FORTUNE FAVOURS HER

episode 2

*10 months earlier*

'As I sat in the meeting with the Narcotics Special Division, one of my supervisors spoke out, "We need to catch the head of this operation." My team and I had been investigating a major drug trafficking case that involved the supply of over 20 tons of cocaine, weed, and weapons to the European market. We had discovered that most of the produce was being sent to Africa, where it was being sold on the black market.

Our investigations had led us to several companies that were involved in shipping the drugs. One of the companies that caught our attention was one of the biggest shipping companies from the USA. We had reason to believe that they were involved in the transportation of these illegal substances.

The operation was a massive one, and we knew that the head of this criminal network was a major player in the drug trade. Our team was determined to catch him and bring him to justice. We were working tirelessly to gather as much evidence as possible, and we were confident that we would be successful in our mission.

During the meeting, my attention wavered as I battled the lingering effects of jet lag from my recent mission in South Sudan. As I struggled to focus, chaos unfolded within the confines of our office. Someone had infiltrated our computer systems, leaving a trail of tampered evidence in their wake. The gravity of the situation became apparent to only a select few, as a crucial file detailing drug shipments from earlier in the year had gone missing, casting a shadow of suspicion over the room.

"Miss Collins," my supervisor's voice pierces through the haze of my thoughts, drawing my gaze upwards to meet his stern expression. The weight of his scrutiny, coupled with the collective stares of my colleagues, bears down on me.

"Did you catch any of what was discussed?" he inquires, his tone laden with expectation. Caught in a dilemma, I weigh the consequences of my response. Should I fabricate a tale to remain in the meeting's confines, or dare to reveal the truth and risk being dispatched once more to the tumultuous terrain of South Sudan, a realm seemingly preferable to the turmoil unfolding before me?

"Apologies, sir, I wasn't quite tuned in; still grappling with jet lag," I offer, resting my hand wearily against my temple. All eyes in the room converge on me, save for Daniel, who always seems to have a retort up his sleeve.

"Yet here you are, makeup flawless as ever," he quips, eliciting laughter from the assembled group.

Though his jest stings a bit, I'm accustomed to his teasing. "Well, Daniel, jet lag or not, I'm still more awake than your ideas during meetings," I retort, trying to brush off the embarrassment.

The room falls silent, and I can feel the weight of my response hanging in the air. Glancing up at my supervisor, I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that, despite my fatigue, I managed to absorb everything he said in the first half of the meeting.

"Sir, our attempts to infiltrate the group have proven futile over the past several months," I assert, breaking the silence in the meeting room. "Their leader seems to operate from afar, likely in America or London, making it nearly impossible to gain direct access. Instead, our best strategy may be to observe from a distance, gathering intelligence without risking exposure."

As I finish explaining, the room remains eerily quiet, everyone exchanging uncertain glances. I can't help but wonder if I've either made a critical error or struck a chord with my proposal. With me, it's often one extreme or the other.

"If I were aware that the authorities from both the EU and Africa were hot on my trail, I certainly wouldn't venture anywhere near those regions," I continue, pressing my point. "We need to devise a plan to draw out their leader or, failing that, target the underbosses. Even capturing a few of them would be enough to disrupt the organization's operations and throw them off balance."

The gravity of my words hangs heavy in the air, awaiting a response from the higher-ups in the room.

"How do you suggest we do that, Ava Collins?" Daniel challenges, his tone tinged with skepticism.

"Let's begin with the harbors," I respond confidently, refusing to be daunted by his doubt. "A significant amount of cargo passes through there, and before Agent Crane's untimely demise, he unearthed some crucial intel suggesting that certain businesses operating within the port are involved in illicit activities."

A palpable silence descends upon the room, as if my words have struck a chord of disbelief or ignorance. Undeterred, I press on, determined to convey the urgency of the situation.

"Granted, some of these businesses may appear legitimate on the surface, but they're intricately entwined with money laundering operations," I elaborate, hoping to shed light on the gravity of the situation. It's as if I'm speaking a foreign language, or perhaps I'm the only one who has thoroughly studied Mr. Crane's report. But the truth remains: we cannot afford to ignore the connections he uncovered."

As the room falls into an uneasy silence, I lift my gaze to our boss, who is engrossed in writing on the board. It's a sobering realization that I seem to be the only one who resonated with my own suggestion in this gathering of twenty individuals. It's a familiar scenario in a male-dominated industry, where the prevailing attitude often dictates that the "man's way" is the only way, regardless of the merit of alternative ideas.

Agent Crane, the only other individual who dared to think outside the conventional bounds, had managed to make significant progress precisely because of his willingness to challenge the status quo. His tragic demise was a loss not only to our team but also to the spirit of innovation and open-mindedness that he embodied.

