“You certainly have been,” Maude said. “The Magruders use flavored corn syrup and pass it off as maple. Corn syrup costs ten cents a tin, while maple syrup is ninety cents more. Now mind you, I bought a tin of that fake maple syrup, and it tasted fine. But I had a right to know that it wasn’t the real thing. Frankly, I overpaid, and I’d like my ninety cents back.”

Clyde opened his wallet, peeled out a dollar bill, and handed it to the orderly. “Please give this to the good lady on the far side of the room. Tell her she can keep the change.”

The young man held the bill, uncertain what to do.

Maude raised her hand. “I’ll take it.”

Muffled laughter rippled through the crowd as the orderly carried her the bill. Maude rolled it neatly and pushed it into her coin purse. Now she was ready to bring out the big guns.

“Based on my calculations of how much syrup the Magruders sold last year, the people in Kansas overpaid $240,000 on artificially flavored corn syrup. Thank you for my dollar, but I think you owe almost a quarter of a million dollars to the rest of Kansas. I’ve got the numbers for what people overpaid in Oklahoma Territory, Nebraska, Missouri, and both Dakotas too. I’ll let the east coast come after you on their own.”

Major Gillian looked baffled. “Is there a point to any of this, ma’am?”

Gray had to bite his tongue. Everything in him wanted to stand up and drive the point home, but it would sound better coming from Maude.

“The point is that by tricking people about what they’re selling, the Magruders have cheated us out of our hard-earned money. And that’s just maple syrup.” She held aloft a piece of paper. “I’ve also got numbers for their pancake mix, applesauce, condensed milk—”

Jedidiah smacked the flat of his hand on the conference table, causing the water glasses to jump. “That’s enough, woman,” he growled. “Our products are pure. Our products are excellent.”

Maude wasn’t intimidated. She raised her chin and met old Magruder’s gaze without flinching. “Not your maple syrup. I was cheated, and your son just admitted it.”

“I know all about genuine maple syrup,” Jedidiah said, his voice trembling with anger. He stood and jerked his suit jacket off, then began rolling up his sleeves. Clyde tried to coax his father down, but Jedidiah shrugged him off. “I was harvesting and boiling maple sap when I was eight years old. You see these scars?” he demanded, holding up his forearms. “That’s what comes from getting scalded on a sap boiler. I’m proud of these scars. I’m proud of every product coming out of a Magruder factory. Of course our maple syrup is pure. I have no problem listing exactly what is in every tin of Magruder syrup.”