Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Colton’s expression remained sympathetic but relentless as he dove into the mission again.
“Financial records show your father has been funneling millions of dollars through shell companies to organizations with known terrorist connections. Phone records place him in contact with Sigma operatives on the nights before each of their major attacks.”
“He’s a businessman!” Natalie’s voice rose, desperate now. “He deals with lots of people. That doesn’t make him a terrorist!”
“Ms. Ravenscroft, we’ve intercepted communications where your father explicitly discusses details,” Ty said. “Target locations, casualty projections, and the timeline for what they’re calling Critical Mass. It’s his voice. His words. No room for interpretation.”
“How would he even get chemical weapons through customs?” Natalie asked. “Ports have security, inspections—”
“Your father’s company has trusted shipper status,” Hudson said.
“Ravenscroft International has operated for decades without violations. Customs fast-tracks his containers because they’ve never had reason not to trust him.
That’s what makes this so perfect—Sigma is using your father’s reputation as cover.
The drums would have cleared customs days ago as legal industrial chemicals.
By the time anyone realizes what they really are, the ships will be gone. ”
Natalie’s face went pale. “So they’re using his business—”
“To bypass the security that’s supposed to stop exactly this kind of attack,” Colton finished.
The tears spilled over, tracking down Natalie’s cheeks.
She swiped at them with the back of her hand, rough and impatient, smearing the wetness across her skin like she could erase the evidence of weakness.
Her jaw clenched as more tears fell, and she scrubbed harder at her face, her movements sharp and jerky, like she was furious at her own body for betraying her.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “You have to be wrong. My father—he raised me. He took care of me when my mother died. He’s not a monster.”
“People can be both,” Hudson heard himself say. Everyone turned to look at him. “He can be a good father to you and still do terrible things. Those two facts don’t cancel each other out.”
Natalie’s eyes met his, and the pain in them was unbearable.
She stared at him for a long moment before turning back to Colton. “What exactly do you think Critical Mass is?”
“We believe Critical Mass is a coordinated port attack involving chemical/biological agents,” Colton stated.
The air left her lungs. “What?”
“Based on our investigation, Sigma has been using Ravenscroft International to smuggle weaponized materials into the Hampton Roads area,” Colton continued. “On a specific date, these materials will be released in Norfolk.”
“That . . . that can’t be . . .” She shook her head before pulling herself back together.
“We believe it’s true,” Colton said.
She swallowed hard. “Tell me more about this attack.”
Ty pulled up a classified document on the screen.
“These are the chemical compounds we’ve tracked through Ravenscroft International’s shipping records.
On their own, they’re legal. But our analysts confirmed they can be combined to produce VX nerve agent—one of the deadliest substances ever created. ”
He clicked to a diagram showing a city map with concentric circles.
“This is a dispersion model for a VX release at the Port of Norfolk during morning rush hour,” he continued.
“The red zone—immediate fatalities within fifteen minutes. Everyone in this area dies. The orange zone—severe exposure, death within an hour without immediate treatment, which won’t be available because emergency services will be overwhelmed.
Yellow zone—moderate exposure, permanent neurological damage for most survivors. ”
Natalie stared at the map, at the red zone that covered several square miles of Norfolk. “How many people?”
“Conservative estimate? Twenty thousand dead in the first three hours. Another ten thousand from delayed treatment and secondary contamination. Those are just the immediate casualties.” Ty’s expression was grim.
“Long-term health effects, economic collapse, psychological trauma to the survivors—the total impact would be incalculable.”
“We’re looking at one of the worst terrorist attacks in American history,” Colton said.
“Does the FBI know about this?” Natalie finally asked.
“We’ve been coordinating with them,” Ty said. “We’ve been gathering evidence to show them, evidence they want to see before getting involved.”
“Show me everything.” Her voice now sounded hollow. “All the evidence. All the recordings. All the photos. If you’re going to destroy my entire world, at least let me see why.”
Hudson closed his eyes, the weight of what they were about to do to her pressing down on him.
They spend the next hour destroying every belief she had about her father, every memory she cherished, every foundation of her life.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing he could do to make it hurt less.
Because the truth, no matter how terrible, was still the truth.
And Natalie Ravenscroft deserved to know exactly who her father really was.
Natalie stared at the evidence spread across the conference table—photos, financial records, transcripts of phone calls.
Her mind felt like it was short-circuiting, unable to process the sheer volume of information that contradicted everything she’d believed about her life.
Her father meeting with arms dealers. Her father discussing “casualties” and “target locations.” Her father funneling money to terrorist organizations.
But also: her father teaching her to ride a bike. Her father staying up all night when she had the flu. Her father crying at her college graduation.
Which version was real? Could they both be real like Hudson said?
Something buzzed on the table, and she jumped.
Colton pushed a cell phone toward her. “We’ve cloned your phone number and taken off any location tracking devices.”
“Why would you do that?” Her voice trembled.
“In case your father calls.”
At once, it made sense.
She glanced at the screen and sucked in a breath.
Just as she feared—it was her dad calling.
Everyone in the room went still.
Should she answer? Before she’d arrived, all she’d wanted was to talk to him and let him know she was okay. But now?
She scanned each man in the room, reading their expressions but coming up with no answers.
Colton and Ty exchanged a glance. Hudson pushed off from the wall, moving closer.
“He was probably tracking your phone,” Colton said. “That’s likely how those men found you at the marina. They knew you were following Hudson because your father was monitoring your location.”
“No.” Natalie shook her head. “My father tracks my phone for safety. He’s always done that. It’s not—he wouldn’t use it to—”
“To send armed men after you?” Hudson’s voice was quiet but firm. “Natalie, think about tonight. How did those operatives know exactly where to find us? How did they arrive at that exact marina at that exact time?”
The phone continued to buzz in her hand, insistent. Demanding.
“My father would never hurt me.” Even as the words left Natalie’s mouth, she wasn’t sure she believed them anymore. “He’s probably terrified. I disappeared, I’m not answering my phone. He just wants to know I’m safe.”
“Or he wants to know where you are so he can send more men to retrieve you,” Ty said, “before you tell us anything else that could compromise his operations.”
The phone stopped buzzing. Went silent.
Then the buzzing immediately started again.
Natalie stared at the device.
“What are you going to do?” Hudson asked.
That was the question, wasn’t it? What was she going to do?