Gardener of Eden

Chapter 52: Chapter 52: Crestview Corporation

The early morning sun cast a long, golden glare across the suburban cul-de-sac as Martha Vance stood on the porch, a steaming mug of tea balanced between her palms. She adjusted her cardigan against the crisp breeze, her eyes scanning the quiet street. It had been weeks since Rowan had departed for the Academy, yet the quiet routine of the household had been anything but ordinary.

The smooth hum of an engine broke the morning silence. A sleek, black executive hover-sedan glided down the street, its polished chrome catching the sunlight before coming to a silent stop right in front of the Vance driveway.

Martha set her mug down on the porch table, her brows furrowing slightly as the rear door swung open. An impeccably dressed woman in a sharp charcoal suit stepped out, followed by a middle-aged man carrying a weighted leather briefcase. The insignia stitched onto the woman’s lapel was subtle, but Martha recognized the silver-and-gold crest immediately: Crestview Culinary Holdings, the premier luxury syndicate representing the region’s highest-rated Michelin-starred establishments.

”Mrs. Martha Vance?” the woman asked, offering a refined, professional smile as she approached the steps.

”I am,” Martha replied, keeping her posture composed. ”Can I help you?”

”My name is Eleanor Montgomery,” the woman said, handing over a heavy, foil-embossed business card. ”I am the Vice President of Sourcing for Crestview. Beside me is Mr. Harrison, our head of legal procurement. We apologize for arriving unannounced at your residence, but after the events of this past weekend, our board deemed an in-person meeting imperative.”

Martha glanced at the card, then back at the duo. ”Events?”

”Three days ago, Executive Chef Julian of L’Étoile D’Or—a three-star Michelin establishment in the central district—acquired a small trial batch of produce from a local boutique distributor,” Eleanor explained, her voice carrying a quiet intensity. ”To be precise: Grade-E+ soil-cultivated sun-tomatoes and high-mana crisp lettuce.”

”Ah,” Martha said softly, a knowing smile touching her lips. Rowan’s harvest.

”To say the result was exceptional would be a severe understatement,” Eleanor continued, stepping closer. ”Chef Julian prepared a simple tasting menu showcasing those exact ingredients. That evening, our dining room hosted several high-level clientele—S-Rank dungeon delegates, corporate guild leaders, and senior ministry officials. The feedback was unprecedented. The purity of the elemental mana, the texture, and the sheer depth of flavor drew unanimous acclaim. The clientele attributed the entire evening’s success to the quality of the produce.”

Mr. Harrison opened his briefcase, retrieving a thick, bound document stamped with official syndicate seals.

”Chef Julian traced the batch back through the distributor straight to the Vance family lot,” Eleanor said, her eyes fixed on Martha with intense focus. ”Mrs. Vance, we are not here to buy a single harvest. Crestview Holdings wishes to offer the Vance household an exclusive, long-term supply contract. We are prepared to guarantee above-market rates, full logistical security, and immediate upfront capital to secure every yield your household produces.”

Martha looked down at the contract resting on the porch railing, feeling a swell of quiet pride for her son. Rowan’s ”simple farming skills” were already sending shockwaves through the highest circles of elite society, and he hadn’t even finished his first month at the Academy.

”I see,” Martha said smoothly, taking the contract into her hands. ”Please, come inside. We have a great deal to discuss.”

Martha ushered Eleanor Montgomery and Mr. Harrison into the sunlit living room, gesturing toward the polished mahogany dining table. She poured two cups of steeped tea, setting them down before taking her seat across from the corporate executives. ℯℯ𝑙.

”Let’s speak plainly, Miss Montgomery,” Martha began, smoothing the front of her cardigan. ”You didn’t drive out to the suburbs at seven in the morning just to offer standard wholesale rates. You came because Chef Julian’s high-level clientele noticed something no other farm in the district can replicate.”

Eleanor leaned forward, placing her manicured hands over the velvet cover of the contract. ”I won’t deny it, Mrs. Vance. The mana integration in those Grade-E+ crops was absurdly clean. Most mana-infused produce requires chemical stabilizers or heavy dungeon runoff that leaves a harsh, bitter aftertaste. Yours was smooth, vibrant, and pure. Chef Julian’s VIP guests—people who routinely dine on S-Rank dungeon flora—were asking if we had imported the ingredients from a high-tier sanctuary.”

”Which brings us to the terms,” Mr. Harrison said, sliding a sleek digital pen across the table alongside a fifty-page document. ”Crestview Holdings is prepared to offer twenty thousand gold per monthly yield, provided the Vance household grants us total, exclusive distribution rights. We will also require full access to your cultivation facilities for quality assurance and soil audits.”

Martha let out a soft, amused chuckle, leaning back in her chair without picking up the pen.

”Soil audits?” Martha raised an eyebrow, her tone light but uncompromising. ”Mr. Harrison, you are mistaking a specialized, private operation for an industrial plantation. My son’s cultivation techniques are a proprietary family secret. No auditors step foot near our soil. No external inspectors examine our process. If that is a dealbreaker, you are free to finish your tea and return to the central district.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed slightly. ”Mrs. Vance, exclusivity and quality control are standard protocol when dealing with Michelin-grade supply chains.”

”Standard protocols apply to standard crops,” Martha replied smoothly. ”What you experienced at L’Étoile D’Or was a Grade-E+ batch. Imagine what happens when the next harvest matures to Grade-D or higher. If Crestview wants guaranteed first rights to that caliber of produce, the terms will reflect the rarity of what we provide.”

She tapped her finger on the glass tabletop, laying out her counter-offer.

”First, we will not sign an exclusive contract. The Vance household retains fifty percent of every harvest for our own distribution networks. Second, you will pay fifty thousand gold per batch, upfront, before a single crate leaves our property. Third, delivery will be strictly point-to-point via a blind, encrypted courier service paid for by Crestview. You receive the produce at your central distribution hub, no questions asked, no site visits permitted.”

Mr. Harrison blinked, shifting uncomfortably in his suit. ”Fifty thousand? For a non-exclusive yield? Mrs. Vance, that is more than double our starting evaluation—”

”Harrison,” Eleanor interrupted, raising a single hand to quiet her legal counsel. She studied Martha’s tranquil, unflinching expression for a long moment, calculating the political and financial leverage a steady supply of such produce would grant Crestview over rival culinary syndicates.

”Fifty thousand per batch,” Eleanor said, a sharp, admiring glint entering her eyes. ”And non-exclusive, on one condition: Crestview receives absolute first refusal rights on all future high-grade yields before any other commercial buyer.”

”Agreed,” Martha said calmly.

Mr. Harrison adjusted the figures on the digital document with rapid keystrokes before handing the tablet over. Martha reviewed the modified clauses carefully, ensuring every line protected Rowan’s identity, his methods, and his freedom to stock his own shop at the Academy. Satisfied, she signed her name across the glowing interface.

Eleanor stood, extending her hand across the table. ”A pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Vance. We expect the first scheduled shipment by the end of the week.”

”It will be ready,” Martha smiled, shaking her hand tightly.

As the heavy black sedan pulled away from the driveway, Martha stood by the window, watching the digital confirmation of a fifty-thousand-gold deposit ping onto her interface. She picked up her tea mug, a soft, proud smile spreading across her face.

Work hard at the Academy, Rowan, she thought, taking a slow sip. Your mother has the business completely covered.