the judge how a wrong wheel size could make a fan turn too slowly, even while the software showed full power.

“The note kept a repair fault from becoming a model setting,” I said.

“And you made that note during a farm visit?”

“Yes.”

Blake looked at his lawyer.

Near noon, the judge ordered both companies to preserve every copy and access record. Red Acre could not use or share the package. Prairie Relay could not grant new outside access or transfer the disputed license pending further order.

Ordinary farm support could continue. Nothing in the order allowed anyone to stop a barn controller.

The cooperative posted a $10,000 bond from its reserve, as the court required.

The judge also set a schedule for a neutral technical audit under rules that kept farm details out of the public file.

In the hall, Ruth gripped my sleeve.

“They finally said which thing was ours.”

“For now,” Chika said. “We still have work.”

My father handed me my coat. The thermometer had reached seventy degrees.

“Settled?” he asked.

“The reading.”

He nodded. He knew the difference.

That evening, Morrow Vale's deal lawyer called Chika. The buyer was freezing its closing funds until the audit explained the data sale.

The next morning, the neutral auditor, Lian Cho, began collecting records from both companies.

Her first request was for the invoice behind a transfer out of Prairie Relay's account.

The amount was $92,500.

The recipient was Torrance Transition Services, a company owned by Blake.