*[At BlueCrest Tech Co.]*
"Any more updates?" Nathaniel spoke to his subordinate through the video call. He was in another branch of the company located in another country.
"Well yes," Darryl, the subordinate, spoke. "The Detective Superintendent visited the company today. He was asking about the old versions of some communication devices,"
"Didn't we dispose of those?"
"Yes we did. I don't know why he was asking, but for the D.S. to come here… I think something might be up,"
There was a brief silence before Nathaniel responded "I'll look into it," and ended the call.
"Boss," Darryl's assistant said, knocking lightly before stepping in at Darryl's nod.
Darryl leaned back in his chair. He wasn't the CEO. Nathaniel was. But when Nathaniel was away, Darryl ran things. To anyone outside the company, he looked like the man in charge. Even public records listed him as a co-founder alongside Nathaniel.
---
Riley usually came to work early, but today she came extra early. Her eyes were dull, and her dishevelled appearance contributed to the thought that she had little to no sleep that night.
What was she thinking about?
EG of course.
That organisation wasn't just some backyard mafia or feared terrorist organisation. They were criminal gods. Hackers with much more technological intellect than anyone she had ever heard of. Criminal masterminds who knew how to instil fear without being there. A whole network of gurus.
And there was not one feeble among them.
She really hoped BlueCrest Tech had no hand in this. If this organisation could do this much behind screens, one cannot imagine what they'd do if by chance they catch her tracking them while she was still undercover.
"Miss Knox," Mrs Miller sounded surprised when she walked into her office and spotted Riley, seated, and waiting for her. Riley gave a small smile "Good morning Mrs Miller," She sounded calm although her look said otherwise.
"Good morning," She checked the time on her wristwatch "You're early," It was just a few minutes past 6 a.m.
"Well, I wanted us to talk about …the case"
Mrs Miller took a seat "You seem tense,"
"I can't do this," Riley finally breathed what had been on her mind since yesterday.
Mrs Miller adjusted herself in her chair and leaned forward, fingers clasped on the desk.
"Riley," she began, calmly, "You know fully well that this is not how the CID works. We don't give civilian specialists undercover assignment, no matter how good they are."
Riley said nothing.
"I recommended you because I've watched you," Mrs Miller continued. "For five years. You're consistent. Focused. You don't panic, and you don't give up halfway through a problem."
"Thank you, ma'am," Riley said quietly.
"I could have chosen someone else," Mrs Miller said. "Someone older. Someone with more field experience. I didn't." She held Riley's gaze. "You're tech-oriented. That matters. No one reaches Grade 7 in five years without being exceptional. Most people at your level are at least a decade ahead in age."
Riley's chest tightened.
"You think fast. You adapt. You respond under pressure," Mrs Miller went on. "And unlike many civilian specialists here, you didn't arrive through connections or family ties. You earned your place."
She paused.
"I know your background," Mrs Miller said evenly. "And I know you don't let it define you. That tells me something about your resilience."
Silence settled between them.
"If you turn this down," Mrs Miller said at last, "I'll respect your choice. But I'll also question my judgement."
The words landed harder than a threat.
"This mission isn't about heroics," she continued. "You're not being sent to fight. You're being sent to observe. To listen. To confirm what doesn't add up. That's what you're good at."
She leaned back slightly.
"EG are dangerous because they're careful, not because they're monsters. And careful people can still be exposed."
Riley lowered her gaze.
"If a problem arises," Mrs Miller said, more softly, "I trust you to handle it. If I didn't, you wouldn't be sitting here."
Mrs Miller stood up from her chair before continuing.
"Think it over. Properly. I expect your answer by the end of the day."
Riley gave a small nod but still sat in the chair trying to absorb all that she had just heard. It was when Mrs Miller cleared her throat that she realised that she was still seated in her office.
So she quickly stood up, gave Mrs Miller handshake and said "Thank you for your time," before leaving
---
"Miss Knox, take a look at this. Use the red marker to circle anywhere you spot irregular patterns."
"I'm sorry, Mr Greg, but I'm very busy now." Riley briefly glanced at the paper and continued what she was doing on the screen.
"I don't see you doing anything."
