Page 91 of Critical Mass
She’d mentioned how her father was always trying to fix her up with men who would advance his business interests. Matthew Whitfield from the Maritime Trade Association. Jonathan Rutter from the rival shipping family. David whatever-his-name-was from logistics.
“He treats my love life like a merger negotiation,”she’d said with a bitter laugh.“Every introduction is strategic. Every date has an agenda. Like I’m not his daughter—I’m an asset to be leveraged.”
Hudson had made some sympathetic comment at the time, filed the information away for his intelligence reports, and moved on.
Now, lying in Ravenscroft’s guest room, the thought made his jaw clench.
How was what he’d done any different?
He’d approached Natalie with an agenda too. Had dated her strategically. Had used her to get close to her father. At least Ravenscroft’s matchmaking attempts had been honest about what they were. Hudson had wrapped his manipulation in fake smiles and manufactured chemistry.
Except the smiles hadn’t been fake. And the chemistry hadn’t been manufactured.
And that was the problem.
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.
