Maya's Discovery

Maya Chen's POV

Maya's phone rang at 2:47 in the morning.

She grabbed it, heart pounding. Late-night calls meant trouble.

"Maya, it's Danny. Someone threw a brick through my window with a death threat. They know about the missing barrels."

Maya was out of bed instantly. "I'm coming over. Don't touch anything."

Twenty minutes later, she stood in Danny's bedroom, photographing the brick and the threatening note. Danny's mother paced the hallway, speaking rapid Spanish on the phone with the police.

"Forty barrels," Danny whispered, showing Maya his calculations. "The EPA only found twenty. Where are the other forty?"

Maya's journalist instincts kicked into high gear. "We're going to find out. But first, you and your family need protection."

By sunrise, Maya had called Jake, contacted the state police, and started investigating. If someone was threatening Danny, it meant they were getting close to something big.

The story she wrote that morning shook Millbrook to its core.

"POISONING COVER-UP BIGGER THAN BELIEVED: 40 TOXIC BARRELS STILL MISSING"

Her article explained Danny's discovery and demanded answers. Where were the missing barrels? How many more people were in danger?

Within hours, national news networks called her office.

"Ms. Chen, this is Rebecca Williams from CNN. We'd like to interview you about the Millbrook conspiracy."

"Maya Chen? This is The New York Times. Can we republish your investigation?"

"Ms. Chen, NPR here. Would you appear on our show to discuss small-town corruption?"

Maya's tiny newspaper office became chaos. Phone ringing constantly. Emails flooding in. Reporters from across the country descending on Millbrook.

But Maya didn't care about the attention. She cared about finding those barrels.

Jake helped her search through old property records at the courthouse. If the conspirators had hidden forty barrels, they needed land where nobody would look.

"Here," Jake said, pointing to a document. "Judge Brennan owned a farm outside town. Twenty acres that nobody ever visited."

They drove to the farm that afternoon with EPA investigators. What they found made Maya's stomach turn.

An old barn sat in the middle of overgrown fields. Inside, stacked against the walls, were forty barrels marked with skull symbols.

"Dear God," one EPA scientist whispered. "These have been leaking for years. The chemicals have contaminated the entire groundwater system."

Maya took photos while the scientists worked. This wasn't just Millbrook's problem anymore. Three neighboring towns shared the same underground water source.

Thousands of people had been drinking poisoned water.

That night, Maya wrote the story of her life. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she detailed everything—the conspiracy, the cover-up, the scale of the environmental disaster.

"MILLBROOK POISONING AFFECTS THOUSANDS: CRIMINAL CONSPIRACY SPANS DECADES"

The article went viral within hours. Shared millions of times on social media. Featured on every major news channel. Maya's phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Two weeks later, Maya stood on stage in Washington D.C., accepting the National Journalism Award for investigative reporting. Cameras flashed as she held the trophy, but she felt strange about celebrating while people were still suffering.

"This award belongs to Danny Santos," Maya said into the microphone. "A sixteen-year-old boy who risked his life for the truth. He's the real hero."

The audience applauded, but Maya's mind was already racing ahead. During her investigation, she'd noticed something disturbing.

Other small towns had similar patterns. Judges who never convicted the wealthy. Sheriffs who protected the powerful. Mysterious illnesses that nobody investigated.

Back in Millbrook, Maya spread out a map of the United States on her office wall. She marked every town where she'd found suspicious patterns.

Fifteen towns. All across the South. All with the same corruption fingerprints.

"It's not just Millbrook," she told Jake. "This conspiracy is bigger than we thought."

Jake studied the map, his face grim. "You think they're connected?"

"I think there's a network," Maya said. "Judge Brennan didn't invent this system. He learned it from someone."

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

Maya hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"

"Ms. Chen?" A woman's voice, frightened and whispering. "My name is Patricia Wilson. I'm calling from Oakridge, Tennessee. I saw your story about Millbrook."

Maya grabbed her notebook. "Go on."

"The same things are happening here. Our judge never convicts rich people. Our water tastes strange. People are getting sick. And when my husband tried to investigate, he disappeared."

Maya's hand tightened on the phone. "Disappeared?"

"Three months ago. The police say he ran away, but I know better. He found something. Something about toxic waste being dumped. And then he vanished."

"Mrs. Wilson, I need you to tell me everything—"

"Wait," the woman interrupted. "There's someone at my door. I didn't call anyone. I didn't—"

A crash. A scream.

Then the line went dead.

Maya stared at her phone, heart racing.

She called back immediately. No answer.

She tried again. Still nothing.

Jake saw her face. "What's wrong?"

"Someone just got attacked," Maya said, already grabbing her car keys. "And I think it's because she called me."

She looked at the map on her wall, at the fifteen towns marked with corruption.

This wasn't just about Millbrook anymore.

This was about a nationwide conspiracy that killed anyone who got too close to the truth.

And Maya had just become their next target.