He dropped the stack of papers on her desk. Thick enough to make a dull thud.
Riley pushed them aside. "I said I'm busy."
Her voice rose slightly before she could stop it.
"Hey, haven't you been taught not to disobey your senior?" a colleague said, turning to give Riley a look of disdain.
"The CID just hires anyone these days," another added casually, not exactly facing her.
"Not just anyone," someone else said. "Children. And to think they get promoted for doing nothing."
"You know what Mr Greg, leave it there," Riley responded "I'll do it,"
"You better," He said before walking away.
Riley kept her expression neutral. She turned back to her screen, trying hard not to think about how mean her colleagues were to her.
This wasn't new. Since her first year, the pattern had been the same. When she did well, the work changed. Fewer cases. More errands. Less responsibility disguised as routine tasks.
When the EG case landed on her desk, it hadn't been confidence. It had been convenience. No one else wanted it.
She solved part of it anyway.
That hadn't helped. They never considered her as part of the crew. For five long years she had been bullied, mocked and hated by her colleagues from different levels. She thought of a quote she had seen somewhere 'The best way to predict your future is to create it'. She couldn't go on like this- allowing incompetent individuals to look down on her. She'd show them who their messing with, and when she reaches the peak she'll shove her success in their faces.
A few minutes later, Riley stood up, gathered her things, and left the office.
She walked down the corridor toward the sergeant's office.
When she stepped inside, she didn't sit.
"I've thought about it," she said. "I'll take the assignment."
--- [At D`oro's Mansion]
Nathaniel had just arrived home from visiting his grandfather in Italy. He sat alone in his study, his chair tilted back just enough to let his body slacken. This room was the only place in the mansion where he could get absolute peace and quietness.
No overthinking of his grandfather's wickedness, not the mafia, not even the company and its affairs. Just peace.
His eyes had barely closed when a loud bang rattled the door.
"Dad! Daddy!"
Nathaniel exhaled slowly. Of course.
The door shook again, smaller fists this time. Melanie. Eight years old. Persistent. He considered ignoring her, just for a moment longer, but the banging only grew louder. With a resigned sigh, he stood and opened the door.
"What is it, Melanie?" His voice came out rough, heavy with sleep.
She looked up at him, eyes sharp despite her size. "You're still sleeping?" she said, then grabbed his hand. "Come downstairs. It's an emergency."
"What kind of emergency?"
He hadn't finished talking when she turned and ran.
Nathaniel followed, irritation trailing behind him down the stairs.
He met a maid kneeling beside Melanie upon entering the parlour. This kind of scene was nothing new. Melanie was the young miss of the house, it was only right for her to exercise her power. "I caught her," Melanie declared proudly upon seeing her father "She was putting this powder in your morning coffee. I think it is poison".
The maid shook her head frantically. Her face was streaked with dried tears, makeup smudged and uneven. "It's not poison," she stammered. "I swear it isn't."
Nathaniel crouched and picked up the small packet from the floor. He didn't need to open it. The texture. The smell.
An aphrodisiac.
He straightened.
"You're fired," he said calmly.
He handed the packet to Melanie. "Throw it away, alright?"
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the elevator. The doors slid shut behind him, sealing the matter as neatly as everything else in his life.
Melanie stared at the closed doors.
"That's it?" she muttered.
Behind her, the maid's voice trembled. "Miss Melanie, plea—"
Melanie spun around. Her chest felt tight, hot. "You're fired," she shouted. "You heard my dad! Get your things and leave before I throw you out myself!"
The maid rose slowly and walked away without another word.
The room felt too big after that.
Melanie's anger drained as quickly as it had come. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She knew why she was angry. She always did.
In other homes, fathers ate with their children. Talked to them. Sat with them longer than a few minutes at a time. Her father never stayed. He always left. If she tried to talk, he ended it. If she asked questions, he disappeared.
He felt like a stranger who happened to live in the same house.
So she created emergencies. Fired maids. Caused scenes.
It was the only way she could keep him in the same room for more than ten minutes.
But even that was starting to fail.
Melanie swallowed hard and stared at the elevator doors again, already knowing he wouldn't come back.