Chapter Two
The day before, Matt was in home in Richmond, VA. His workout gave him a sense of calm. Noise reduced to something manageable. Breath steady. Muscles loose. His mind, clear for now.
He crossed the parking lot toward his BMW, keys already in hand. A typical morning.
His phone rang as he opened the driver’s door. It was Carissa.
“I have some information for you,” she said.
“Go on,” Matt replied, getting in and shutting the door.
“This didn’t make the news,” Carissa continued. “Barely made regional coverage. Small town—too small to compete with everything else going on. Laurel, Delaware. A bombing that was thought to be an accident.”
Matt started the engine and eased out of the lot, merging into traffic without urgency.
“It was an orphanage,” she said. “Fully staffed. Children inside. A couple there finalizing adoption paperwork. Twenty-six people killed.”
Matt didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Carissa would provide the facts. That was her job in this relationship.
“The initial explanation was a gas leak,” she went on. “Electrical failure. Something ordinary enough to stop questions before they started. But the blast pattern was too clean. Too controlled. Someone wanted it to look careless.”
She paused, letting the information settle.
“They found fragments that didn’t belong,” she added. “Incendiary components that wouldn’t have been there if this were an accident. Whoever built it understood containment. They knew exactly how much damage they wanted.”
Matt drove on, eyes forward, the city passing around him unchanged.
“WTO?” Carissa asked.
WTO—Worth Taking Out—wasn’t built on emotion or ideology. It was classification. A line crossed when damage couldn’t be undone, when removal became the only balance left.
“Yes,” Matt said.
“I don’t know who paid for it,” Carissa continued. “That trail isn’t clear yet. But I know who built it. He’s a contractor. No affiliations, no public beliefs. Designs, executes, disappears. He’s tied to multiple incidents written off as accidents.”
“Send me everything,” Matt said.
“You’ll have it in seconds,” she replied.
The call ended, and Matt’s phone vibrated as files began populating the screen—photos, movement patterns, partial timelines. He didn’t open them yet. The decision had already been made.
The day wasn’t over. Matt was heading to Delaware.