Chapter 343 – The Sewage Pit
Everyone in the family already knew about Jimmy's identity problem.
But his parents didn't.
As far as they were concerned, their precious youngest son was still a promising medical student—respectable, headed toward a high-paying career, destined to become Dr. Jimmy.
They had no idea he had a second identity.
No idea he lived under another name.
No idea he'd stopped attending school and was spending his days stealing cars.
If they ever found out that their gifted son had abandoned medicine to become a petty criminal, they would never understand it.
And if they discovered the full truth?
No one could predict what would happen.
---
So Jimmy couldn't use his real name to find work.
He had to use his fake identity—"Steve."
How Jimmy had managed to create that identity remained a mystery. It was fully legitimate on paper—valid documents, tax records, even capable of registering a marriage and a divorce without raising suspicion.
Everything about "Steve" checked out.
Except for one thing.
Steve had no academic record.
Not even a high school diploma.
Perhaps once a student graduated, their information entered a centralized education system that was harder to forge. Whatever the reason, "Steve" had no credentials.
Which meant that if Jimmy wanted a job, he had to search the way Fiona once had—digging through classified ads in newspapers for temporary or low-skill work.
---
"How about this one?" Sami said, circling a listing in the paper and handing it to Jimmy. "Barista at Bino's Diner. Make coffee, serve coffee. Not as dirty or exhausting as other jobs. And the pay's not bad."
"I remember that place," Debbie added. "Fiona, remember Shirley? She worked there. I heard she made over twenty thousand!"
"Twenty thousand… a month?" Jimmy asked automatically.
The room went silent.
He blinked.
"Wait. A year? Twenty thousand a year? Are you kidding me? How are you supposed to live on that!?"
Fiona and the others rolled their eyes in unison.
Jimmy's standards were still wildly out of sync with reality.
Jimmy truly had no idea what everyday life cost.
He still hadn't shaken off the mindset of a spoiled rich kid.
To the old Fiona—the one who used to juggle multiple part-time jobs—earning twenty thousand a year would have felt like winning the lottery. She would've laughed in her sleep.
But to Jimmy? That number was almost insulting.
He could steal a single car and make several thousand in one go.
If he put in real effort, he could pull in twenty grand in under a week.
And most of his time wasn't even spent stealing—just scouting for targets. The actual act itself rarely took more than five minutes.
Money had always come too fast and too easily for him. No wonder he'd developed reckless spending habits.
So when he heard "twenty thousand a year," he genuinely couldn't comprehend it. He'd never worked at the bottom rung. He'd never known what ordinary people earned.
---
"I contacted someone I used to work with," Fiona said, glancing at her phone. "There's an urgent job opening. They're short on people, and the pay is pretty high. Want to try it?"
"What kind of job?" Jimmy asked.
"Overflow at a slaughterhouse wastewater pit."
"What pit? Wastewater?" Jimmy blinked, not quite processing it.
"Relax. I signed up too. I'll do it with you."
"I say we take it," Frank cut in immediately. He knew exactly what Fiona was doing and made the decision for them.
"Well… okay then," Jimmy agreed vaguely, still not entirely sure what he'd just signed up for.
Mostly, it was because Fiona said she'd be there.
Jimmy had always been "self-employed." He'd never had a real job before. Deep down, he was nervous. Having Fiona beside him gave him a bit of confidence—something solid to lean on.
And besides, if Fiona could handle it, surely he could too. He was a grown man. No way he'd be worse than a woman at this.
Reality would prove how naive that thought was.
---
The next day, a group of them gathered in work uniforms, goggles, and rubber gloves, riding together to the slaughterhouse.
The moment they stepped inside, Jimmy understood.
A massive crack had split open one of the main pipes. Thick, blood-tinged wastewater poured out continuously, nearly filling the collection pit below. The air reeked of rot and iron-heavy stench—like something had died and been left to liquefy.
Jimmy gagged. "That smell is disgusting. Did something die in here?"
"Oh, plenty of things die here," the team leader said casually. "You'll get used to it. Your nose goes numb after a while."
"Seal your gloves and boots tight with tape. No gaps. There's solids in there today."
"Solids?" Jimmy echoed blankly.
"Maggots. Roaches. Rats. If a cockroach crawls into your clothes and starts running across your skin or through your hair, you won't be able to focus."
Jimmy's brain short-circuited.
He suddenly felt like he'd boarded the wrong ship—and it was sinking.
He wanted out before they'd even begun.
"Fiona, maybe we should—"
"If you don't want filthy liquid splashing into your mouth, keep it closed," Fiona said calmly, already taping up her sleeves and pant legs, slipping on goggles and a mask with practiced efficiency.
She looked completely at ease.
Clearly, this wasn't her first time doing something like this.
The team leader leaned toward her and nodded at Jimmy. "Your girlfriend gonna be okay?"
He meant Jimmy.
Fiona glanced at him. "He'll manage… probably."
---
Then everyone climbed down into the wastewater pit.
Some used tools to clear blockages. Others crouched and reached straight into the sludge, digging out fistfuls of foul, mud-like waste and tossing it into buckets.
Jimmy had never suffered like this in his life.
He nearly vomited several times.
He wanted to quit. Desperately. But Fiona didn't complain once—just kept working.
So he swallowed the bile rising in his throat and kept going.
Until—
"Ugh—nope! I can't! I need out!" Jimmy suddenly bolted.
"What's wrong?" Fiona rushed after him.
"Fck! Fck!" He ripped off his gloves and flung them to the ground. Several cockroaches scurried out from inside.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot do this job! This is work for undocumented immigrants—fourteen-fifty an hour isn't even worth it!" he babbled while frantically stripping off his gear.
"Quick! I can feel something crawling under my shirt—it's on my back! Hit my back!" He twisted wildly, slapping at himself like he'd lost his mind.
Fiona sighed.
She went back to the team leader and explained.
They were quitting.
No pay.
Half a day of misery for nothing.
Jimmy stood outside the slaughterhouse, pale and shaken.
For the first time in his life, he'd experienced what it meant to earn money the hard way.
And it had broken him in under an hour.