I’ve spent twelve years chasing shadows.
Twelve years tracking down missing children, exposing fraud rings, even solving a high-profile kidnapping that made national news. But when people walk into my tiny, dimly lit Mumbai office, they don’t see any of that.
They see me. A woman. And their first question is always the same—
"Is there a man I can talk to?"
I smile when they say it. A tight-lipped, practiced smile. The kind that hides the sting, the exhaustion, the rage.
But inside, I can feel something cracking.
I’ve tried everything. Lowered my fees. Worked twice as hard. Changed the name of my agency from ‘Ruchira Kanti Investigations’ to the bland, genderless ‘R.K. Investigations’—but it hasn’t made a damn bit of difference. People still hesitate when they see me, their eyes scanning the room, waiting for someone more capable to appear.
And now, as I sit at my desk, staring at a stack of unpaid bills and a half-empty cup of masala chai, I finally get it.
I’m never going to win. I cannot win against presumptions and notions that are rooted in people’s mind, no matter how good I am, my gender will always be a roadblock for my profession, may be I should pivot and do something else.
I reach for my phone before I can talk myself out of it. The screen glows with the time—11:47 PM. Nikita’s going to kill me for calling this late.
She picks up on the third ring, her voice groggy. "Ruchira?"
"Sign me up," I say, before I can change my mind.
Silence. Then, a sigh. "You’re serious?"
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Yeah."
Another pause. This time longer. "Alright," she finally says.
"Welcome to the world of insurance."
I let out a slow breath and lean back in my chair. I tell myself it’s the relief I’m feeling. That it’s freedom. Freedom from having to prove yourself constantly in a world that has blindfolds on.
I threw myself into selling insurance policies.
It wasn’t thrilling. It wasn’t exciting. But it was steady. Reliable.
And unlike being a detective, it actually paid the bills.
I met clients, explained coverages, and even used my old investigative skills to assess risks. I told myself I didn’t miss my old life. I told myself this was better—no more chasing criminals, no more fighting for respect, no more struggling to make rent. Just me, my sales targets, and polite conversations over cups of chai.
It was fine. Really.
Until the day I met Mr. Desai.
He was an elderly man, frail but sharp-eyed, sitting beside his soft-spoken wife in their quiet, cluttered apartment. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. As I launched into my usual sales pitch, he waved me off.
"I already have a policy," he said. "Fifty lakhs. More than enough for my wife when I’m gone."
A slow, uneasy knot formed in my chest—because I had already checked the company records. There was no policy in his name.
"Are you sure it is in your name?" I asked carefully.
His gaze hardened. "Of course." He shuffled through a pile of old papers, pulling out a neatly folded document. "Here."
I took it. And the moment my eyes hit the page, my stomach dropped.
It looked real. The company logo was perfect, and the fine print was precise. But the serial number—it didn’t match any format I’d ever seen. And the signatures?
Forged. Having worked as a detective for so long gives you an eye for certain things that don’t come naturally to others.
My hands gripped the paper a little tighter.
I was probably staring at a scam and this was probably just one of the many policies that were forged. A million questions and possibilities filled my mind.
The moment I saw the fake policy, something inside me clicked back into place.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I missed this feeling—the slow unraveling of a mystery, the pieces of a puzzle coming together, that electric charge in my veins when I knew, just knew, that something wasn’t right.
I wasn’t a detective anymore. I was just an insurance agent trying to make a living. And yet, I couldn’t look away.
So I did what I wasn’t supposed to do.
I started digging.
As I dug deeper, the truth started to unravel, and with it, a feeling I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.
That pull. That undeniable need to keep going, to uncover what’s hidden, to chase the answers no one else even knew they should be looking for.
What had started as a single fake policy turned into something much bigger—a massive fraud, a fake insurance syndicate that had been running for over five years. They had stolen from thousands of people, preying on the most vulnerable. Senior citizens, widows, struggling families—all of them had poured their life savings into policies that were nothing more than well-crafted illusions.
And the worst part?
Even the big insurance firms had no idea their names were being used.
The more I uncovered, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just fraud. This was a system. Carefully built, expertly disguised. A scam so perfect, that it had thrived in plain sight.
I knew I couldn’t do this alone.
For the first time in years, I walked into a police station.
Not as a detective but as an insurance agent.
ACP Vikram More barely glanced up from his paperwork when I stepped into his office. When he finally did, he smirked. The kind of smirk that made me want to turn around and walk right back out.
“Sir, I have evidence of a ₹500-crore insurance fraud," she told ACP Vikram More.
"So Miss. Kanti, I heard you’re an insurance agent now? I thought you gave up on your dream of becoming a world-class detective, but here we are at it again!" he said, leaning back in his chair.
I didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. Instead, I pulled the fake policy from my bag and slammed it onto his desk.
"Maybe I gave up," I said, my voice steady. "But my instincts never gave up on me."
I didn’t mean to lead the investigation but a few hours into showing ACP Vikram all the documentation I had collected and all the proofs I had gathered, he was astonished, to say the least. He started a special enquiry on the scam at his end, but I couldn’t let this go so easily.
Every file I pulled, every forged document I uncovered, every victim I spoke to—it all led to something bigger. The scam wasn’t just a handful of conmen printing fake policies. It was an entire operation, buried deep within the system. Ghost companies. Laundered money. And the worst part? It had ties to the people who were supposed to protect us. Politicians, businessmen, even high-ranking officers in the insurance sector.
It wasn’t just fraud. It was corruption at the highest level.
I should have been terrified. Maybe a part of me was. But the other part? The part of me that I had buried the day I gave up being a detective? It was wide awake.
I knew I couldn’t take them down alone.
So I made some calls. Old contacts, people who still believed in me, people who still owed me favors. With ACP Vikram’s help, I planned a sting operation. I would go undercover, posing as a wealthy widow looking to buy a two-crore policy. It was a dangerous mission but not more dangerous than letting this scam continue as it is.
When the day came, dressed up as an wealthy old women, I walked into the hotel lounge where the deal was set to go down. The men across from me smiled, charming and confident, completely unaware of what was coming. One of them slid the contract toward me, and I picked up the pen they offered.
I didn’t use it.
Instead, I handed them my own. A sleek black pen with a hidden camera.
"Go ahead," I said, my voice calm. "Sign your names."
And the moment the ink touched the paper, I leaned in and whispered,
"You’re under arrest."
The doors burst open. ACP Vikram along with his team of officers swarmed the room. The men barely had time to react before they were in cuffs, their faces frozen in shock.
The case exploded in the news.
Millions of people got their stolen money back. The fraudsters were jailed. Careers were ruined, and reputations destroyed. And somewhere in the middle of it all, my name became something I never expected it to be.
A headline.
A symbol.
A national hero.
I didn’t ask for any of it.
I just did what I had always done. I followed the truth.
You may abandon your dreams, but dreams are relentless. Sooner or later, they find a way to break through your reality, pulling you back to your true calling.
