She shut it down.
Luke approached.
“That’s one?”
“No.”
“It started.”
“That isn’t fixed.”
“What else?”
“I need to inspect the harness, fluids, and field test it.”
He smiled.
“You’re going to make Clayton crazy.”
“That wasn’t the goal.”
“Still happening.”
Luke leaned against a workbench.
He was forty-three, lean, sunburned, with the permanently tired eyes of someone who spent more time around cattle than beds.
“You really think somebody messed with it?”
Maya looked at him.
“What do you think?”
He glanced toward the office.
“I think Logan’s been pissed off for months.”
“About?”
Luke immediately regretted saying anything.
Maya waited.
He sighed.
“Nothing.”
“Useful.”
“I’m not getting in the middle.”
“You already are.”
“How?”
“You watched a machine start.”
“That makes me a witness?”
“Only if someone asks.”
He shook his head.
“You talk like your dad.”
Maya went still.
“You knew him?”
Luke nodded.
“Little.”
“He worked here sometimes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Maya looked toward the equipment.
“He never mentioned Reeves Ranch.”
Luke laughed.
“Your father didn’t mention people he thought were irritating.”
That sounded accurate.
“What happened?”
Luke shrugged.
“Clayton and him got into it.”
“About what?”
“Parts bill.”
Maya’s attention sharpened.
“What parts bill?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
Luke looked toward the office again.
“Ask Clayton.”
“He’ll answer?”
“No.”
“Then why suggest it?”
Luke smiled.
“Because I’d pay to watch.”
He walked away before Maya could ask more.
By late afternoon, she had diagnosed two more machines.
The second tractor had a pressure sensor wired through a small inline resistance pack hidden beneath loom tape.
The forage harvester had an intentionally loosened ground point beneath a panel accessible only with a specific driver.
Different failures.
Same philosophy.
Create intermittent faults.
Make them look unrelated.
Make professionals chase symptoms.
At six, Clayton returned.
He carried a paper cup of coffee and looked far too pleased with himself.
“Still here.”
“Disappointed?”
“Surprised.”
He pointed toward the tractor.
“Luke says you got one running.”
“I got it starting.”
“That counts.”
“No.”
“You trying to make my bet harder?”
“I’m trying to prevent you from saying it didn’t count later.”
Clayton smiled.
Then noticed the removed components lined across a clean shop towel.
“What’s that?”
“Evidence.”
The smile disappeared.
“Of what?”
“Somebody tampering with your machinery.”
Clayton set down the coffee.
Maya showed him the resistor.
The damaged connectors.
The fresh marks.
The loosened ground.
He listened.
Then shook his head.
“No.”
Maya stared.
“That’s your technical opinion?”
“My technical opinion is nobody here is sabotaging nine million dollars’ worth of equipment.”
“That’s not nine million dollars.”
Clayton frowned.
She pointed.
“That tractor was maybe three-fifty new.”