Parineeti sat in her mother’s study, papers scattered across the desk. The sunlight pouring through the bay window kissed the polished wood, and Justice Leela Gupta—dignified in a cream saree, hair tied in a simple knot—was sipping her second cup of black tea.
“I heard about the hearing,” Leela said without preamble, eyes sharp behind her reading glasses.
Parineeti leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “It was intense. Petrov tried his best to twist the narrative, but I kept it steady. Vikram didn’t interfere.”
Justice Leela raised an eyebrow. “That must’ve been hard for him.”
Parineeti smiled slightly. “He trusts me.”
Leela studied her daughter for a long moment. “Trust from men like him is not handed out easily.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched, comfortable but probing.
Leela finally asked, “Do you trust him?”
Parineeti paused. “More than I thought I could. But I also know he keeps secrets. Deep ones.”
“Dont let him deceive you ,pari.”
Parineeti looked down at the file in front of her.
“I’m not asking you to step away,” Leela continued softly. “Just don’t lose your compass while you walk beside his shadow.”
---
“Security will be tighter than Geneva,” Vyom said, tapping his tablet. “But the Russians have been sniffing around. And someone’s feeding them intel.”
Aaryan leaned forward. “Internal?”
“Most likely. Your grandfather’s contact confirmed that the leak traces back to the industrial surveillance circuit tied to Mauritian accounts.”
Vikram’s jaw tightened. “I want every channel monitored. No one speaks to me directly unless they clear you.”
Vyom nodded. “Already done.”
Aaryan looked between them. “You’re planning something.”
“I’m ending something,” Vikram replied.
---
That evening, Parineeti received a location text from Aaryan—an upscale café tucked in a quiet corner of South Mumbai. When she arrived, Aaryan was already seated, nursing an espresso.
“Ordered your usual,” he said with a boyish grin.
Parineeti sat, suspicious. “What’s this about?”
“I needed a favor,” he said. “And I didn’t want to bother Vikram. He’s… heavy lately.”
She raised a brow. “This about the summit?”
He nodded slightly. “Not directly. But what I’m about to tell you might matter to the case.”
He leaned in.
“There’s a man who’s about to surface—one tied to both the Russians and to our grandfather’s history. I don’t know his name. But Vikram’s been searching for him for years.”
Parineeti’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because that man started the enmity between our families and the Russians. And he’s the only one who knows the truth about the shell companies Vikram is accused of being involved in.”
---
That evening, Parineeti received a location text from Aaryan—an upscale café tucked in a quiet corner of South Mumbai. When she arrived, Aaryan was already seated, nursing an espresso.
“Ordered your usual,” he said with a boyish grin.
Parineeti sat, suspicious. “What’s this about?”
“I needed a favor,” he said. “And I didn’t want to bother Vikram. He’s… heavy lately.”
She raised a brow. “This about the summit?”
He nodded slightly. “Not directly. But what I’m about to tell you might matter to the case.”
He leaned in.
“There’s a man who’s about to surface—one tied to both the Russians and to our grandfather’s history. I don’t know his name. But Vikram’s been searching for him for years.”
Parineeti’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because that man started the enmity between our families and the Russians. And he’s the only one who knows the truth about the shell companies Vikram is accused of being involved in.”
---
A black SUV rolled to a stop in an abandoned military compound outside Mumbai. The only illumination came from a rusted floodlight flickering above the old warehouse doors. Vikram stepped out, dressed in a dark trench coat, his expression unreadable. Vyom followed silently, his every movement measured.
The heavy metal doors creaked open.
Inside stood a man—tall, dignified, hair white like ash, dressed in an old charcoal overcoat. His back was turned as he lit a pipe, the cherry red glow illuminating a harsh scar across the side of his face.
“I didn’t think you’d come alone,” the man said, voice gravelly.
Vikram stepped forward. “I’m not alone. He’s family.”
The man turned.
It was clear now—this was Devendra Singhania, Vikram’s grandfather, presumed dead by the world for over two decades.
“You’ve grown into Rajveer’s eyes,” Devendra murmured, stepping closer. “But your silence… that’s your mother’s.”
Vikram said nothing. His gaze was fixed.
Devendra exhaled smoke. “You want to know the truth? About the Russians? About the shell companies? You think this is about trade and territory.”
Vyom crossed his arms. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” Devendra said. “It’s about betrayal. One of ours sold us out. Thirty-two years ago, during a mining summit in Vladivostok. The Russians didn’t betray us first. We betrayed them.”
Vikram’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Your uncle—Dhanraj Singhania. Aaryan’s father.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
---
Devendra walked toward an old filing cabinet and pulled out a thick leather folder.
“This,” he said, placing it on the metal table, “is everything. Records, flight logs, Swiss accounts, coded messages, transcripts from bugged meetings. Proof of Dhanraj’s secret dealings with the FSB and how he sold intel in exchange for Russian oil.”
Vikram picked up a sheet. He read. His jaw clenched.
Vyom muttered, “Does Aaryan know?”
“No,” Devendra said. “Rajveer protected him from the truth. But he knew. That’s why he distanced the family. That’s why your father took the fall for the shell company accounts.”
Vikram’s eyes were fire now. “He died with that burden.”
“And now,” Devendra said, leaning closer, “you decide if that burden ends with you—or explodes with this summit.”
---
Outside, the sea wind whipped Vikram’s coat as he stood alone.
Vyom approached quietly. “What now?”
Vikram stared ahead. “We go to Amsterdam. And we end what they started. I won’t let my father’s name rot in history because someone else took the easy road.”
Vyom nodded. “And Aaryan?”
Vikram turned to him. “He deserves the truth. But not yet. Let me carry it a little longer.”
______________
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