Chapter 8 #4
“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Delaney says, already scanning past us to the rising curve of steel.
He gestures to the two men at his side. “I’ve got Mr. Williams and Mr. James from Boysenberry Farm’s corporate office with me this morning.
I thought I’d take the opportunity to show them the crown jewel of our new expansion. ”
He clasps his hands behind his back, clearly pleased as he surveys the structure. “Our foreman was telling me just yesterday that you’re ahead of schedule.” His smile widens. “If things keep moving like this, we could be looking at an early opening. Think of the Q3 numbers on that.”
Williams and James exchange approving looks.
“We were ahead of schedule, sir,” Theo says evenly, “but we’ve identified a potential issue with the track. We’ll need time to pull the data and sort it out.”
“There’s no issue,” the foreman cuts in, stepping forward a little too quickly. His face is flushed under his hard hat. “Mr. Riverton is simply being cautious. It’s his job to be the skeptic, but I assure you, everything is within tolerance. We are still on track for that early date.”
“No,” Theo says flatly. “We aren’t.”
Mr. Delaney’s frown deepens, his eyes darting between the two men. He gestures for Theo and the foreman to step aside, lowering his voice. “Gentlemen. This is an important visit. Which is it? Do we have a problem, or don’t we?”
“No,” the foreman says at the same moment Theo says, “Yes.”
A prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck. I know the hierarchy here. I’m the junior engineer. My job is to observe, take notes, and stay invisible while the men with titles and decades of experience battle it out. That’s the unspoken rule of the corporate ladder.
But as I look back at the joint beneath the scaffold, those three bolts seem to glow with an ominous light. Rules don’t stop metal fatigue. Physics doesn’t care about a CEO’s quarterly projections or a foreman’s pride.
The misalignment is still there—a tiny, stubborn rebellion in the steel.
It’s a problem that won’t announce itself today or tomorrow.
It’ll wait until the ride has cycled ten thousand times and the vibration has turned that “tolerance” into a crack.
If I stay silent now to protect the peace, I’m helping build a disaster.
Theo’s voice echoes inside my head. Don’t get distracted.
I glance at him. His cheeks are flushed not from the heat, but from restraint. From holding the line. It hits me then—He’s staked his credibility on me. Me. The junior engineer. I owe it to him to hold my line.
I draw in a deep breath. “Excuse me,” I say, my voice carrying farther than I intend. “Mr. Riverton is right. There is a discrepancy.”
Mr. Delaney’s attention shifts to me fully now, sharp and curious. “And you are?”
“Kaori Minami,” I say.
The foreman scoffs under his breath. “She’s an intern—”
“She is not,” Theo cuts in. He turns, fully facing them now, his presence snapping the air tight. “She’s an engineer on my team. And she flagged something we need to address before it becomes a multimillion-dollar problem.”
He glances at me, giving a brief nod. “Kaori. Walk them through it.”
I swallow and step forward, lifting my tablet. My hands shake as I repeat the explanation again, stripped down to the essential points.
Mr. Delaney frowns further. “What does this mean in plain English for my park?”
Theo answers without hesitation. “It means the foundation of this section is crooked. Because those bolts aren’t flush, the steel is under a silent pressure it wasn’t built to take. It’s like trying to build a skyscraper on a cracked brick.”
He takes a deep breath. “Right now, it looks fine. But every time a train travels over this spot, that crack is going to grow. If we don’t stop and fix it today, we aren’t just ahead of schedule—we’re building a ride that is guaranteed to break while people are on it.
We fix it now for the cost of a few hours of labor, or we fix it in two years after the national news covers the derailment. ”
It may be exaggerated, but the words “crack” and “derailment” seem to do the trick. The corporate executives go pale, and Mr. Delaney’s hand drops from the railing as if it’s suddenly gone hot.
The foreman interjects. “With all due respect, she’s green. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. And Mr. Riverton said he checked it last week and it was fine. He—”
Theo’s head snaps toward him, his eyes growing ice-cold. “Then you won’t mind if we check it again. And while we’re at it, we’ll verify the torque sequence on the surrounding joints to make sure this isn’t isolated.”
The foreman opens his mouth to argue, but Mr. Delaney raises a hand, silencing him instantly.
The CEO’s gaze is sharp now, the “proud father” smile completely replaced by the look of a man protecting his empire.
“That’s enough,” he says, his voice low and final.
“If there’s even a chance this affects safety, I want it addressed immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” both men say.
As soon as Mr. Delaney disappears toward the site office, Theo pivots back to the foreman. “Bring in your site engineer,” he says. “I want the joint rechecked yesterday.”
Things move fast after that. Radios crackle, tools are called for, and a ladder is dragged into place. In the middle of it all, Theo finds a moment to pull me aside.
“Well done, Kaori,” he says. His voice is low, a private resonance just for us. “You trusted your instincts. That’s the one thing I can’t teach. I’ve seen veteran engineers fold under half that pressure. You didn’t. I’m proud of you.”
My insides want to melt. I’m standing in the dust of a construction site, being handed the one thing I’ve been craving—his respect. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “But there’s still a chance I’m wrong. This could all be for nothing.”
He tilts his head slightly, already watching the scaffold as the site engineer reaches the joint. “You’re not wrong,” he says, his tone calm and utterly certain. “I don’t just trust the math, Kaori. I trust my team. The evidence will sort it out.”
A few minutes of agonizing silence pass. We watch the tiny figure on the scaffold apply the digital torque wrench. Then the radio on Theo’s belt crackles to life, the static loud in the quiet tension.
“Riverton, this is Miller at support two. We’ve got a problem. Joint didn’t even hit sixty percent of the required spec before the bolt started to yield. The alignment is forced. You were right to call it.”
Theo exhales slowly, controlled. “There it is.” Picking up his radio he calls, “Ten-four. Roger that.”
Relief hits me all at once. Not because I proved anyone wrong, but because I trusted myself and Theo listened.
Around us, the site shifts gears. Tools are called for. Instructions are relayed. The foreman’s voice tightens as he issues new orders.
I stand there with my tablet pressed to my chest, the hum of machinery and voices fading into background noise. My smile comes without permission, small but unstoppable. For the first time since I joined Excelsior Parks, I don’t feel like I’m pretending to be an engineer. I feel like I am one.