Chapter 51
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
Hudson sat up, knowing sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon. Instead, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and pulled up the photos he’d taken in Ravenscroft’s study earlier that day—the ones from the unlabeled manila folder.
Shipping manifests. Container numbers. Arrival dates. Origin ports.
He’d already sent copies to Colton for analysis, but now, in the quiet of the night with his mind racing, he decided to look at them again with fresh eyes.
The first page showed standard information: Container MSCU7432891, arrived October 10th from Dubai via the Port of Jebel Ali. Cargo listed as “industrial equipment parts.”
Vague enough to be legitimate. Specific enough to avoid immediate scrutiny.
Hudson swiped to the next photo. More containers, similar origins—Dubai, Singapore, Istanbul. All cities where Ravenscroft had legitimate business operations. All cities that also happened to be hubs for arms trafficking.
Then something caught his eye on the third manifest. A notation in the margin, handwritten in neat block letters: ZEPHYR—priority handling.
Zephyr. That was a code name, not a company designation.
Hudson zoomed in on the photo, studying the handwriting. It matched the style in Ravenscroft’s planner—the same deliberate precision, the same slight rightward slant.
But who or what was Zephyr?
He swiped through more photos, looking for the name again. There—another manifest, different container number, but the same notation: ZEPHYR—direct delivery.
And another: ZEPHYR protocol—no inspection.
Hudson’s pulse quickened. Whatever Zephyr was, it was important enough to warrant special handling. Important enough to bypass normal inspection procedures.
He pulled up a secure messaging app and sent a quick note to Colton.
Found code name ZEPHYR repeated in manifests. Priority handling, no inspection required. Need identification.
While he waited for a response, Hudson continued studying the photos. The containers associated with Zephyr all shared similar characteristics—medium size, originating from different ports but all routed through intermediary locations before reaching Norfolk.
Shell game logistics. Making the cargo harder to trace back to its real source.
His phone buzzed. Colton’s response.
Checking databases now. Zephyr isn’t in our current Sigma intelligence. Could be new player or subsidiary operation.
Hudson typed back.
All Zephyr containers originated from ports with Russian connections. Dubai has strong Russian business presence. Singapore handles Russian shipping. Istanbul is a known hub for Russian arms dealers.
The pieces were starting to form a pattern. The Russians had been on Hudson’s radar since Alexei Volkov’s name had been mentioned. A Russian shipping magnate with a reputation for ruthlessness and a long-standing rivalry with Ravenscroft.
But was Volkov Zephyr? Or was Zephyr someone else entirely?
Natalie lay in her childhood bedroom, staring at shadows on the ceiling cast by the security lights outside. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant murmur of guards changing shifts.
She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the way Hudson smelled. The way his skin felt. The way every part of her felt electrified at his nearness.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating in the darkness.
She reached for it, expecting another update from her assistant about tomorrow’s schedule or maybe her father making sure she was settled in.
Instead, the name on the screen made her frown: Jonathan Rutter.
Natalie sat up, pulling the covers around herself as she opened the message.
I need to talk to you. In person. Tomorrow if possible.
She stared at the text, confusion knotting her stomach. She hadn’t heard from Jonathan in almost six months—not since she’d politely declined his invitation to a charity gala and he’d taken the hint that she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything romantic.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing:
About what?
The three dots appeared immediately, showing he was typing. Then stopped. Started again.
Can’t explain over text. But it’s important. It concerns your father.
Natalie’s breath caught. Her father?
What about my father?
Another long pause. The dots appeared and disappeared twice before his response finally came through.
Please, Natalie. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Can you meet me tomorrow? Somewhere public. The coffee shop on Granby Street, maybe? 2 pm?
Her mind raced through possibilities. Jonathan’s family owned Rutter Maritime—her father’s competitor.
They’d been battling over contracts and shipping routes for years.
Her father had tried to smooth things over by setting her and Jonathan up, hoping a romantic connection might ease business tensions.
It hadn’t worked. Jonathan was nice enough, but there’d been no spark. And Natalie had made it clear she wasn’t interested in being used as a diplomatic tool.
So why was he reaching out now? And why did it concern her father?
She typed:
Why can’t you tell me over the phone?
A moment later, he replied:
Because I don’t know who might be listening.