CUBAN HIRE (CARTEL GXG)

UNRAVELLING THE WEB

"She doesn't seem like the kind of woman who'd be your type," Officer Wilson remarked casually, her posture much more relaxed now that they were alone. Her words, though subtle, hit hard, and the shift in tone made it clear this wasn't a casual conversation.

Olivia blinked, taken aback by the comment. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice sharp as she feigned offense, her brows knitting together.

Wilson gave a small smile, unbothered by Olivia's reaction. "I mean, you look like an intelligent, polished young woman, and she seems... like someone who might run in the wrong circles," she explained, her words dripping with insinuation.

Olivia bit back her immediate response, her thoughts swirling. Oh, if only you knew, she thought dryly. Instead, she let out a scoff, her defenses rising. "I am intelligent, and unlike some people, I don't judge others based on appearance or background," she retorted, her voice clipped.

The officer leaned forward slightly, her expression softening into something more concerned. "Look, Olivia, I'm not customs or border patrol. I'm an agent Wilson with the FBI, and we believe this could be a case of human trafficking," she revealed quietly, her voice gentle, as though she were trying to coax the truth out of Olivia.

Olivia's heart seized in her chest, her face flushing and then paling as the agents' words sank in. "What?" she whispered, disbelief lacing her tone. She let out a shaky, incredulous laugh. "That's insane! Just because she's Latina?" Olivia shot back, her eyes narrowing in indignation. She needed the agent to dismiss this. She couldn't risk everything. 

Agent Wilson sighed, looking away briefly before locking eyes with Olivia again. "We see people like her coming through these gates every day. All we need is for you to be honest, and you can go home. No questions asked," she said, her brow raised in a challenge, the offer hanging heavy in the air.

Olivia's pulse quickened, panic creeping up her spine. But even as her mind screamed that the officer was right—Ezmeralda shouldn't be allowed anywhere near American soil—her body wouldn't let her betray her. Her mom, Phoebe, her entire life rested on this fragile, precarious balance. She had no choice.

She let out a tense laugh, shaking her head. "Look, Agent Wilson, if you have nothing on me or my wife—because you won't find anything—then I'd really like to get home," Olivia said, her voice growing firmer. "My Labrador's probably wondering why his dinner's late," she added, surprising even herself with the way the words tumbled out so confidently.

Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was survival instinct. But at that moment, Olivia knew she couldn't crack—not now, not ever.

The Agent scrutinized Olivia for a long moment, her sharp eyes sweeping over her, clearly not convinced. Though Olivia kept her responses steady, the officer had years of experience dealing with human trafficking cases, and her instincts were screaming that something was off. She specialized in these situations, knew the subtle signs—Olivia's flickering gaze, the slight twitch of her lip, the nervous gulp, and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. Olivia didn't want this, that much was clear. But there was nothing to pin on her. The paperwork was flawless, the story airtight. No smuggling, no records, no confession. Agent Wilson had no leverage.

With a resigned sigh, she unzipped the small pocket on her side hip and pulled out a business card, extending it toward Olivia. "Here's my card. If you ever change your mind, or realize something you might have missed, give me a call," she offered. Her voice was calm, but there was a clear undercurrent of determination. She wasn't letting this go, even if she had to dig into every corner to find something later.