The numbers were neatly lined up, showing a bleak future for anyone trying to farm independently.

I stared at the black ink.

I had thirty-nine million dollars sitting in a secure bank account, but her absolute certainty made me doubt my own memory.

“I don’t need to be rescued,” I said.

“Nobody is rescuing you,” she said.

“We just want you to be realistic.

If the expenses get too high this winter, you need to know you can come to us.”

Her voice was completely gentle.