The letter from the reporter sat on Jack Morano's desk like a loaded gun.
He did not pick it up. He did not need to. He had read the first paragraph already, and it was exactly what he had expected: a quiet, careful question about the germination rates of Harvest Seven seeds in the Central Valley. The reporter, a young man named Ellis who worked for the Los Angeles Times, had not accused him of anything. He had simply asked for data. Data. The word tasted like copper...
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