Dad leans forward, his dark eyes fixing on the screen. “What are we looking at, Zara?”
“Knox’s primary manufacturing site,” I state clearly, my voice ringing out with absolute confidence. “We spent the morning isolating the regional utility grid and matching it against satellite heat indexing. The old chemical processing plant off Route 9 isn't abandoned, no matter how it looks from the outside. Knox has a full-scale fentanyl lab running inside those walls right now.”
The room goes dead silent.
Mayhem steps closer to the monitor, leaning his hands flat on the oak table as he squints at the thermal readouts. “A full lab? Not just a distribution hub?”
“Full production,” Locke interjects, pointing a finger toward the blue-and-red heat blooms on the northern wing of the building. “Those ar
