Chapter 9: The Maze of Silver Hollow

“Get in the car.”

Isabella and I got into Kev’s car again. The seats were warm from the sun, and the air was thick with tension.

“I’ll give you a tour first.”

The park was enormous—if you’ve never been inside, you can’t imagine how big it is. Bigger than many county towns, with endless rows of buildings and parking lots.

Rows of buildings stretched out like a maze. People hustled everywhere, some in business suits, others in jeans and hoodies, all moving with purpose. The hum of machinery and distant voices filled the air.

A lot of people think the whole scam park is run by one company, but that’s not true.

To put it another way: think of an industrial park or tech campus—like Silicon Valley or Detroit auto plants. The whole place is managed by a property company—they handle security, utilities, daily operations.

Each scam group leader (we call them ‘bosses’) rents space from the property company, then sets up their own area. The buildings buzzed with activity, and the smell of fried food drifted from a distant cafeteria.

They build offices, hire workers, do as they please. Laughter and snippets of conversation echoed off the concrete walls.

There are many bosses in the park, all trying every trick to lure people from the States to work scams.

But some businesses—like karaoke, massage, casinos—are monopolized by the property company. The neon lights of the karaoke bar glowed even in the daylight.

Later, I learned the park’s karaoke bar makes over nine million a day. The numbers were staggering, and the greed palpable.

Other things are expensive too—cigarettes, alcohol, food cost three to five times more than outside. I overheard someone complain about paying $12 for a pack of Marlboros.

Of course, Kev didn’t tell me any of this—I found out later.

Kev took me to his part of the park—his so-called company. The building looked newer, the windows clean.

There were six buildings side by side—he said those were staff dorms.

“How many employees do you have?”

“A few hundred.”

Past the dorms, the office buildings looked even nicer. The air conditioning hummed, and the floors shone.

He led me upstairs to an office.

“Let me introduce our company boss, Mr. Foster.”

I shook hands with Mr. Foster—he was polite and friendly. His grip was strong, and he smiled with practiced ease.

“You’re Kev’s classmate, right? He’s told me about you—very promising.”

“No, no.”

“What do you think of my place?”

“Very impressive, it’s a big company.”

Mr. Foster was short and chubby, with a Southern accent—he sounded like he might be from Texas or Oklahoma. He wore a bolo tie with a little silver horse on it. There was a warmth to his greeting, but something in his eyes was calculating.

Isabella didn’t come in—no idea what she was busy with.

The three of us chatted; I just wanted it to end so I could get back to Canada. I was scared out of my wits, my hands shaking as I tried to keep up the conversation.

I reached into my pocket for cigarettes—only two left, awkward.

Mr. Foster opened his drawer, pulled out a carton of Marlboros. “Hey, hey, Eric, right? Let’s call you E.J.—take this carton.”

I quickly refused.

“No, no, it’s too much.”

Mr. Foster rummaged again. “Damn, only this left—what, you don’t like it?”

“No, no, these are expensive—Mr. Foster, you don’t need to spend so much.”

“Take it—it’s hard to buy cigarettes here, local ones aren’t good. Take it.”

I couldn’t refuse, so I opened the carton and took a pack.

Mr. Foster opened three more packs and stuffed them in my pocket. The gesture felt like a test, or maybe a bribe.

“Let me tell you, Kev is very capable—he’s my biggest agent here. Let him teach you, you’ll easily make hundreds of thousands a year.”

I mumbled, trying to dodge. The pressure was suffocating.

“Kev, take E.J. to see the office.”

My heart thudded in my chest, the weight of those cigarettes like a bribe I couldn’t return.