He was not a man who apologized easily.
Cole decided not to help him.
Finally, Vance said, “I was wrong.”
Cole nodded once.
“That happens.”
The words were simple.
But Arthur Vance heard what Cole did not say.
He did not say, I forgive you.
He did not say, It did not matter.
He only said being wrong was possible.
And that was enough.
The first real frost came on October 19th.
By then, the tomato vines were finished.
Workers pulled stakes.
Seed lots moved into cold storage.
Cole spent the winter learning how fast success could consume money.
The new climate-controlled seed building cost more than the original estimate.
Electrical work doubled.
A humidity control system failed inspection.
Concrete prices increased.
Insurance companies wanted specialized agricultural riders.
The state required additional paperwork for seed distribution.
Every week seemed to produce another bill.
For the first time since July, Cole understood how wealthy businesses could still collapse.
Revenue was not security.
Cash flow mattered.
Planning mattered.
One careless expansion could destroy everything the first successful harvest had built.
Marcus Thorne wanted Cole to scale quickly.
“Twenty-five acres next year,” he said during a January meeting.
“Ten.”
“Twenty-five gives us enough seed volume to justify the facility.”
“Ten gives us enough land to learn without ruining the genetics.”
“We are funding the expansion.”
“And I’m growing it.”
Thorne leaned back.
“You are leaving money on the table.”
Cole nodded.
“Probably.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Losing control bothers me more.”
Helena Price was sitting at the other end of the table.
She hid a smile behind her coffee cup.
Thorne noticed.
“You agree with him?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do.”
Helena closed her folder.
“The fastest way to destroy a preservation program is to scale before the protocol is stable.”
Thorne sighed.
“Ten acres.”
Cole smiled.
“Ten.”
Spring came late the following year.
The new field looked nothing like the chaos of the first.
Rows were mapped before planting.
Each variety occupied its own block.
Isolation barriers separated high-priority seed lines.
Every mother plant had a tag.
Flower clusters destined for seed production were covered before opening.
Workers were trained to sterilize tools between blocks.
Cole still used processed tomato waste as an organic amendment, but now every load was tested before incorporation.
The smell returned.
So did the jokes.
Not many.
Most people had learned.