Chapter 4: The Trap Is Sprung

First time Jay ever rode in anything fancier than a pickup. Marissa packed him a lunch, hugged him so tight he could barely breathe, and waved until the car was out of sight. For the first time, it felt like their luck might finally turn.

Marissa’s reputation flipped overnight. A teenage girl working her tail off to put her brother through a top university—folks hadn’t heard a better story in ages.

Suddenly, everyone wanted to be her friend. She was the town’s new hero—the “saintly sister” who’d sacrificed everything for family. People forgot all about the old rumors. For once, the siblings were on top.

Nobody cared about the deputy manager scandal anymore. It was ancient history.

It was like it never happened. People have short memories in Maple Heights, especially when there’s a new story to talk about.

Four years later, Jay rolled back into Maple Heights. Not long after, he was promoted to head of the production tech division—the youngest ever, by a mile.

He walked into the plant in a sharp new suit, hair trimmed, confidence radiating. The old-timers grumbled, but even they had to admit—Jay was sharp. He shook hands, remembered names, and made it clear he was there to work, not just ride his degree.

Once, while combing through production data, Jay noticed some wells had water content over fifty percent. That meant nearly half of what they were pumping was water—way too high, and it didn’t add up.

He spent nights hunched over spreadsheets, red pen in hand, circling numbers that didn’t make sense. The more he dug, the more suspicious he got. Something was off, and Jay was determined to find out what.

He went out to check the wells himself. Turned out, the real water content was under ten percent.

He pulled on his boots, grabbed a clipboard, and headed out. The workers watched him, nervous. Jay tested the samples himself, double-checked the readings, and realized the reports were full of lies.

So why did every report say “fifty percent,” not forty, not sixty? Too neat. Too perfect.

It bugged him. Real numbers are messy. Jay started poking around, asking questions. The workers got twitchy, avoiding his eyes, shifting from foot to foot.

Finally, the workers admitted, “Management told us to put it down that way.”

They glanced over their shoulders before answering, voices barely above a whisper. Nobody wanted to cross the bosses, but Jay’s reputation got the truth out.

Jay pressed, “Which manager?”

He kept his tone cool, but his eyes were sharp as broken glass. He already had a pretty good idea who it was.

“The deputy plant manager.”

There it was. The same guy who’d hurt Marissa all those years back. Jay felt a cold fury settle in his gut. Now it was personal.

Jay put it together fast: the deputy manager was skimming oil, selling it off the books, covering it up by faking the numbers.

It all clicked—the fake data, the nervous workers, the sudden cash flow for certain people. Jay felt sick, but also strangely satisfied. He’d always known the deputy manager was dirty. Now he had proof.

On top of the old grudge over his sister, Jay wanted nothing more than to see this guy behind bars.

It wasn’t just about revenge. It was about justice. Jay started gathering evidence, careful not to tip his hand too soon—couldn’t risk blowing it.

But Jay was older now. He knew with that much money moving, the deputy manager wasn’t alone. The plant manager, the old boss, maybe even folks higher up—any of them could be in on it.

He started connecting the dots, realizing he was up against a whole damn machine. The scale of it was overwhelming, but Jay didn’t back down.

As division head, there was no way he could take down all the higher-ups. If he pushed too hard, he could get himself—and Marissa—crushed.

He weighed every move, knowing one slip could cost them everything. The stakes had never been higher.

But if he let these crooks keep stealing, the whole town would pay for it.

He thought about the families counting on the plant, the kids who’d end up with nothing if the company tanked. Jay knew he had to do something. He just wasn’t sure what.

So Jay invented an electronic oil gauge—used the difference in density between oil and water to give real-time readings. That slammed the door on their little scam.

He spent weeks in his garage, soldering wires, sketching diagrams on pizza boxes. When he rolled out the new gauge, the whole plant buzzed. The crooks knew their time was up.

Jay figured that’d be enough to scare them off.

He hoped the message was clear: the game was up. He expected the deputy manager and his crew to back off, maybe cut their losses. But he underestimated how far people will go to protect their money.

He didn’t realize—cutting off someone’s cash flow makes you an enemy for life.

He found out fast. The deputy manager started showing up at his office, making threats with a smile. Jay kept his cool, but he knew he was walking a razor’s edge. One wrong move, and it was over.

The deputy manager hated Jay’s guts, but Jay’s division was out of his control. Jay just ignored him, kept his head down.

He was polite but distant, never gave the guy an inch. The tension was always there, simmering just beneath the surface—felt like a storm waiting to break.

The deputy manager tried everything to smear Jay, but Jay’s record was clean. All he could do was dredge up old rumors.

He started spreading stories—about Jay, about Marissa, anything to muddy their names. But nobody bought it. Jay’s rep was solid. Marissa was loved by almost everyone now.

Then something happened—something that handed the deputy manager the perfect excuse to frame Jay.