Marcus frowns. My father shifts in his seat. I know what they’re thinking, but they’re hesitant to voice their objections.
Well, I’m happy to play the bad cop in this situation. “Optimize how?” I ask.
Brielle pauses, then smiles. “By identifying patterns across—”
“Patterns aren’t outcomes,” I state. “You’re describing a layer that sits above operational systems. Which means you’d be making decisions based on data we generate.”
I look at Tom, whose face is expressionless. Then I look at Maddie. She hasn’t said anything yet. Why is she here?
“Perhaps we should let Brielle finish her presentation,” Aurelia says in her best ‘shut the fuck up, brother,’ voice.
I ignore her. “You’re saying your platform becomes the decision-making layer, and our system feeds into it. You’re asking us to plug our system into something we don’t control, using data we’ve spent years developing.”
Dad massages the bridge of his nose. “To be fair, Caesar has a point.”
“It sounds impressive,” I tell Brielle. “I’m just not clear what it actually does that isn’t already being done. We’d be giving you control over Ashford’s core asset—its data infrastructure. Why would we do that?”
Tom runs his tongue across his top teeth. The conversation is slipping away from him, and he knows it.
To my surprise, he glances at Maddie. She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Let me tell you a story,” she says softly. She puts a hand over her heart. “And then maybe you’ll see that we’re not trying to deceive you, Caesar. I swear.”
Chapter Seven
Maddie
Caesar lowers his gaze for a moment. He’s simmering quietly, but I take that as meaning he’s at least prepared to listen. So I get to my feet, replace Brielle by the screen, and flick the button to bring up my presentation.
It starts with a photo of me in a field, taken by a friend on her phone while we were at university. My hair is up in a scruffy bun, I’m not wearing any makeup, and my nose and cheeks are sun-kissed. It had been raining, and a minute before she took the photo, I’d slipped over in the mud and landed on my bum. I’m standing up, but my boots and jeans are covered in mud, and I’m holding up my mud-covered hands and laughing. Over the top, I’ve written in bad handwriting because I had to use my finger on my phone, ‘Maddie being hands-on.’ Everyone chuckles… except the guy sitting opposite me.
I’m trembling, and I hope they can’t see it. I’m about to pitch to a billionaire board while carrying a secret baby and trying not to throw up. I rarely talk in public or in meetings. The fact that the Ashford family is only really listening because they have no option doesn’t help matters. And then, of course, there’s Caesar himself.
I knew as soon as I looked into his eyes that he recognized me. I guess the mask, wig, and makeup were just a superficial disguise that weren’t going to make me as invisible as I’d hoped. Knocking over the pot plant sorted that out.
He looked absolutely furious, and still does. He’s obviously worked out that I knew who he was, and he thinks I engineered it all.
Well, I didn’t, and right now there are more important things at stake. I shove the thought of Little Raspberry to the back of my mind and concentrate on the business at hand.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “this young, clumsy, but ambitious girl had just finished her doctorate in Agricultural Science, focusing on soil restoration.” Marcus’s eyebrows rise. “I know that doesn’t sound sexy,” I tell him, “but it’s like a woman who’s wearing a boring suit. You have to imagine the underwear she’s wearing beneath it.”
Marcus’s lips curve up. Aurelia giggles. Edward hides a smile beneath his hand.
My gaze slides to Caesar. He’s glaring at me.
Great. I’ve just compared soil science to lingerie in front of a billion-dollar company. Excellent start, Maddie.
Brielle gives a quiet cough, and I clear my throat, bringing up the next photo of myself as a child, hand-milking a cow. “Anyway, the point is that it might not be a sexy topic, but it’s one I’ve been passionate about since I was five and overheard my grandfather and father talking about the drought that was taking place that year, which led to widespread reductions in pasture growth.” I give a wry smile as the Ashfords exchange glances. “I realize how precocious that sounds. At root, all I knew was that we were having trouble feeding the farm animals I loved. Right then, I decided I wanted to be a scientist. I wanted to feed the world. I still do.”
Caesar is frowning as if unsure where this is going. He’s playing with his pen. But he’s listening.
“Brielle’s system tells you what’s likely to happen,” I continue, “how pasture growth will respond to weather, soil moisture, and seasonal variation. Over time, it refines those predictions, so it’s not just modelling growth, it’s improving the accuracy of those forecasts with every cycle.”
Caesar gets up to help himself to a fresh coffee. I bring up the next slide which has a photo of me collecting samples in the field. “We all know it’s important to deploy methods outside of the laboratory and pilot conditions. So we asked our father to give us one farm to test the system on.”
They’re all watching me now, even Caesar as he retakes his seat. His brown eyes study me. Now he’s not wearing a mask, I realize how inscrutable his expression is when he’s not glaring. I have no idea what he’s thinking.
I bring up the next slide. “This is Blackridge Station, a ten-thousand-acre property situated in the hills above Queenstown. It’s notoriously difficult to farm, with most of those acres given over to steep, stony ground that’s always resisted improvement. But we took on the challenge, and this is what we did.”
I run through half a dozen slides, going into the science in a bit more detail. Both the Ashford boys have science degrees, so I wanted to give them some technical information.
