At eight fourteen and thirty-one seconds AM, a previously unforeseen combination of airborne late twentieth century industrial particles combined with an undetected manufacturing defect in a solvent container will make a tiny corner of the Tyrnex shipping facility go up in a puff of gas. A puff of horribly toxic gas. Probably kill a couple Novalon employees and lung-burn a couple dozen more.
They should have gone to work for me.
The whole industry would lock down Tyrnex use while the investigation went on.
Yeah, DNBX would grind to a halt. My stock would take a hit.
But the White Consortium’s stock would plunge right into the composter.
I win.
I circle back towards my wing of the industrial park, filled with pleasant daydreams as I walk through the night.
Shine up the records first.
