Page 37 of Critical Mass
Ty pulled up a classified document on the screen. “These are the chemical compounds we’ve tracked through RavenscroftInternational’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.
