Chapter 3
Jessica did not sleep that night.
The caravan creaked softly as the temperature dropped, the metal walls clicking and settling like something alive, and outside the low, constant hum of the hives drifted through the darkness, not loud enough to frighten her but persistent enough to remind her that she was no longer alone, that this land had its own rhythms and loyalties, none of which she yet understood.
I know exactly who you are.
Joshua’s words replayed themselves with cruel patience, threading through her thoughts as she lay staring at the narrow ceiling, tracing the faint shadows cast by moonlight filtering through a small window that framed a slice of unfamiliar stars, brighter and closer than any she had known back home.
He hadn’t said it like an accusation.
He hadn’t said it like a threat.
He had said it like a fact.
By morning, she had decided that whatever game was being played here, she would not be the first to blink.
The day began early, not with an alarm but with light, the sun climbing over the hills in a slow, deliberate display that painted the fields gold before touching anything else, as if blessing the bees first, and when Jessica stepped outside, pulling on a borrowed jacket, the air felt crisp and charged, humming with the promise of work.
Joshua was already there.
He stood near a low building set back from the hives, larger than it had appeared the day before, its corrugated exterior giving nothing away, and when he saw her, his mouth curved into a smile that suggested he had known she would come, that her staying had never truly been in question.
“Ready to see where the magic actually happens?” he asked.
Jessica nodded, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I thought that was the bees.”
Joshua laughed softly. “They’re the artists,” he said. “This is just where the money gets made.”
Inside, the building opened into something that felt startlingly out of place in such a remote corner of the world.
Polished concrete floors.
Steel tanks rising toward the ceiling like silent monuments.
Glass walls revealing rooms filled with equipment that gleamed under soft lighting, immaculate and modern, more laboratory than farm.
The air inside was warm and sweet, thick with the scent of honey in its many stages — floral and sharp in one room, deep and almost medicinal in another — and Jessica felt the same dizzying awe she had experienced when she first stepped into Manhattan as a child, realizing she was standing inside something much larger than herself.
“This is Manuka Daddy,” Joshua said again, his voice quieter now, edged with pride. “Not the story we sell tourists. The real thing.”
As they walked, he explained how the honey was harvested only during the brief manuka flowering season, how every batch was tested and graded, how the highest levels never went to supermarkets or souvenir shops but straight into contracts with pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and private buyers who paid staggering sums for jars no larger than a paperback book.
Jessica stopped short. “Hospitals?”
Joshua glanced at her. “Burn wards. Infection control. Clinical trials. This stuff can do things antibiotics can’t anymore.”
She stared at the vats, the labels, the quiet efficiency, and suddenly the hand-painted sign in town felt like camouflage instead of charm.
“This doesn’t look like a small family operation,” she said carefully.
Joshua’s smile sharpened. “It isn’t.”
They emerged into sunlight again, and this time they weren’t alone.
Three people waited near a long wooden table set beneath a stand of trees: a woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back tight and eyes like cut glass; a broad man whose stillness felt deliberate, watchful; and a younger woman leaning casually against the table, her posture relaxed but her gaze assessing.
“Jess,” Joshua said, “this is my family.”
The silver-haired woman stepped forward first. “I’m Margaret,” she said, extending a hand. “Joshua’s mother.”
Her grip was firm, her smile polite but thin, and Jessica had the sudden, unsettling sense that this woman could strip her bare with nothing but questions.
“We’ve heard about you,” Margaret continued.
Jessica’s stomach tightened. “You have?”
Margaret’s eyes flicked briefly to Joshua. “Enough.”
Lunch was served outdoors, bread and cheese and honey so complex in flavor it felt almost absurd, and as they ate, conversation flowed easily around her — market expansions, shipping routes, a fire at a processing plant two valleys over — until Jessica realized she was listening to the language of power spoken softly, disguised as domestic routine.
This was not wealth that announced itself.
This was wealth that endured.
When the younger woman finally spoke to her directly, it was with a grin that felt dangerously friendly.
“I’m Isla,” she said. “And before you ask — yes, this place looks humble on purpose.”
Jessica swallowed. “Why?”
Isla tilted her head. “Because when you have something everyone wants, the smartest thing you can do is pretend you don’t.”
The words landed with a weight Jessica felt in her bones.
Later, as Joshua walked her back toward the hives, she finally asked the question that had been pressing against her ribs all day.
“You said you know who I am.”
Joshua stopped.
The bees buzzed on, indifferent witnesses.
“I know who your father is,” he said. “And I know why you’re here.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “Then why did you take me on?”
Joshua stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Because my family believes in protection,” he said. “And because Manuka Daddy has a very long history of turning danger into leverage.”
She stared at him. “What does that mean?”
Joshua hesitated — just for a moment — and that hesitation felt familiar enough to make her cold.
Before he could answer, Margaret’s voice cut across the field.
“Joshua,” she called. “We need to talk. Now.”
He straightened, something shuttering behind his eyes, and as he turned away, Jessica noticed a black SUV parked at the far edge of the property, half-hidden by trees, its presence jarring against the pastoral calm.
She followed Margaret’s gaze.
The woman’s mouth tightened.
“They’ve found you,” Margaret said quietly, not looking at Jessica. “And if they’ve found you, it means they already know what this honey is worth.”
The air seemed to thicken, sweet and suffocating.
Jessica realized then that New Zealand had never been an escape.
It had been a bargaining chip.
And Manuka Daddy was the stake everyone was willing to bleed for.
