The first customer who trusted my farm livestream ordered five pounds of garlic scapes and received fifty-two pounds in a pig-feed sack. My uncle called it a packing mistake. The customer called it fraud, and I couldn't blame her. I'd come home to Bellwether Ridge after my online retail job disappeared, hoping to stay out of trouble while my uncle's farm scraped through the season. Instead, he handed me a phone, a ring light, and a promise that we'd sell honest food to honest people. Then he asked me to bring the customer back to the farm to "make things right." When she arrived, the apology came with a harvest basket and a camera pointed at her. I had to decide how much of my family's future I was willing to put at risk to keep one customer from paying for our mistakes.