"Okay Genius, what did you find out?" Morgan hissed to Reid. The two men, along with Lewis, had wandered out to sit on the front porch of the house as they drank their lemonade and munched on cookies.
"Well, I didn't get a complete look, but it certainly doesn't appear that anyone is cooking the books," Reid replied thoughtfully. "From what I could see, they are all painfully and completely honest."
"Although," he hesitated.
"Although what?" Lewis asked.
"It appears to me that Rossi was right and that the farm is being paid considerably less than their crops are worth on the open market," Reid explained. "I'm not up on the latest produce prices, but the numbers I saw appeared to be far too low, particularly for the cotton crop."
"The cotton crop?" Lewis echoed.
"Apparently they are growing Gossypium barbadense, also known as extra-long staple cotton, as it generally has a staple of at least 1⅜" or longer," Reid told her authoritatively. "It is also known as sea island cotton. It is always in great demand and, as this crop is most definitely organically grown, that makes it even more desirable."
"So, you are saying that all these people living out here could be rich," Morgan summarized. "If only they were paid properly."
"I am saying they could have a better lifestyle," Reid replied thoughtfully. "However, it is debatable whether that would be a good thing."
"A good thing?" Morgan questioned in bewilderment. "They are living out here in these primitive conditions, and you are saying – "
"I think what he is saying," Lewis interrupted. "Is that change isn't always desirable. They are used to what they have and, from what I have seen, they appear to be happy and healthy. Maybe that doesn't need to be changed."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"This is very good," George Hughes complimented Mistress after sampling his glass of lemonade. "Do the lemons come from your trees?"
"No," Mistress replied. "We have tried growing lemon trees but they just don't thrive in this climate. Although, we have managed to keep a couple growing near the back of the dining hall. These lemons come from Farm #1. They raise the trees in their greenhouses and when they have extras they send them around to the other farms."
"I have to tell you," Ron Hartnell looked around the room. "This house is an exact duplicate of the one my grandfather built on Long Island. It's still in the family and we all gather there every summer."
"This house was built by the original owners of the island," Commander explained. "And, after they moved out, it was used by the Farm Manager for their office and living quarters."
"Are there houses like this at the other farms?" George Hughes asked.
"No, each farm built its own main house," Mistress told him. "And they are much more practical - Not nearly as grand as this one."
"Would you like to look around?" she offered, standing up.
"I would love to," Ron Hartnell assured her as he also stood up.
"DON'T SAY ANYTHING!" The door to Mistress's office flew open and a 6 ft tall, tanned, dark haired man charged into the room.
"As your Legal Counsel, I have to insist that you remain quiet and only speak after consulting with me," he continued. He then glanced at the other occupants of the room –
"Dave?" he questioned in amazement.
"Aaron?"