“You know our agreement,” Karak said, his voice straining.

“You plant and irrigate, and you get paid for that,” Hitchcock said.

Karak’s words failed him.

“We get two-thirds of the crop. For months we have been working.”

“And you brought in a good field too,” Hitchcock said. “We’ll handle it from here. Harvest and shipping are more complicated matters.”

Karak lunged forward and put his hands on the counter. The clerk stood and stumbled backward. A paper floated to the floor. Karak’s face was two feet from Hitchcock’s. The vice president’s foot edged backward.

“You are lying,” Karak hissed. “From beginning, you have been lying only.”

He glared at Hitchcock, and Hitchcock gazed back. They stood, frozen, for a long time, Karak’s face contorted in rage. He spun on his heel and threw open the door. It slammed against the wall as he left.

“You act this way,” Ram said. “Very bad.”

But Hitchcock had already lost interest in them, turning quietly to his work.

“Very bad.” Ram repeated. He beat his fist on the counter. Hitchcock and the clerk flinched at the sound. He had a vision of jumping across the countertop, smashing Hitchcock against the file cabinet. But he took a deep breath and followed Karak to the car. He had not known he was capable of so much anger.

RAM DROVE THEM BACK. Karak sat beside him, staring at the road, unseeing. “Clive has been drinking my whiskey, sitting at my table, laughing at me for years.”

“Hitchcock is the boss,” Ram said. “He made this decision. Not Clive.”

“Is that so?” Karak said, in a tone that made it clear that he did not agree.

Clive was not at the farm, but his people were out in the field, in the packing shed, working at a furious pace. Acres had been cleared while they were away. Before the vehicle had come to a stop, Karak jumped out and ran toward the workers. “Get out!” he screamed, his face flushed, his voice desperate. “Get out! Get off my land!”

Ram turned off the engine and ran after him. In the field, two or three workers straightened up and began to back away. Ram caught up with Karak and grabbed his arm, led him back to the car. “That is not the way, bhai,” he said.

“Even if you run one off, there are twenty others. What can we do?”

Karak’s breathing slowed, but he didn’t seem to be listening.