"Okay," the supervisor finally speaks after a prolonged moment of contemplation, his decision echoing through the room. "I believe Miss Ava Collins should take charge of the investigation."

My heart sinks at his words, a wave of apprehension washing over me. This was the last thing I had hoped for. I had only just returned, and now they wanted to send me away again. I hadn't even had the chance to check on my grandma, let alone catch up on the rest of my life.

"Sir," I begin, my voice soft but firm, "my deepest apologies, but I'm afraid I can't accept this mission. I've been away from home for quite some time, and I need to prioritize local missions for now." The weight of my decision hangs heavy in the air, knowing that it may disappoint my superiors, but my personal obligations cannot be ignored.

Before Daniel can interject with his objections, our supervisor intervenes. "You can continue to contribute remotely for the next month," he suggests, his tone decisive. "We'll assign Daniel to handle the first half of the mission."

Daniel's protest is swift and vehement. "What? I didn't agree to this!" he exclaims, clearly taken aback by the sudden turn of events.

As the room buzzes with tension, I can't help but feel a mixture of relief and guilt. Though I've secured some respite for myself, it's come at the cost of burdening my colleague with an unexpected responsibility. But for now, my priority is to tend to the matters waiting for me at home.

"Meeting dismissed," the supervisor's voice echoes through the room, signaling the end of our discussion. Hastily, I gather my belongings and make my way out of the office, not eager to field any questions or engage in small talk. As I reach my desk, I sink into my chair with a sense of relief, grateful for a moment of respite from the demands of the day.

Fingers poised over the keyboard, I prepare to delve into the intricacies of my proposal for the upcoming mission. But before I can begin, Oliver appears at my side, bearing a cup in his hand.

"I told you coffee makes me anxious," I remind him, my tone tinged with annoyance as I glance up at him.

A mischievous glint dances in Oliver's eyes as he places the cup on my desk. "It's not coffee," he counters with a smirk, "it's chocolate milk." I eye the cup warily, uncertain of his intentions. Oliver has always been somewhat of an enigma to me; his affluent upbringing and lackadaisical approach to police work seem at odds with the rest of us in the department.

Ignoring his attempt at conversation, I return my attention to my laptop, determined to make progress on my task. But Oliver seems undeterred, leaning in closer with a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"I was wondering..." he begins, but I cut him off with a firm shake of my head.

"No," I interject, not in the mood for whatever scheme he's concocted this time. With a dismissive wave of my hand, I signal the end of our conversation and refocus my efforts on the screen before me.

"Will you like to join me for dinner?" Oliver's question hangs in the air, breaking through the quiet hum of the office. Startled, I look up from my laptop, meeting his gaze with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

His brown eyes hold a glimmer of sincerity, a stark contrast to the usual playful demeanor he wears like a mask. For a moment, I find myself at a loss for words, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation.

As I contemplate his offer, I can't help but wonder about Oliver's intentions. Despite our differences, I find him rather attractive.

With a hesitant smile, I nod in agreement, silently accepting his invitation. Perhaps dinner with Oliver is what I need to relax.

The sudden exclamation pierces through the office, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. All eyes turn towards Oliver, who stands at the center of the room with an unmistakable grin on his face.

"She said yes!" he declares, his voice ringing with triumph and excitement. A ripple of murmurs and whispers spreads through the office as colleagues exchange knowing glances and playful nudges.

Caught off guard by the public announcement, I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks as the realization sinks in. My acceptance of Oliver's s dinner invitation is now common knowledge, thanks to his exuberant proclamation.

Despite the unexpected attention, I can't help but smile at Oliver's unabashed enthusiasm. His genuine excitement is infectious, and I find myself looking forward to the dinner, curious to see where this unexpected turn of events will lead.

''pick you up at 8,'' Oliver yells halfway across the room.

For years, I've avoided relationships, prioritizing my demanding career over personal attachments. My constant travels and unpredictable schedule have taken a toll on past relationships, leading to heartbreak and disappointment. The memory of my last boyfriend, who ended our relationship due to my busy lifestyle, still stings.

Despite my reservations, Oliver seems like a safe option—a familiar face in the chaos of my professional life. His easygoing nature and understanding demeanor offer a sense of comfort and stability that I crave. Perhaps, I reason, a casual dinner wouldn't hurt.

"Okay, sounds good," I call back, my voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. As Steve nods in acknowledgment and returns to his desk, I can't shake the feeling of apprehension that lingers in the air. Only time will tell if this newfound connection will lead to something more or if it's simply a fleeting distraction in the midst of my hectic life.