"I lose the company."
"What happens if they stay?"
"They keep demanding discounts."
"Do they pay late?"
"Very late."
"How late?"
"Sometimes ninety days."
I looked at him.
"Why keep them?"
"Because I need the revenue."
I leaned back.
"What if you didn't?"
He frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"What if Blue Mesa had enough capital to operate without depending on one customer?"
He stared at me.
"Are you seriously offering to invest?"
"No."
I paused.
"I'm offering to buy the whole thing."
Calvin's mouth fell open.
"You don't even know the industry."
"I know water."
"You know farming."
"Water is water."
He laughed.
"That's what every outsider says."
I smiled.
"Then maybe it's time an outsider asked different questions."
We spent six hours reviewing the company.
At sunset, Calvin pushed a contract across the table.
"If you sign this, Blue Mesa is yours."
I looked at the document.
Then at him.
"One condition."
"What?"
"I want an independent audit of every customer."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know exactly where the water goes."
Calvin studied me.
Then nodded.
"Deal."
I signed.
And by Friday afternoon, I owned Blue Mesa Water Services.
Victoria Langley still had no idea.
The first thing I did as owner wasn't cutting anyone off.
It was reviewing the numbers.
I spent three days in the control room.
Water entered.
Water exited.
Meters recorded it.
Pumps moved it.
Pressure stations regulated it.
Everything had a number.
And numbers don't care about politics.
I discovered something disturbing.
Crescent Ridge wasn't merely using more water than its allocation.
It was using almost three times more.
I called Calvin.
"Did you know?"
He shook his head.
"I suspected."
"Why didn't you investigate?"
"Victoria always handled the HOA account."
"She handled it?"
"She insisted."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"She negotiated the contract."
"Who signed it?"
"Crescent Ridge HOA."
"Who authorized the unusual consumption?"
Calvin hesitated.
"Victoria."
"Of course."
I opened the historical billing records.
There were dozens of adjustments.
Credits.
Manual corrections.
Unexplained reductions.
Someone had been altering invoices.
"Calvin."
"Yes?"
"Did Victoria ever ask you to change a meter reading?"
He looked away.
"Once."
"Only once?"
"Maybe more."
"How many?"
"Seven."
I closed the file.
"That ends today."
I called our legal adviser.
"Create a drought-compliance schedule."
"For everyone?"
"Everyone."
"Even Crescent Ridge?"
"Especially Crescent Ridge."
The policy was simple.
Agricultural irrigation would receive priority.
Emergency services would receive priority.
Essential household use would remain protected.
Decorative fountains and ornamental landscaping would be restricted.
Swimming pools could not be filled during Stage Four.
No exceptions.
No special contracts.
No political favors.
I signed the policy.
Then sent it to the county drought authority.
They approved it within forty-eight hours.
That evening, I drove home.
Victoria's fountain was still running.
I sat on my porch and watched it.
The next morning, the policy went into effect.
At 8:07 a.m., my office phone rang.
My secretary answered.
Then looked at me.
"It's Victoria Langley."
"Put her through."
"Daniel!"
"Good morning."
"You can't do this."
"Do what?"
"You know exactly what."
"I don't."
"Our water!"
"Your essential water supply remains protected."
"My fountains don't."
"Correct."
"My landscaping doesn't."
"Correct."
"My pool?"
"No."
She went silent.
Then:
"Do you realize who I am?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
"Then fix this."
"No."
She gasped.
"What?"
"No."
"You can't speak to me like that."
"I just did."
"This is retaliation."
"No."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Because the drought rules apply to everyone."
"You bought the company!"
"Yes."
"To punish me."
"No."
I paused.
"I bought the company because it was profitable."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
She was silent.
Then her voice became cold.
"This isn't over."
I looked through the window.
My fields were beginning to recover.
"No, Victoria."
"It isn't."
The first shutdown wasn't dramatic.
That's what surprised me.
At 6:00 a.m., the automated system reduced nonessential flow to Crescent Ridge.
At 6:15, the fountains stopped.
At 6:30, the sprinklers stopped.
At 7:00, the decorative lake pumps shut down.
By 8:00, residents began noticing.
At 8:17, Victoria called me.
At 8:20, she called the county.
At 8:32, she called a lawyer.
At 8:45, she called the mayor.
At 9:00, the mayor called me.
"Daniel."
"Mayor."
"You've created quite a situation."
"I've enforced the drought policy."
"People are upset."
"I understand."
"Could you make an exception?"
"No."
Silence.
"Why?"
"Because farmers are losing crops."
"I know."
"Families are losing income."
"I know."
"Then why should a decorative fountain receive water before a field producing food?"
The mayor didn't answer.
"That's what I thought."
By noon, Crescent Ridge looked different.
Brown grass.
Dry fountains.
Silent sprinklers.
Residents stood outside their homes staring at their lawns.
Some were angry at me.
Others were angry at Victoria.
Then the HOA meeting happened.
I wasn't there.
But Rachel sent me a recording.
Victoria stood at the front of the room.
"This is an attack."
A resident shouted:
"You said you could fix it!"
"I can."
"Then fix it!"
"I am trying!"
Another resident stood.
"Why did you tell us our water was secure?"
Victoria froze.
"Because it was."
"Then why did the company say our consumption was three times our allocation?"
Silence.
Victoria looked toward the board.
Nobody defended her.
Then a man in the back raised his hand.
"Did you know about the private pipe?"
Victoria's face changed.
"Of course not."
"Because county inspectors found one."
"I had no knowledge."
"Then why does the maintenance contractor say you authorized it?"
The room erupted.
I listened quietly.
Then came the part I hadn't expected.
A woman named Emily Carter stood.
She had been on the HOA landscaping committee.
"I have copies of the original irrigation proposals."