The following morning, I decided to pay a visit to the local agricultural office. If anyone could shed light on this bull investment, it would be them. The office was a modest building, tucked away on the outskirts of town. I felt a sense of apprehension as I stepped inside, the smell of paper and coffee greeting me.

A receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, greeted me with a smile. “How can I help you today?” she asked, her voice warm and welcoming.

“I’m looking for information on a particular breed of bull,” I explained, handing over the documents David had given me. She took them, her expression shifting to one of curiosity.

“Ah, the rare breed,” she mused, scanning the papers. “We’ve had a few inquiries about these lately. They’re quite popular, but also quite risky.”

Her words confirmed my fears. “Risky how?” I pressed, leaning in slightly.

“Well, they require specific care and attention. Not to mention, the market can be volatile,” she replied, handing the documents back to me. “I’d advise caution. It’s not something you want to rush into.”

I thanked her, feeling both relieved and more anxious than ever. As I walked back to my car, my phone rang. It was Mr. Jacobs, our lawyer.

“I’ve gone over the contract,” he began without preamble. “There are some concerning clauses here. I think we need to talk.”

“When?” I asked, the urgency in my voice apparent.

“As soon as possible. Can you come by my office this afternoon?” he suggested.

I agreed, knowing this was a meeting I couldn’t afford to miss.

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