Machine seven was straightforward.
Tampered speed sensor.
Machine eight had a cooling fault created by a partially blocked airflow path and disconnected fan control.
By 3:00 p.m., both started.
At 4:12, the sheriff returned.
With news.
Logan had lawyered up.
Yellowstone Equipment’s owner, Trent Maddox, denied wrongdoing.
But investigators had obtained enough voluntary records from Reeves Ranch to start comparing billed parts against serial numbers.
Helen had also found something else.
Insurance claims.
Three machinery breakdown claims filed in eighteen months.
Payments totaling $142,000.
Some repairs supposedly performed by Yellowstone.
Maya looked at Clayton.
“Were machines actually damaged?”
“I thought so.”
“Who filed claims?”
“Logan handled them.”
Helen nodded.
“Clayton signed.”
Again.
Clayton stared at the wall.
“How many times can one man sign his own stupidity?”
Helen answered:
“Apparently twenty-three pages’ worth.”
Maya expected anger.
Instead Clayton laughed.
Darkly.
“Fair.”
The deputy said:
“Insurance fraud may get state investigators interested quickly.”
Clayton looked toward the machines.
“Why sabotage after repairs?”
Maya answered.
“To keep the story believable.”
“If equipment stays fixed, you stop paying.”
“If it keeps failing, you keep replacing parts.”
Helen added:
“And eventually you replace entire machines.”
The deputy said:
“Yellowstone is authorized broker for trade-ins?”
Clayton stared.
“Yes.”
There it was.
The scheme clarified.
Create intermittent failures.
Bill expensive repairs.
Receive kickbacks.
When the machines appear unreliable enough, convince the ranch to replace them through the same vendor.
Profit again.
Four outside mechanics were threats because they might discover original parts had never been replaced.
So someone made their diagnoses fail too.
The Denver mechanic had not been incompetent.
He had fixed one real problem.
Then someone created another.
Clayton swore softly.
“I mocked all of them.”
Maya said nothing.
He looked at her.
“I called the last man a fraud to his face.”
“Call him.”
“What?”
“Apologize.”
Clayton stared.
“Now?”
“You have phone.”
He looked offended.
Then thoughtful.
He walked outside.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
His face was different.
“What did he say?”
Maya asked.
“Mostly things I can’t repeat around Noah.”
From across the shop, the teenage apprentice shouted:
“I’ve heard words!”
Everyone laughed.
Clayton almost did.
Then:
“He said he knew somebody was retampering.”
“I didn’t believe him.”
“What else?”
“He told me to go to hell.”
“Reasonable.”
Clayton pointed.
“You are getting very comfortable.”
Maya smiled.
The plane returned at dusk.
The transmission part was wrong.
Not slightly.
Completely wrong revision.
Maya stared at the crate.
Clayton stared at the invoice.
Luke stared at Maya.
Nobody spoke.
Then Maya said:
“I’m going to kill somebody.”
Clayton smiled faintly.
“Finally.”
She looked at him.
“What?”