“What trick you are pulling here, Clive?” Karak said. They were alone again; the three of them. For a moment, after Karak asked the question, Ram saw a glimmer of the man they knew. Then he went back to unstacking the crates again, and the expression vanished.

“Best tell your pickers to leave,” Clive said, “so you don’t have to pay ’em too.”

Ram and Karak looked at each other. Clive slammed down a crate extra hard. Karak stepped toward him but Ram held his arm. “Let’s go,” he said in Punjabi. “There is another way.” Karak shook his arm free.

Ram took the driver’s seat now, and on the eastern edge of the field he called to Alejandro. “Clive has brought over some men on his own,” he said in Spanish. “Don’t pay them attention. Just do your work.” He was surprised to hear the command in his voice. “Don’t let them take our crates, even if you have to guard them.” Alejandro’s confusion showed on his face.

“Force them off if you have to,” Karak added.

Alejandro raised his eyebrows. He nodded. “Sí.”

Ram turned the car away. “Get to the sheriff!” Karak said.

“We cannot go to the sheriff,” Ram said.

“But how else—”

“What can the sheriff do, bhai? It is not legal for us to own that crop.”

Karak was quiet. Breathing hard. Ram stopped at Jivan’s house and Jivan stepped outside immediately.

“What is happening? I saw the truck—”

“They are seizing the crop, bhai-ji.”

Jivan’s expression grew hard. “Clive?”

They did not answer.

“I knew he would do something like this—” Jivan said.

“Should we go to the lawyer, to the sheriff, who?” Karak asked.

“Go to Hitchcock himself,” Jivan said. “He is giving the order. Tell him that if he does such things, no one will work for him in the future.”

“He doesn’t care,” Karak spat out. “He wants this crop, now. What does he care about who works for him in the future?”

“What else can we do, Karak?” Ram said.

Karak took a deep breath, as if to push away his panic.

THEY PARKED ON THE ROAD in front of the Consolidated Fruit offices. Karak was out of the car first, striding through the door. They found Hitchcock standing at an open file cabinet.

A clerk sat at the counter in front of him.

“How can I help you boys?” Hitchcock said, before the clerk could speak. He was wearing reading glasses, and he tipped his head forward so he could peer at Karak and Ram over the frames. Pale blue eyes assessed them. Ram felt numb.

“Hitchcock, what is the meaning of your workers in my field?” Karak said.

The clerk looked at Karak, then at Ram.

Hitchcock raised his eyebrows. He walked toward the counter. “Your field? Last I knew, the Consolidated Fruit Company owned that farm.” His lips curled into a faint smile.